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“Want to go to a Grammy party tonight?” my friend Sarah asked.

I said no. I was fasting and on the the fifth day of the Master Cleanse: a maple syrup, lemon and cayenne pepper concoction, and the only food I was allowed for the duration. Supposedly music stimulates the limbic system and the release of endorphins in the brain to provide feelings of well-being, just like a cheeseburger. It wasn’t working. I was still hungry.

“Come on. It will be fun. You can drink water.”

My friend Sarah works for Journey in the production department and she was only home for a couple of days before going out for months on tour again. A 2005 USA Today opinion poll named Journey the fifth best American rock band in history. I’m thinking that’s the Steve Perry version, and not the guy from youtube one. Where am I going with this? Well, the cast of “Glee” was nominated for a Grammy this year for best pop performance by a duo or group for a Journey song, “Don’t Stop Believin’.” They didn’t win, and I didn’t go to the Grammy party. I tivo’d the show and went to bed.

When another friend, Meghan, saw me the next day, she asked my thoughts on how Arcarde Fire stole the album of the year award from Eminem, Katy Perry and Lady Gaga. Meghan is part of the management team that works with Rush. Rush has been nominated for seven Grammys.




“Whose Arcade Fire?” you wonder? So did I. Apparently I am old. Arcade Fire is an indie band from Canada and not the only upset at the Grammys this year. Jazz bassist and singer Esperanza Spalding scooped the best new artist award out of the Bieb’s waiting arms. You know who else is from Canada? Justin Bieber and Drake.

And me, Smokie Lanark.

So I finally watched settled in on my couch and watched the Grammys, happily munching on sugar free granola and mixed nuts. I felt like I waited too long, like the bloom was off the rose. Awards shows need to be consumed fresh, like ultimate fighting, or… sushi.

Old meets new was fresh though.

I dig on almost every way they combined the old and the new this year: Dylan with Mumford and Sons, the Avett Brothers doing “Maggies Farm” was amazing, and yet I feel like I have to say that because it’s Dylan and if I didn’t say it, you would all know how uncool I really am. This is why I don’t watch the Grammys with music people. Last year I pretended not to like Taylor Swift and Stevie Nicks. But I did. I do. Know who else I love? Dolly Parton. Yep. Because of her giant boobs and her wigs? Probably. But John Mayer, Norah Jones and Keith Urban killed “Jolenne.”




Speaking of over the top (like Dolly) I have to mention Ceelo with Gwyneth and the backup muppets or puppets, or whatever they were. Coincidence that there were Muppets on Top Chef a few days later? Or is it just because everyone in Hollywood has toddlers right now? But I digress…




Now if only they could have put Eminem rapping with Babs or the David Guetta mix of “Evergreen”.




That song makes me uncomfortable. It reminds me of the “chin up” moments in the movies of my childhood, like when Charlotte dies. Or when the Rescuers couldn’t find Penny.



The acoustic version of “Need You Now” mashed up with the tribute to Harold Melvin though, had me verklempt. Who hasn’t been a little drunk and called? Definitely not me. Ahem…




This years Grammys had its largest TV audience in a decade.

Now the Oscars, I watched live. Drinking. With chips. And still it was, meh. No surprises, other than the best supporting actress busting out the “F” word:



We all knew who was going to win and they did. Props to the inclusion of Kirk Douglas though, because you know what the young people like? Old stuff. Things re-imagined. They are drinking gimlets, wearing fedoras, buying vintage and mixing Chanel with Royal Elastics. They are listening to Arcade Fire and Bob Dylan and wearing Rodarte, the label responsible for many of the costumes in Black Swan.

httpv://laist.com/2010/11/29/la-based_rodarte_designs_killer_cos.php

They like to be surprised too. But who was surprised about Natalie Portman’s win, or the King’s Speech, or that The Social Network missing out because it was impossible for anyone to make Mark Zuckerberg likable, even when played by the adorable Jesse Eisenberg?



