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In the Fall From Grace series we'll expose former cultural icons who have run out of innovative and talent-filled ideas and have parlayed their fame and notoriety in to a money grab cum desperate attempt to hang on to their quickly fading celebrity.
We recap some the CP recipient's glory days and then try to pinpoint exactly when it all went wrong and lay their transgressions out for all to see and end it all with swift and hearty groin chop.
These are the hardest smacks to hand out. It's like seeing an old lover who spurned you and confronting them with all of your pent up feelings of rage and betrayal. This isn't someone you have always wanted to Rochambeau. It's an old friend, a trusted adviser and someone you relied on for entertainment and cultural import. But, now the fire is gone and it's time for retribution.
STING
WHAT HE GOT RIGHT:
Well, let's start at the beginning. The Police are plain and simple a terrific band. During their run, they managed a string of incredible consistency and artistic growth. In just a six year span they released five very strong records, including capping off their discography with a work of brilliance in Synchronicity. They forged a sound that was all their own and continued to grow and develop throughout their career up to their (initial) break-up in 1983.
After the untimely demise of the Police, Sting didn't rest on his laurels. He trudged off in a new direction and kept growing as an artist and songwriter. He recruited a troop of crack jazz musicians and formed a new group and crafted a new sound. The formation of that group was documented in a fantastic film called Bring On The Night, directed by Michael Apted. This new group (with slight lineup changes in between LPs) put out two tremendous records: 1985's Dream Of The Blue Turtles and 1987's Nothing Like The Sun.
WHERE IT WENT WRONG:
To put it simply, The Soul Cages. This is 9 full tracks of Sting channeling Kenny G through his own vocal cords and then finding a way to drop it one more notch down the easy listening ladder. The people at Muzax heard The Soul Cages for the first time and started talking about how they could beef it up to make it less weak for when they sold the instrumental versions of those songs for the speakers in the ladies' underwear section of the K-Mart locations on the eastern seaboard.
Now that he was a new-aged easy listening God, Sting decided to help the masses with more than just the limpid sounds of his schlocky new sonic schtick. He preached to them of the glorious ways of tantra. Now he was Sting, the slightly bearded lord of alto sax solos, Jaguar commercials and sex that went on for half a fucking day but never ended in climax. This was better, he said. The climax was internal and massive. If internal bleeding is bad for you, I can only imagine how rotten the insides of Stang must be.
The records after the Soul Cages just got progressively worse. Lame attempts at Eastern European folk met with Middle Eastern whirling dirvish concoctions that seemed more like the aural version of the menu options at Epcot Center than any real attempt at music. Every Sting album sounded like he was having an "ingasm" whilst he was warbled away over the top of a backing track that seemed more appropriate for a an English lady having her 100th birthday party at Sotheby's auction house than a pop/rock record.
WHERE IT GOES FROM HERE:
Neil Young said it best, "Everybody knows this is nowhere". Sting tried to reunite with the Police and it was a financial boom, but a musical bust. The shows were critically panned and severely over-priced. Plus, his band mates had the same problem they had 30 years ago, he's a dick and they grew quickly tired of spending time with him. If you hadn't had a good (actual/external) orgasm in 20 years, you'd be a prickly bastard too, right? So, the shows seemed much more like a sad reminder of what was than what could still be. What did you expect for your $200 mezzanine seat?
In the Fall From Grace series we'll expose former cultural icons who have run out of innovative and talent-filled ideas and have parlayed their fame and notoriety in to a money grab cum desperate attempt to hang on to their quickly fading celebrity.
We recap some the CP recipient's glory days and then try to pinpoint exactly when it all went wrong and lay their transgressions out for all to see and end it all with swift and hearty groin chop.
These are the hardest smacks to hand out. It's like seeing an old lover who spurned you and confronting them with all of your pent up feelings of rage and betrayal. This isn't someone you have always wanted to Rochambeau. It's an old friend, a trusted adviser and someone you relied on for entertainment and cultural import. But, now the fire is gone and it's time for retribution.
EDDIE MURPHY
WHAT HE GOT RIGHT:
For a few years in the early and mid-1980s, Eddie Murphy had the world by the short ones. From his brazenly glorious run on Saturday Night Live to a pair of stand-up comedy films that shaped an entire generation of comedians to a film career that included highlights like Beverly Hills Cop, 48 Hours and Trading Places he was a comic pioneer and a blitzkrieg of ingenuity, fire and was simultaneously accessible and shocking. Nothing was off limits and nearly all of it was hysterical and groundbreaking.
