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  The campaign against breast cancer 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  Normally this section of the page consists of material I have assembled 
  myself, but I thought I'd make an exception today, in order to give this material a bit of 
  context. Several famous and semi-famous actresses have decided to bare their 
  breasts in order to draw attention to the fight against breast cancer. This 
  works out well for us in two ways: (1) we see their hooters; (2) they are 
  crusading to preserve other hooters as well. If you are reading this page, 
  there is little doubt that you support the the study, preservation and 
  appreciation of tits. 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  As I wrote in my parody of "That's Entertainment," we're all about the 
  tits, aren't we? Sing along with me now: 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
   
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  "Call 'em boobs 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  Call 'em hooters or breasts 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  Give me tits  
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  And forget all the rest 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  Make 'em big 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  They're the ones I like best 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  That's entertainment" 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
    
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  The first group of actresses is French. In spite of any negative things we Americans have ever said 
  about the French, we must admit that they are the best in the world at a 
  minimum of two positive things: (1) food and wine; (2) tit appreciation. Yes, 
  they are also excellent at philosophy, art, architecture and mathematics, but that shit pales in 
  importance compared to tits. 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  This is the picture of all the actresses  in the campaign. 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  
  
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  Top Row:  
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  Rachida Brakni - Sophie Davant - Julie Depardieu 
  - Mathilda May - Sylvie Testud 
   
  Bottom Row: 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  Hélène Darrouze - Rossy de Palma - Estelle 
  Lefébure - Nathalie Rykiel - Elsa Zylberstein 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  So far I've only seen two of the larger individual pictures, and I have 
  not seen Mathilda May, who had the best breasts in the world about 15 years 
  ago, and still looks great at 44. That's the one I'm most interested in. 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  In the meantime, we have Estelle Lefebure, who 
  has a great rack on 'er at 43. 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  
  
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  and Julie Depardieu, who inherited her father's 
  breasts without his nose. Which is mostly good. 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  
  
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  Meanwhile, in Franco-Canuckistan, the following women bared the goods for 
  the same reason. I know many of the French actresses above, but in this case 
  don't really know who the hell these women are. I suppose we need Spaz to give 
  us the lowdown. 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
  Anyway, there are some major babes in this group 
     
 
 
 
  
 
 
       
   
     
       | Karine Vanasse | 
       
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       | Melanie Maynard | 
       
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       | Julie Menard | 
       
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       | Amelie Simard | 
       
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       | Marie Joanne Boucher | 
       
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       | Caroline Neron | 
       
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       | Catherine Yale | 
       
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       | Marie Luce Beland | 
       
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       | Elizabeth Duperre | 
       
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       | Carol Facal ("Caracol") | 
       
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       | Anne-Marie Cadieux | 
       
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       | Anne-Marie Losique | 
       
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 OTHER CRAP:    
Catch the deluxe 
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      Melvyn and Howard
      1980 
  
  
  
      
Mary Steenburgen film clips 
  
  
  
      
  
  
  
      
This time it is Tuna who carries the load on the reviews, based upon his 
personal connection to the story, as follows:  
  
  
  
        In April of 1976, I was working for Hughes Aircraft 
        when we received word that Howard Hughes was dead. There was a tribute 
        over the loudspeaker. Those who had worked there during the days that 
        Howard himself showed up at the factory started remembering, and told 
        some fascinating stories. Howard would show up in jeans and a dirty 
        shirt with an entourage of three piece suits behind him. They would talk 
        to the "clipboard people" also known as middle managers, while Howard 
        would talk to the rank and file workers. Evidently, Howard would listen 
        attentively to the workers, and was known to have replaced managers that 
        he got complaints about. 
         
        During one such visit, he bummed a dime from someone I knew for a cup of 
        coffee (Hughes never carried money with him), then talked him out of one 
        of his two meat loaf sandwiches, sat down next to him, and they had 
        lunch together. Several weeks later, he received a handwritten thank you 
        letter from Hughes with a dime taped to it. He didn't think to save it. 
        Hughes parlayed a small company left to him by his father called Hughes 
        Tool Company into his enormous wealth and empire with the help of a 
        group of talented and loyal people. He promised them a job for life, and 
        these people were known as untouchables.  
         