I saw The Social Network, and The Fighter. Christian Bale personified the idea (from Niki Stevens on The L Word) that you have to play ugly, retarded or a lesbian to win an Oscar. I was grinding my teeth like a crackhead through the whole movie. Hey, they bought you some teeth. And then I was totally thrown by the accent when he accepted, forgetting he was from Wales, and not a crackhead.



Only two of the nominated films? Why? Because now I have the plan B job that all of us have in order to afford the plan A commitment, and it means that I can’t go to the movies, much. You know what my acting coach said? Don’t have a plan B. Be desperate. Live out of your car, like Jewel, and Hilary Swank. I can’t. I have dogs. Sorry Bob.

But I won’t give up, because however long it takes, is how long it takes. David Seidler and Diablo Cody give me hope.



But the ratings, the hosts, the blatant pandering to the “younger, hipper audience” smacked of desperation. Anne Hathaway? Bless her heart for trying so hard. Loved her in every single one of those dresses, but where was the mashup? Hosting the Oscars maybe they should try James Franco and Jack Nicolson… No, James Franco and William Shatner…
NO…
Barbara Striesand…

YES!

Now THAT would entertain…

Let’s be honest. I am a movie whore. I will watch anything. Critically acclaimed or abominably cheesy, I am not a movie snob. I actually just paid money to see 17 Again and I am not ashamed to say I love that little Zach Effron, I want to pinch his cheeks (the ones on his face people, get your minds out of the gutter).

When I try to explain this to some (intellectual?), maybe they roll their eyes and sigh, visibly mourning my vacuity because I have just admitted to loving all of the Bring it On movies (whatever we all wish we could be those girls or bang them at least).

In all actuality I have more contempt for these “serious film critics” because it is not a crime to love to be entertained, be it by Apocalypse Now or Pineapple Express or something by Tyler Perry. And I am convinced that most of these people are closet Kelly Clarkson fans, Radiohead be damned.

I can usually find something redeemable in even the most banal of films. Good or bad movies always seem to have that moment, even if it’s fleeting and there is only one and there is a possibility it appeals to only me.

This is what I’m talking about, that moment in a film when scene and sound come together to create a visceral reaction in your body, a physical thrill, that WOW feeling when you are so totally engaged that the rest of the movie becomes a backdrop to this one moment.

You might not agree with my choices, you might roll your eyes and scoff at the titles but each of these scenes quite literally gave me The Chills.

I will start with a total chick flick because I am a chick and that just makes sense, She’s Having a Baby.  Maybe they weren’t ready to be parents but know that the moment is upon them and we don’t know if mommy or baby will make it and all we want to do is put our arms around Kevin Bacon and tell him everything will be all right.  The song is Kate Bush “This Woman’s Work”. I will admit I cried like a damn baby.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3dnFmwQy04

Almost Famous.  If this is not on your list of top ten movies of all times I almost want to punch you in the junk but whatever, I’m not here to judge. If you have at least seen it you know where this is going, the crew has just physically removed the lead singer of Stillwater (played by Billy Crudup) from an all night house. He is coming down after plunging into the pool from the house’s rooftop, yelling about being a golden god. Did I mention he was like, super high? Not just because he was on the roof, but because he was on copious amounts of acid.  The song is “Tiny Dancer” and everyone on the bus knows the words, therefore everything is going to be all right because who doesn’t love Elton John?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Qn3tel9FWU

Bret Easton Ellis was the leader of an illicit brat pack of eighties literature that included Jay McInerney of Bright Lights, Big City fame. Bret wrote Less Than Zero in a novel writing tutorial during his first year at college in 1983. It was published and he was an instant celebutante. The Rules of Attraction was his second novel and the resulting film is the source of this next clip.  It’s fucking disturbing.  The invisible food service girl has succumbed to the futility of her obsession with the campus bad boy in the worst way possible.  The song is “Without You” by Harry Nilsson.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3GAwi34vHyQ