WHERE IT WENT WRONG:
In 1996, Murphy released The Nutty Professor and from there it was all down hill. Not only was this cinematic abomination not funny, but it helped to set a precedent for two horrific trends in Hollywood: 1. It made it seem like a good financial decision for a producer/director/actor to remake a film based on a bad film that wasn't worth watching the first time around. 2. It reinforced and gave new life to the idea that dressing up as numerous people (and letting all of them fart loudly on camera) in a film was entertaining. For the record, it's not. So, now you know where to look for blame when you get stuck watching one of Tyler Perry's dreadful movies on an airplane or ponder why anyone would think it was a good idea to remake The Stepford Wives or to let Steve Martin take a turn as Inspector Clouseau.
From there, Eddie just ran around cashing checks for cinematic nuggets like Norbit and Meet Dave, anything vaguely Shrek related, and a freaking movie based on an amusement park ride.
WHERE IT GOES FROM HERE:
The list of films on IMDB that Murphy currently has in development only further this god awful trend. They include the following . . .
The Misadventures of Fluffy
This is a quasi-buddy film that comingsoon.net describes as "a road trip film through New York featuring talking animals". So, Lethal Weapon meets Dr. Doolittle?
Beverly Hills Cop IV
Were there story lines and character depths that just never got plumbed in the first three films of this franchise? The first one is great and the second one is watchable for a few minutes, but even Sylvester Stallone thinks another one of these things is unnecessary.
Fantasy Island (Remake of 1970s TV show)
According to cinematical.com, not only is this again a remake of a terrifically awful idea, but Murphy is in talks to play Tattoo. That's right, the little guy who shouts: "De plane! De plane!" during the opening credits. Must be the script for the film version of Diff'rent Strokes wasn't quite ready yet.
The Incredible Shrinking Man
Has no one delivered an original script to Murphy's house in the last 18 months or is he just too lazy to read them, so he only accepts projects where he can watch the original show/movie and say yes from there? If Eddie wants to see some shrinking he should take a look at the dignity and self-respect factors of his body of work.
Untitled Romeo and Juliet Project
This I might have to see. Maybe we can snag Lindsay Lohan to play Juliet and Chris Brown can play Mercutio and they could film a reality show on the set of the film. Oh wait, maybe Eddie can play all the parts by himself and we can get Brett Ratner to direct it. The DiCaprio/Danes version of Shakespeare never seemed so inviting as it does now.
Mr. Murphy we have no choice but to chop you down and pray you stay down long enough to get act your act back together. Try being funny again instead of rich.
As we turn the calendar over to 2010, it seems a good time to reflect on a series of once talented, funny and innovative people who have now twiddled and twaddled their way to sub-mediocrity. With their creative ingenuity behind them, these money grubbers have continued to flabble their bilge water all over the poop deck of American culture so they can keep on earning a paycheck.
We're calling this collection of has-beens the Fall From Grace Series.
Memo to you, Guy Fieri: It is 2010!
Guess who wears bowling shirts, wife beaters and backwards sunglasses on national TV in this futuristic age? Just you, you douche savant.
We all liked Swingers. It was fun - in 1996. But, we all liked Shawshank Redemption, too. That doesn't mean we all went out and got denim big house suits and pet crows to sport while we hosted our cooking shows, did we? And we sure as hell wouldn't do it some 14 years later.
It's obvious you like to travel in style, but are we really supposed to believe that you drive all over the 48 states in that red tank you roll in on during every episode of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dillholes? Sure dude, you just got back from a long weekend in Vegas where you caught the Frank junior and Wayne Newton double bill at the Copa and now you're in Fresno at that cute little pancake house. And if you are putting that many miles on yer dream ride, why the hell don't you put those shades over your eyes instead of the greasy fat roll drooped at the base of your neck?
Finally, we get to the infamous sweat band. Just one on the right arm and halfway up the forearm, too. Do you have some sort of overact pit gland on your man-side that spouts perspiration like a malfunctioning ride at Blizzard Beach? Or, maybe its a sort of protective/retractable sleeve for that twelve pound charm bracelet yer always jangling around on the meat paw you use to pile over-sized burgers and waffles into your craw. Either way, it must come in super handy when you're playing that bitchin' drum set or knocking the 8 ball around that pool table on your wicked sweet tv bachelor pad.
You have to be the only person on television who makes it seem like I can smell you from my living room. It's an oddly sickening combination of Aqua Velva, Paul Mitchell products, maple syrup and naugahyde.
Alright man, I will "check you later". I gotta go now and see if Padma is on the dial somewhere to help me wash your virtual stank off of my telly.
