You are reveling in CultureWag, the best newsletter in the universe, edited by JD Heyman and written by The Avengers of Talent. We lead the conversation about culture: high, medium and deliciously low. Drop us a line about about any old thing, but especially what you want more of, at jdheyman@culturewag.com “If you aren’t reading the Wag, you’ll never get anywhere when it comes to quantum electrodynamics.” —Richard Feynman Hello Genius, it's Your Weekly Wag!Lazy August with Paul Rudd, Gal Gadot, Matthew Broderick, Doja Cat, and More...
Dear Wags, In the words of our greatest poet, Dame Taylor Swift, August slipped away into a moment in time.'Cause it was never mine. Don’t let this indolent month slip away from you, comrades! You have a few precious weeks to spend half the day in your jim-jams, to splash around in bodies of water, to walk in the woods, to read trash, and to plot what comes next. We want you to retreat to a spa in the Swiss Alps, or a camp in the Adirondacks, or a screened-in porch in Savannah. Mostly, we want you to luxuriate in the glory of You. We understand this isn’t easy as it sounds, but after all you’ve done, isn’t some doing-nothing in order? Take to your ornate daybed for a bit, and let a tawdry world and its nasty feuds slip away. But first, a few distractions for these idle days. All best,
 Yes Dear, We’re Going to Have a Lovely Murder-PooOnly Murders in the Building (Hulu). We’re back on the Upper West Side with Selena Gomez, Martin Short, and Steve Martin, the Three Amigos of Crime Podcasting, who’ve stumbled over another corpse. This one belongs to Sir Paul Rudd, as an obnoxious movie star who richly deserved to be done in. Who did it? Who really cares! Everybody is charming, including Dame Meryl Streep as a struggling actress. — Tess Skeffington  American Horror StoryPainkiller (Netflix). If we place ourselves …between pain and pleasure, we will never have to worry about money again. That’s Wag Supremo Matthew Broderick as a chillingly blank Richard Sackler, peddling OxyContin. We know how that turned out, but this series about opioid crisis exposes how Purdue Pharma ruthlessly blended capitalism and healthcare and destroyed thousands of lives. Terrific Uzo Aduba is an investigator determined to stop the madness. It’s directed by Our Pal, Peter Berg. —Christiane Felscherinow  Ladies NightLadies First: A Story of Women in Hip-Hop (Netflix). Some think that we can't flow/  Subscription DriverHeart of Stone (Netflix). This is the tender story of a young woman’s coming of age. OK, it’s not that at all. Gal Gadot is a super spy who leaps out of things as they explode in service to a shadowy organization called the Charter, which gets its power from some gizmo called the heart, which is swiped by a hacker played by Bollywood megastar Alia Bhatt. Caught up in the middle of this kiss-kiss-bang-bang is Jamie Dornan. These people and the locations they kill one another in are stunning. What more do you need? This Red Notice-style kablooey is how Netflix makes its nut. —Nolan Booth
John O’Hegarty was the scholarly sort — he studied philosophy a Belgium’s University. of Leuven and had a masters in psycho-analytic studies from Trinity College, Dublin. But by turns, he became Ireland’s most prolific bank robber. In I’m Not Here to Hurt You, Intrepid Kevin Doyle tells the story of an exceedingly polite bandit. — Tom Reagan
When you sample Dionne Warwick singing Walk on By, you are going to hook us. Paint the Town Red, the latest from Doja Cat, is about embracing your dark side and to hell with everybody else. I let all that get to my head / I don't care, I paint the town red. It’s good to be wicked, at least when it comes to a summer song. — Suzy Bannion
I’d rather you call instead of texting me/I want to hear your voice/I’m an 80’s baby. Nashville’s Jill Andrews is a wistful mood in 80’s Baby, recalling trips to Blockbuster, listening Deana Carter on her boombox, and playing Mario Kart. She’s a little dazed by all that’s changed, but she has no regrets: I’m not saying we didn’t screw up/But I’m glad that’s when I grew up. Us too.—Veronica Sawyer
When Wag Emeritus William Friedkin died on August 7, obituaries noted that his reputation was made on just two pictures — The French Connection in 1971, and The Exorcist in 1973. But what pictures they were. Friedkin was a lion of the New Hollywood, who injected documentary immediacy into big budget projects. The grit and edginess of Connection—immortalized in one of the greatest chase scenes in film history—carried it to five Oscars, including Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Actor (for Gene Hackman). More importantly, it gave birth to the modern cop movie; its influence touches nearly every crime drama made since. In The Exorcist, Friedkin lifted the horror movie from a swamp of schlock — not only was it a monster hit, it was stunningly well made. And, it remains frightening. The film earned Friedkin another Best Director nomination, but the real measure of The Exorcist’s success is its endurance. A half-century later, it is still driving revenue. Taken together, these films were precursors of Hollywood’s blockbuster era. Friedkin’s magic was in supercharging the genre or B-picture and making it high art—the mode that Lucas, Spielberg, and Scorsese all became famous for. Like their work, his was propelled by a restless camera. Love of moviemaking pours from every frame. Friedkin’s later work was less successful, though the stylish To Live on Die in LA (1985) is a hard little jewel of neo-noir. For us, his virtuosity is encapsulated in an early sequence from The Exorcist, in which Ellen Burstyn walks through Georgetown on Halloween evening. There are no demons, pyrotechnics or pea soup, just a lone woman strolling cobbled streets bathed in rich autumnal light. With help from Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells, Friedkin builds tension in an idyllic cityscape— there are laughing trick-or-treaters, the rumble of a passing motorcycle and a pair of nuns, their habits whipping in the wind. It is gorgeous and somehow deeply scary, and a pure work of art. Its maker was a genius. — Christine MacNeil Questions for us at CultureWag? Please ping intern@culturewag.com, and we’ll get back to you in a jiffy. CultureWag celebrates culture—high, medium, and deliciously low. It’s an essential guide to the mediaverse, cutting through a cluttered landscape and serving up smart, funny recommendations to the most hooked-in audience in the galaxy. If somebody forwarded you this issue, consider it a coveted invitation and RSVP “Subscribe.” You’ll be part of the smartest set in Hollywood, Gstaad, Biarritz, and Phuc Yea in Miami, where the seafood curry is delish. “Each generation imagines itself to be more intelligent than the one that went before it, and Waggier than the one that comes after it.”—George Orwell
You're currently a free subscriber to CultureWag. For the full experience, upgrade your subscription.
|