Okay so maybe you thought Duets was lame, I mean it paired Huey Lewis with Gweneth Paltrow so I get it, but this ending sequence, an acapella version of Free Bird is insane, I could watch it over and over, never mind that the guy is an escaped convict who gets shot right after he finishes the song, that doesn’t make him a bad guy right?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81TZhHWM7yc

Jamie Fox in Collateral.  He’s an innocent cab driver trying to make an extra buck.  A grey haired Tom Cruise is a bad choice as the last fare of the day, but who can refuse an extra couple hundred bucks? The coyotes running across Fairfax are surreal enough but the Audioslave track is genius.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9qG52s3s2s

Who doesn’t want to be a vampire? They are everywhere, Twilight is some kind of insane phenomenon, but I’m talking about Queen of the Damned.

RIP Aaliyah; it is only my wishful thinking that you are still out there, feasting on the flesh of the innocent. Her dance, done to the song System by Chester Bennington is beyond hypnotic, I would have offered her my throat without question.  Who wants to live forever? I do, especially if I am super hot and can dance like that.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGQSOSvssnM&feature=related

Quentin.  What kind of a list would this be without him?  There are so many choices.  He is the king of the soundtrack, of making the movie with the music, or is it the other way around? Who am I to say? I picked this one because when I sit in the front seat I always, and I mean always used to, put at least one foot up on the dash.  Who knew a leg could fly so fast and so far away from the body it used to belong to? Hold Tight is such a great song and who can resist a band by the name of Dave Dee Dozy Beaky Mick and Tich? I mean really?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iI8ciuj3QHg

Hate it or love it, my next article is all Quentin, all the time.  The man is a freaky genius.

The best kind.

Enjoy.

Watching awards shows for me is like watching porn; my running verbal commentary has the potential to ruin the pleasure of the performance. I can’t help but notice things that have nothing to do with the action, like say Elton John and Lady Gaga. I thought about how hard it must be to keep a “Poker Face” sitting across the piano from Mr. “Tiny Dancer” Himself; doesn’t she want to “Just Dance”? I felt her gooseflesh when Elton sang to her “how wonderful life is with Gaga in the world”. For a moment I was speechless, and then I was waylaid by the prospect of Sir Elton John taking a step or two wearing those diamond studded blinders. I had to shut my eyes against the imminent fashion disaster.

“How does she dance in those things?” I marveled when Beyonce got up to perform in six-inch heels, and then she stumbled on the stairs. She must have figured she was safer on the ground, because she ended up on all fours with her hair stuck in her lip-gloss. I bought it. I even pulled a few dollar bills out of my back pocket.

I applauded the Michael Jackson inspired soldier boys behind her for the intro of “If I Were a Boy”. I thought it was a much more fitting acknowledgment to the King of Pop than the disneyfied 3D version of “Earth Song”. Maybe if I’d had the glasses…

I thought the Dave Mathews tribute to fallen band member LeRoi Moore was much more heartfelt and celebratory, and I don’t even like Dave Mathews.

I have to admit I was turned off by the creepy parading of MJ’s kids on stage to accept the lifetime achievement award. It reminded me of his twisted kiss with then wife Lisa Marie Presley at the 1994 MTV Video Music Awards. Both left the bad taste of exploitation in my mouth.

Taylor Swift reminds me of a little baby bird with those skinny little limbs and that off key warble. I don’t care what the industry people say, I love that song about the nerdy girl crush, and I loved that Oliver Twist looking dude rocking out on the banjo.

I wonder if Stevie Nicks was rolling her eyes? Who cares? So Rihanna was a little cringe inducing, Stevie looks and sounds the same as she did thirty years ago. Rock on gold dust woman.

So back to the porn analogy, as tasteless as it may be, even I can shut up and just enjoy it sometimes, which is exactly what I did when Pink stripped down and threw herself into the air like “a fistful of glitter”. Hanging upside down, soaking wet, she didn’t miss a note, but she didn’t take home a Grammy either.