1. Lady Gaga
This broad has a fashion sense that would make Punky Brewster cringe and all the songcraft of a coked-up rave at Barney the Dinosaur's house. Lady Gaga makes Britney Spears look like Madonna.
2. Alex Rodriguez
He ended the season with thousands of accolades because he finally showed up in the playoffs and managed to help the Yankees win their 176th world series. Did we all get amnesia and forget that he began the season by admitting that he was a cheating 'roid noggin' who tested positive and then lied about his illegal drug use to cover it up. Marion Jones just called to say you're a cheat and a liar.
3. Vampires
Give it a rest already. I get it, you have a dental fetish and would love for someone to suck out your internal fluids. Go see a shrink instead of heading out the door to go see New Moon for the 15th time. Besides, aren't there other monster cliches that Hollywood can tromp all over? You know, the undead and Teen Wolves everywhere are feeling a bit left out right now.
4. Sarah Palin
I don't even have any witticisms about this. I would really love it if she could just go away and be a dumbass in the privacy of her own home.
5. TLC (aka: The Learning Channel)
Sure, we managed to get rid of Jon and Kate, but it just keeps getting worse. Shows about little families, little couples, a family comprised of the morbidly obese and a pair of weirdo-zealots who have a new kid like every six weeks or something. It's like a network run by PT Barnum. I can't wait for the fall season when they unveil that albino family living in Butee, Montana. Oh, and I am really jacked about the new show with the conjoined twins in Bakersfield who run a deli/doggy daycare. Just stop it already.
Does this nut job hunt unsuspecting mammalia in between solos at his shows? I don't think he does. But then why the fuck is he wearing camo from head to toe at his concerts? Maybe he thinks a rogue fawn will wander through the lawn area over at the main stage and he can slap a scope on his Les Paul with AK-47 attachment and cream Bambi before he gets to the encore where the crowd is roaring for the sacrifice of a wild boar during the last chorus of High Enough.
When the Nuge isn't rockin' out and layin' meedly-meedlies down for the Redneck masses, he's likely to be filming some flavor of bullshit for reality TV. As if the entertainment landscape weren't already filled to the gunnels with right-wing psychopaths and tired reality show hacks, Uncle Ted gives you both in one convenient package.
From his star turn on VH1's Supergroup with grade-A dillweed Sebastian Bach among others, to his own vehicle Surviving Nugent, Teddy Boy manages to find a way to drop the level of programming even on a network dredging the bottom of the barrel like VH1. And while we're on the subject, how big of an asshole do you have to be when you're in a band with Sebastian Bach and you're the biggest asshole?
As if being a rock icon, TV star and super hunter weren't enough, Mr. Nugent is also quite the political spokesperson. This guy is a real diplomat, too. Take for instance a 2007 comment The Nuge made: “Obama, he’s a piece of shit. I told him to suck on my machine gun. Hey Hillary, You might want to ride one of these into the sunset, you worthless bitch.” And let's remember that Uncle Ted is Straight Edge, so there will be no pawning off those little tirades on too much tequila backstage. Suck on my machine gun, huh? Where do you come up with these?
Finally, let us never forget that Uncle Ted loves the little children and wants to make sure that even as babes in arms they are trained to protect themselves in the face of danger. Danger like, you know, a woodchuck that's loose on the back 40. Check out this video for an example of the Nugent Nursery School.
Nancy Grace is HLN's mouth that roars. From Casey Anthony to the Duke LaCrosse case, and Elizabeth Smart to Anna Nicole. Do you need a talking head that won't let facts get in the way? Then Nancy Grace is your gal.
If Bill O'Reilly had a vagina and a slightly smaller number of brain cells, it's likely you'd get Princess Nancy. Venom, shiny suits, accusations and frosted tips are the order of the day here. The validity of your point is only measured by the volume with which you make it.
Although the N in HLN is supposed to stand for News, Grace doesn't cotton to that old chestnut. In here eyes, the N stands for Namecalling. Rapist. Murderer. Killer. Criminal. News has nothing to do with her approach or her style. It's like a vendetta being played out on TV an hour at a time.
At age 48, Grace gave birth to twins two years ago. There's not anything inherently wrong with 48 year old women giving birth to children, it's just tough to imagine being a kid in that household. One has to believe that even Joan Crawford was a better mother than she's likely to be. Can you envision what it will be like the first time one of those kids gets in trouble at school? The child will immediately be convicted in the court of public opinion. Grace will load up her show with talking heads who "have been assured" of the child's culpability. One sided commentaries will run for weeks on end and eventually the poor kid be driven to go live somewhere in Illinois with Drew Peterson.