        There was still one of them at the facility I worked for, who chose to 
        work second shift, and had offices in a double-wide trailer inside the 
        facility. To avoid his salary depleting anyone's budget, they would 
        transfer administrative responsibility for him from department to 
        department. An eager young manager in one such department looked at his 
        staff, decided this man was not producing anything for him, and handed 
        him a layoff notice on Friday. When the manager got home, his wife was 
        in the driveway waving madly. It seems the president of Summa 
        Corporation, the non-profit that managed Hughes Aircraft and Hughes 
        Tool, was holding to speak with him. The message was simple. "I want to 
        acquaint you with a fact of life at Hughes Aircraft. If we suffer 
        massive setbacks, and there are two people left in Space Systems, you 
        and this gentleman, kindly lay yourself off." 
         
        One night at the Culver City facility, a man in paint splattered 
        trousers and a sweat shirt and sneakers tried to walk into the facility, 
        and wouldn't stop to show a badge until the security guard pointed a gun 
        at him. The guard called his sergeant, saying that he was holding some 
        jerk claiming to be Howard Hughes at gunpoint, after the man had tried 
        to break into the plant with no ID. The sergeant asked him how the man 
        was dressed. When he heard the answer, knowing that Hughes often came to 
        the facility and raced cars on his private airstrip, then toured the 
        plant, and always dressed that way, he rushed over to rescue Hughes from 
        the young guard. 
         
        Shortly after Hughes death, a so called "Mormon will" surfaced, awarding 
        much of his fortune to 16 people, including a simple milkman named 
        Melvin Dummar. Melvin told a story that he picked up a ragged old man 
        nearly unconscious near the side of the road, drove him to Vegas, and 
        loaned him a quarter. That man claimed to be Howard Hughes. This film is 
        Melvin's story, or at least his side of it, and starts with the road 
        incident. Melvin was working a factory job at the time, and lived in a 
        trailer with his wife, played brilliantly by Mary Steenburgen, and his 
        daughter. The next morning, his motorcycle is repossessed, and his wife 
        leaves him. The nudity, breasts and buns, come from Steenburgen, when he 
        serves her divorce papers at a strip club, where we also see some 
        anonymous strippers. When she finds herself very pregnant, they remarry. 
        She wins big in a TV game show, and they buy a house, possibly finally 
        getting their piece of the American dream, but the wastrel Dummar brings 
        home a Cadillac convertible and boat, so Steenburgen leaves for good.
         
        He eventually marries a Mormon woman who works in the 
        milk plant where he is now working, and they move to Utah to run a 
        filling station/tire store. This is where he received the Mormon will. 
        This will, of course, was a serious setback for Summa Corporation, and 
        had direct bearing on important defense plants. You conspiracy theorists 
        can make of that what you will. The will was thrown out of Clark County 
        Superior Court in June 1978. No court-recognized will was ever found.  
        This Jonathan Demme (Silence of the Lambs) film was 
        highly acclaimed, and elevated the factual story of the Mormon will to 
        something more, by showing people who live on the cusp of the American 
        dream, never quite reaching it. The real Melvin Dummar played a small 
        role in the film. According to Rotten Tomatoes, the critics were 100% 
        positive. I found it a little slow, but then I knew the story well 
        before I ever saw the film, and, other than the Hughes incident, Melvin 
        lived a rather depressing and ordinary life. IMDB readers have this at 
        7.1 of 10. I have no opinion as to whether the Mormon will was genuine, 
        but, as you can see from the anecdotes at the beginning of this review, 
        it was rather "Hughes-like."  
        Scoop's brief notes: 
        This is a surprisingly engaging movie, 
        a true story (well, one version of the truth, anyway) about a lower 
        class guy who ends up in one of Howard Hughes' wills because he once 
        gave Hughes a charitable ride into Vegas without knowing who it was. 
        (Hughes looked like an old bum out in the desert).  
        Melvin Dummar was one of life's 
        losers, and this movie tells us that. He was a nice guy, and he had some 
        charm, but he never succeeded at anything until he found himself the 
        inheritor of $160 million in the Hughes will, and became the subject of 
        national scrutiny and attention. Although it is based on an actual 
        incident, it is fundamentally Dummar's version of the incident. It's a 
        pretty good yarn though. At one point, Dummar forces Hughes to sing (or 
        walk home!), and their time together is quite touching. Jason Robards 
        really hit all the right notes in his few minutes as Howard Hughes. I 
        wrote elsewhere that Robards did more to give Hughes dimension in these 
        few minutes than DiCaprio did in the entire film of The Aviator. 
        Mary Steenburgen's nude scene is one 
        of my favorites, although it's in funky strip-club lighting. She quits 
        her job as a stripper by tearing off her costume completely, and walking 
        out of the club stark naked.  Unfortunately, Steenburgen's full-frontal 
        nudity, which was visible in the full-screen VHS version of the film, 
        could not be seen in the widescreen DVD, which shows breasts and buns 
        only. 
       