Okay I can’t help myself, but I bet there were a bunch of pissed off people in thousands of dollars of hair and makeup and designer clothes using napkins to absorb stray drops of water and cursing her out. I hope for Pink that was enough of a reward.

Smokie Lanark

Remember when the purchase of an album, cassette tape or CD was an investment in your life? Remember when you only got twenty dollars a week and you had to decide between the music and the new Bonni Bell lip palette or a bootleg copy of Playboy from some kid in your class? And, remember the feeling of absolute desolation when you realized that the only song you even liked on said CD was the one they were looping on the radio every thirty minutes?
 

Enter the movie soundtrack. Like a mix-tape for the masses, it was a way to sample songs and to enjoy them visually as well, like the movie was just an extravagant video montage.
 

When I was twelve I spent the summer in Debbi Nye’s basement, religiously watching Grease. We fought over who got to be Sandy and who got stuck playing Danny. I had a mullet and Debbi had the black stretchy pants, “Tell me about it, stud.” Of course there were a couple of duds. “Hopelessly Devoted”made me gag and Rizzo’s whining about her well deserved reputation didn’t exactly inspire sympathy until much, much later in life. But my love for movie music was cemented that summer.
 

Next came Dirty Dancing. I bought the album. I tried the moves at my sixth grade graduation dance. I got reprimanded by my English teacher. But hey, f!%k it, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” I watched that movie so many times that when I am old and senile I might not remember how to brush my own teeth, but I will be able to sing, “She’s Like The Wind,” verbatim. On the up side Dirty Dancing introduced me to Solomon Burke, who is absolutely amazing. (I saw him at the Hollywood Bowl last summer.) This film made me fall in love with the sounds of “the oldies.” Suddenly, I was raiding my dad’s music collection, looking for other songs by The Ronettes, Bruce Channel, Maurice William and the Zodiacs. In doing so, I discovered Buddy Holly, The Chiffons and the Righteous Brothers.
 

It was because of this foray into my dad’s stash that I recognized Clarence “Frogman” Henry in the bathtub scene of The Lost Boys. Corey Haim soaped up and sang along to “Ain’t Got no Home.” The rest of the music sounded dark and mysterious for a girl who thought Poison was heavy metal and who owned every one of Wham!’s albums. I practiced my slow motion vampire moves in my room to “Cry Little Sister” and the Echo and the Bunnymen version of “People are Strange.” Sleep all day. Party all night. Who wouldn’t want to be a vampire? My skin would probably clear up too. Unfortunately, Clarence didn’t make it onto the soundtrack.
 

Neither did the Rolling Stones version of “Miss Amanda Jones” appear on the soundtrack for Some Kind of Wonderful. (It’s interesting to note that all the lead characters’ names had Stones’ connections; Keith, Watts, and Amanda Jones.) I was bummed that The March Violets version was not as rockin’, but I was enraptured with Flesh for Lulu singing “I Go Crazy.” It became the theme song for every high school fantasy I had, none of which involved me taking the bus.
 

When I turned eighteen I got my first fake ID and the soundtrack for Reservoir Dogs. Success meant getting into a dive bar and belting out “Stuck in the Middle” with Steelers Wheels, or stomping along to “Hooked on a Feeling” with the college kids, “Ooga chucka, ooga chukka.” Super sounds of the seventies continued. The Steven Wright commentary is killer.
 

I have to mention Singles because it was a great movie and it brought Seattle and some kind of grunge to my little Canadian town. I borrowed the CD from a friend and only really ever ended up listening to Paul Westerberg’s poppy tune “Waiting for Somebody.” At the time, I didn’t appreciate the fact that the best bands of the nineties were all there: Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, Mudhoney, Screaming Trees and the Smashing Pumpkins. My bad.

