-- 'It came together from watching a lot of The O.C. and Laguna Beach,' Messe says with a laugh. 'My wife is a fan of those shows, and I would watch them with her. Every time I would watch those shows, I felt like after the show was over, I would feel a little less satisfied with my life. I would feel my world was more black and white, and I would feel poor and fat. I wanted to reject that,' he continues. 'I feel we're incredibly lucky both as a band and as people, and yet we're still able to fall prey to the way the media romanticizes certain wealth and privilege. For me, it had a way of making me feel bad about my life. The line 'And I'm the one who wants to be with you tonight...,' I'm talking about my wife and my life. That soft-focused consumerism shown on those shows maybe isn't the most healthy thing to aspire to when real life can be pretty sweet and magical.'"
(Note: At the time of publishing this my oldest kid was barely 13.) Are you a parent? Do you love your daughter? Then do not ever take her to see this movie. Ever. For the record, it may be the holidays. True, they release ballet films during the holidays, but "Black Swan" is no "dance movie." Frankly, it's not even a very good thriller. It's a movie about Natalie Portman pretending to dance while looking worried and scared and flapping her arms around while she picks at her skin and toenails until they bleed. And then she picks at her skin so much that you want to run screaming from the theater because it's so creepy and gross that you can barely sit there and take it any longer. Lots of close ups of snipping at skin with nail clippers and scissors. Lots of long shots of Portman pulling off her hangnails until the skin is stripped up and off the fingers while she winces and bleeds into the sink. -- Merry Christmas! Here's your da...
South Coast Repertory's superb revival of "The Weir" is a frothy concoction of both ghost stories and unexpectedly tender tales, each as engaging as they are chilling. And as is true of any eerie yarn contains an unexpected twist that sneaks up on you without warning, a twist leaving a haunting memory in place of the spooky tales preceding it. Such is the stuff of which Conor McPherson's wonderful award-winning play is made, all of it taking place on one forlorn night in a small-town pub in the Irish countryside. On this particularly moody night, when the wind is lashing at the shutters and whistling at a darkened window, a few local characters meander their way into this colorful pub to warm up over a pint and perhaps even share a joke or some lively conversation with a familiar face. As each of the play's colorful characters enter the stage, we discover that there's a very thin line between wh...