  
  
  
      
Raw screen grabs 
  
  
  
      
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
      The Brown Bunny
      2003 
  
  
  
      
Chloe Sevigny film 
clips 
  
  
  
      
        
        
          
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             Scoop's notes:  
            This film is quite famous, albeit for 
            three things somewhat unrelated to the appeal of the project. 
            
              - 
              
Chloe Sevigny fellated 
              director/star Vincent Gallo on camera in real time.  
              - 
              
Gallo promoted the film with a 
              gigantic billboard overlooking Sunset Boulevard, featuring what 
              Gallo envisioned to be a non-objectionable version of the blow job 
              scene.  
              - 
              
The film caused a major feud 
              between critic Roger Ebert and Gallo.   
             
              
            THE FEUD 
            After a 118 minute version of the 
            film was roundly booed at Cannes, Mr. Ebert told a TV crew outside 
            the theater that The Brown Bunny was: "The worst film in the history 
            of the festival. I have not seen every film in the history of the 
            festival, yet I feel my judgment will stand." 
            With the wit and grace of Oscar 
            Wilde, Mr. Gallo responded: "If a fat pig 
            like Roger Ebert doesn't like my movie, then I'm sorry for him." 
            "It is true that I am fat," Ebert 
            rejoined, "but one day I shall be thin, and he will still be the 
            director of The Brown Bunny." 
            Responding to Ebert's oblique 
            reference to a noted example of Churchillian wit, Gallo fired back a 
            Shavian bon mot of his own: 'Oh yeah, well you tell that bastard I 
            curse his prostate and I hope it blows up to the size of a 
            cantaloupe.' 
            This turned 
            out to be a particularly unfortunate comment, because Mr. Ebert was 
            soon diagnosed with colon cancer, but Roger took it in stride and 
            joked, "I am not too worried. I had a 
            colonoscopy once, and they let me watch it on TV. It was more 
            entertaining than The Brown Bunny."  
            If you missed it all, you can
            
            catch up on the whole feud here 
            The story has sort of a happy ending, 
            I suppose. Gallo recut the film to 92 minutes for its theatrical 
            release and Ebert awarded three stars to the revised version, while 
            praising Gallo for recognizing that much of his footage needed 
            excising. 
              
            THE BILLBOARD  | 
           
          
            
            
              | 
            Here is the famous 
            billboard. If you click on it you can see a much larger version.
             Given today's moral climate, many passing 
            motorists seemed to find it objectionable, and the "powers that be" 
            soon took it down, much to Gallo's chagrin.   | 
           
          
            | 
            "I'm extremely disappointed. I 
            just wanted to make what I thought would be the most beautiful 
            billboard in the world.  I used very extreme, bold composition and 
            font and imagery because I felt that it related to the aesthetic 
            sensibility of the film. Unfortunately, the billboard was reduced to 
            something that it really wasn't." 
             THE BJ 
            Well, what is there to say? Vince takes out a good 
            size wang, keeps it constantly hard as if he were an experienced 
            porno trouper, and Chloe gobbles it. The money shot is in her mouth, 
            so we can't tell if that is simulated, but the rest of it is 
            obviously very real with everything shown on camera in real time.
             
               
            THE FILM 
            SPOILERS: 
            Ah, yes. The film. 
            It's existential cinema verité, 
            European minimalist style, (deliberately) close to a home movie in 
            style. It could easily be a Bruno Dumont film. Vince rides from New 
            Hampshire to California, haunted by the grief of a painful betrayal 
            and his loss of the betrayer. As he viewed it, his beloved Daisy had 
            turned out to be no truer to his mental picture of her than had Jay 
            Gatsby's famous Daisy. 
            Along the way he rides a motorcycle 
            at the Bonneville Salt Flats, stops in a pet shop to ask about the 
            life-span of bunnies, stops and talks to some hookers and 
            convenience store clerks, stops and provides wordless consolation to 
            a kindred spirit (former supermodel Cheryl Tiegs, once one of the 
            most famous women in the world, now making her acting debut at age 
            56). Mostly he just drives, while the camera watches traffic through 
            his front window. Lots of traffic. There's highway traffic, 
            small-town New England traffic, Las Vegas traffic, interstate 
            highway traffic, wet traffic in the rain, dry traffic in the desert. 
            Anonymous cars. Anonymous people. The film must be about 50% 
            "windshield cam". Sometimes, for a real change of pace, there are no 
            cars; just an open road.  Ah, but would not the true existentialist 
            counter that the absence of cars is just another form of traffic, 
            just as a musical rest is another tool of musical composition?  
            Occasionally the camera switches to close-ups of Vince's pained 
            face, but then we get right back to traffic again. Even when the 
            camera is on Vince's face as he drives, we can see traffic in the 
            background. Even if we can't actually see it, we can sense its 
            presence.  
            It's the Citizen Kane of traffic 
            films.  
            Luckily the stretches of filmed 
            traffic are exactly long enough for the kind of background songs in 
            which singer-songwriters wail their mournful phrases about lost 
            happiness, while strumming eerie, hollow acoustic guitar chords.
             