Reality Bites was like Singles, an angst-y coming of age type “Holy shit what do we do now twenty-somethings” looking for love and relevance movie. And, they were doing it to classics like “My Sharona” and the Squeeze’s “Tempted.” Ethan Hawke was greasy and mournful on “I’m Nuthin”. “He says he has a pothead mama, got a cokehead dad.” I love that. Lenny Kravitz, Lisa Loeb, Crowded House and U2 are all there. My personal favorites are “Revival” by Me Phi Me, which sounds like Arrested Development, and “When You Come Back to Me” by World Party, similar to Bowie’s “Young American.” This is the soundtrack I took with me to college.
 

(Sigh) College. I had a stoner roommate, and more nights than I can remember I came home from the library to a house full of pot smoke and Natural Born Killers. We used to call each other Mickey and Mallory. I don’t know if we bought this CD or stole it from someone else’s dorm room. On it Juliet Lewis sings “Born Bad” from her jail cell, acapella, with an intro from Robert Downey Jr. Songs by the Cowboy Junkies, Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen are edited with dialogue making this soundtrack unique and for us, personal. We have now been friends for thirteen years and when I miss him, I put on “Sweet Jane” and call. He hears it and on cue says “The whole World’s coming to an end Mal.” I answer, “I see angels Mickey. They’re comin’ down for us from Heaven…”
 

When I was a kid there was no disposable income. If I wanted something that my mom didn’t think was essential, I had to save my allowance to get it, or just beg and plead and make birthday/Christmas/any gift giving holiday reminder notes to all the grown ups I knew.

Christmas 1982: I was eight years old and looking for anything album-shaped under the tree that might be, could be, please, please, please let it be, the Thriller album from Michael Jackson. I tried not to let myself hope too much that it would be there, as my mother was not interested in all the things that the other kids had. She knew that I knew this, and so when I opened a package that was bigger than a breadbox, she appeared unassuming. Great, more clothes that I needed but didn’t want; definitely not the Sassoon jeans with the hot pink pinstripe I had been coveting at the mall.

No. Better, better than I dared to imagine…inside was Michael, smiling coyly at me from the cover of the Thriller album, cuddling a baby tiger on the inside flap, waiting patiently for me to catch my incredulous breath! I have only owned three albums in my lifetime, all items I dared not pray too hard for least I be disappointed: Olivia Newton John, Twisted Sister (my older brother bought that one), and best of all, Michael Jackson.

Once I had it in my possession, I forgot all about the Cabbage Patch doll my mom probably sucker punched an old lady to procure. Over and over I practiced the moves to Billy Jean in the rec room with my best friend, Kim Savory, who, ironically enough (now that I think about Michael and his later issues) was the closest thing to albino I had ever seen. We made our parents watch the outcome and praise our awkward white girl dance moves like we were the queens of pop. I remember attempting the moon walk at my aunts wedding in front of an eager audience of relatives.

I had the jacket. I found extra things to do for cash when I found the red polyester version of MJ’s red leather zipper jacket at Tower’s department store. (Tower’s was on my way home from middle school and with a working mom I had extra time to kill when class let out.) I tried that jacket on for the last time just before I shoplifted the only thing I have ever stolen: a cherry chap stick. Michael made me think I was a bad-ass, just for that little amount of time to stick it in my backpack and walk out, like I was the king of the world, or at least the king of pop. I ended up telling my mom about the jacket and unwittingly spilling the beans about the theft and was so destroyed by her obvious disappointment that I never stole anything again, but I did save enough for the jacket. I wore it with pride for a year, me and my mullet and my freckles, humming along to “Human Nature” at EI McCulley Elementary.

We watched the premier of the “Thriller” video at Kim’s house. (I didn’t have dibs on evening television at home.) Kim lived seven houses down the street and I was terrified to walk home that night, Vincent Price’s eerie laugh echoing in my ears, drowning out my footsteps in the deserted street. I called my mom before I left to make sure she was watching for me when I arrived. It was one of those “if I’m not home in three and a half minutes, call the Police” kind of moments; scary, but in a good way.

Halloween in Canada means fucking up a perfectly good costume because it is usually so cold in October that you have to wear sweats under your painstakingly prepared disguise. Sometimes it even snows. Years past, this was a major sticking point with my mother. But, in 1983, 1984 and 1985 it was no mas because going out trick or treating as a Thriller Zombie meant shredding my aunt’s hideous bridesmaid dress and smearing mascara on my face. The underclothes complimented the effect. I looked just like the back up dancers in the video, raised from the dead in Sunday’s best and my dad’s long johns. This costume worked for another two or three years when I went as Pat Benetar because “Love is a Battlefield,” and sometimes that means wearing warm weather clothes under your outfit. The only difference was the makeup – now the eye makeup went on the eyes.

I was eight years old when I was blessed enough to find that Thriller album under my tree. Michael Jackson was eleven when he started performing with the Jackson Five. I went to school and made friends, and learned what it meant to fit in. For better or worse I was part of the social hierarchy. Michael Jackson learned how to perform on stage and to give the people, us, what we wanted. Off stage he practiced to perform, preparing for a life in front of millions. I spent a week preparing for my valedictorian speech, given in front of my class and our families and I had diarrhea for a week. He spent a lifetime preparing for the world and we expected him to be just like us.

Think about those moments in the spotlight and the anxiety they created for us. Then, imagine a life spent in those moments. How does a child become an adult when faced with such intense scrutiny? How does he learn to be a man when he becomes a commodity?

Michael, I will miss you and I will mourn your childhood, you sacrificed yourself for us. Thank you.

As sweet and colorful as a snow cone, this delightful happy-sad confection follows an awkward Alaskan teen as she discovers her Yup’ik heritage while rallying her fellow misfits to compete in her school’s Snowstorm Survivor competition. (Synopsis: IMDB)

As a frequently awkward adult I was scared shit-less to host red carpet interviews for the LAFF debut of the feature film Dear Lemon Lima. But, I discovered my inner interviewer with the help of my fellow artists at Film and Music Forum, oh and that guy with the flask full of vodka, dude you rock.

Based on her childhood diary written to an imaginary friend, writer-director Suzi Yoonessi explores the pain of heartache at the age of thirteen and the triumph of finding yourself amidst the carnage.

When I was thirteen I wanted to be a writer for Cosmopolitan magazine. I would be a glamorous columnist living in a New York loft.  I would have luxurious locks and long lashes and I would never get married.  Fast forward a couple of years and all I wanted to be was Sean Lavoy’s girlfriend, so I was thrilled to see the character of Vanessa (played by Savanah Wiltfong) find her way through in Dear Lemon Lima, because frankly, I am still looking. At least I stopped reading those fucking magazines.

I was most impressed with the young actors on the red carpet, self assured in their interviews and proactive in their approach to acting. Each one had a very specific plan for the future and a process to get there.  That blows my mind. Many of us, with mucho talent, (and yes I am including myself as part of my own program) sometimes have no idea how to channel it.  Not only are we responsible for the creative process, but also taking the steps to get it out there.  Savanah had never even acted before.  She simply sent in an audition tape.

Suzi Yoonessi says perseverance is key.  Though she received multiple grants to make this film, she admitted the application process can be discouraging. It was vital to the success of the project that she kept applying until she heard a “yes.”  Meaghan Jette Martin, who plays Megan in the film, told me not to take rejection personally: great advice!  She continued that we can’t control how the other person perceives us. For example, maybe we look like someone’s ex-wife or the mean girl from high school. And the audition is over before it begins.  Perseverance.

The red carpet itself is like high school.  Everyone wants to talk to the same select group of people.  The beauty of Film and Music Forum is that we can learn from anyone in the industry (no matter how recognizeable that face is today) and use that knowledge to further our own process.  So whenever I was asked by a publicist “Do you want to talk to so and so?” my answer was instinctively, “Absolutely. I want to talk to everyone.”