            I'll bet it's been a while since you 
            heard Gordon Lightfoot. 
            In fact, the last time you heard 
            Lightfoot, other people were actually making films like this, films 
            which tried to strip away the conventions of mainstream commercial 
            filmmaking and just show something genuine, with the camera 
            apparently recording real life in real time. My guess is that every 
            single student film at NYU in 1973 resembled this film. In some 
            ways, this is the classic late-60s-early-70s contemplative road 
            movie about a search for some peace of mind, some quiet for a 
            troubled soul inside a soul-destroying world. There's lots of 
            regret, sadness, grief, and thoughts about roads not taken. You will 
            see at the end that the action does not drift aimlessly. In fact, if 
            you really pay attention, the ending of the film will clarify what 
            has gone before, and even show you why the hotel room scene and the 
            BJ seemed to be told from a subjective POV, in contrast to the stark 
            objective realism of many other scenes. 
            Is there catharsis? Resolution? Does 
            Vince's character find the peace he seeks?  
            Fuggaboudit! 
            "He's a destroyed soul, he will 
            continue to act out until he peters out and dies. There's no 
            epiphany, no catharsis, no awakening." - Vincent Gallo, speaking of 
            his character Bud Clay in The Brown Bunny 
            Unless you enjoy "the art of the 
            moment" - the capture of and lingering indulgence in a mood in a 
            moment of time - this is not the movie for you. To call its pace 
            slow would be tantamount to calling tectonic shifts slow. If you 
            reduce the story to essential narrative, devoid of atmosphere and 
            mood, it would be less than 30 minutes long. If necessary, it could 
            easily be cut back to a 30 minute episode for The Hitchhiker. And 
            even at that length it would not be particularly satisfying. Or 
            particularly economical! 
            Gallo is a unique filmmaker. He's the 
            classic auteur pouring his passion out from his soul. He does not 
            travel with an entourage or employ much of a crew. His ending 
            credits, excluding the mandatory music credits, must be about the 
            shortest in history. He might have just substituted "it's all me." 
            Nothing wrong with that really. People have interpreted that as 
            narcissism and egomania, but I don't buy that interpretation. It's 
            just a guy producing and directing his own personal movies the way 
            he wants to make them and controlling every aspect, including 
            cinematography and editing. Don't writers do that? Gallo is simply 
            doing with his film what Dostoyevsky did with the printed page - 
            crying out in personal anguish, and making every word and comma his 
            own. 
            Is the film worth watching? 
             
            Well, Gallo's film has many defenders 
            among those who enjoy a certain type of alternative minimalist 
            filmmaking. The critical scores were not bad overall (43% at RT, 49 
            at Metacritic), although the mediocre overall score does not 
            accurate reflect the love-hate polarization of the critiques. Some 
            find it unwatchable, some find it offensive, others call it a 
            masterpiece. 
            Do not count me in that latter group.
             
            I didn't enjoy The Brown Bunny. Yes, 
            there is some emotional payoff in the last five minutes of the film, 
            but I just can't imagine that more than 1% of you could ever make it 
            that far. The first 70% of the film is so slow and so tedious that 
            you'll give up unless you just have to see that blowjob. 
            Oh, yeah, the title. Well, if I get 
            where he's going, the brown bunny he sees in the pet shop is 
            something that looks beautiful and sweet but has a very short 
            life-span. Like love. I suppose that the anticipated death of the 
            bunny foreshadows not only the end of love after a short time, but 
            also the end of Daisy after a short life.  | 
           
         
        
       
  
  
  
      
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Nothing for Saturday and Sunday ... be back in time for the Monday edition. Have 
a good holiday weekend. 
      
     
     
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