The Kentucky Prophet
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There have been white rappers before: Eminem, that guy from House of Pain, David Caruso. There have been overweight rappers before: Heavy D, Big Pun, Dave Eggers, Biz Markie. Never before has there been an overweight white rapper, except Bubba Sparxxx.
Kentucky Prophet is smart and literate and funny enough to, hopefully, appreciate my introduction to our interview. Please look him up here and enjoy.
Where do you live?
I live in Fordsville, Kentucky. It’s a small town about a half hour south of Owensboro, which is the closest “big” city in Kentucky. I live in a trailer with a family member, like all good white rappers.
What is the Hip Hop scene like there?
Fordsville is more of a bluegrass/country town. Every Friday night they have music at the local community center. I’m the only rapper in town, so I have to travel to perform.
What do you think about the East Coast / West Coast wars? Do you think Biggie & Pac will ever stop fighting with each other?
I hate it when talented people die over something stupid as a turf war or something equally insignificant. Biggie & Pac are not fighting anymore. Rather, they are chillin’ in Rap Heaven, where all beefs go to die with the rappers who carried them.
Who inspired you to become a Hip Hop artist?
I would say Public Enemy because their albums inspired me to create, but the real answer is rock music, because it got so awful that I wanted to listen to something else. At least, mainstream rock, which was all I knew at the time. “They got no balls, they got no roots.” - Frank Zappa, 1965.
Do you get a lot of groupies?
I have a few girls who really like me and the music, but no backstage sluts.
What do you like to do with women?
Beyond the typical clinical/glandular stuff any boy likes to do with a girl, I like simple stuff. Spending quality time with someone special, whether that’s going out or staying in and listening to music.
You emphasize your physicality in live performances. Can you describe your body to our readers?
Well, for starters, I have what the British might refer to as a “stylish pot”, or a pot belly. Some people have six-packs, I got the full keg. I’m about 6′2” with medium-length brown hair and hazel eyes. I have legs like tree trunks and arms like cannons. My belly is as pronounced as that of the average nine-months-pregnant woman.
Do you think that you exploit yourself?
The subject of my weight is the elephant in the room, so I think it’s best if I exploit it for laughs rather than some heckler.
Do you think you’d have the level of popularity that you’ve
achieved if you weighed 300 pounds less?
I’d like to think so. There’s a certain amount of entertainment in watching me make a spectacle out of myself, but deep down I think people enjoy the musical and comedic aspects of what I do.
Do you have a favorite Kool Keith line or verse?
The most obvious one is “Keep it real. Represent what? My nuts”. But I also like, “You drive a Dodge truck. I don’t believe you.”
FUCKED UP BEYOND ALL RECOGNITION
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Sam Seder’s first book F.U.B.A.R.: America’s Rightwing Nightmare, was co-written with Stephen Sherrill and details the frightening agenda of the religious right in American politics. 
Sam has been a fixture on Air America Radio since its launch, serving first as co-host with Janeane Garofalo on The Majority Report. He currently hosts Seder on Sundays, providing biting commentary on the Sunday talking head programs.
On the show, you approach topics with a mix of serious and comedic approaches. In F.U.B.A.R., you’ve concentrate primarily on a comedy to address issues.
I think the idea behind that was just that we wanted to be able to reach a larger audience and, frankly, I’ve talked to so many people who have written great books on the subjects we cover in the book. We just felt we were better positioned to write a more comedic version of it. It’s really meant to be a bathroom book - one that you can pick up every time that you go in. That’s where we wrote it. Stephen and I both have Wi-Fi, so we were able to trade our writings while still on the toilet. And frankly, I don’t have the academic background people who write about these things do. Our forte is comedy, so we went with our strength.
The book focuses heavily on the Bush domestic agenda. Do you feel that the coverage of these policies has been eclipsed by the media’s focus on the war?
I think that’s accurate. Much of our foreign policy problems have their roots in the Bush administration’s domestic agenda. I think a lot of what the Bush administration does is really about domestic politics. I don’t even believe that they have any type of real policies, as opposed to political positions. Ron Suskind in his latest book, The Price of Loyalty talks about how Paul O’Neill said he’d never seen an administration so devoid of policy people, as opposed to political operatives. There’s two ways you make policy - one is based on developing solid policy that is oriented towards the problem that the politics are supposed to solve, and the other way you do that is “What is going to help us most in a political sense?” I think this administration operates under the latter.
You have a chapter providing instructions on how to argue with conservative family members and friends. It seems like sometimes it’s possible to persuade them on some issues, but the second they bring up abortion or gay marriage, you hit a brick wall and they won’t budge. Do you think there’s a way to get through and reach these people or are they a lost cause?
I think they’re a lost cause. When it comes to gay marriage, I think that’s just a matter of time. I really don’t think younger people have the same knee-jerk prejudices against gay people that older people do. And you see that just in the change in the polls on gay marriage since 2004.
The latest one shows a 15% shift.
Exactly. In terms of abortion, it’s just the fist step for them. It’s really more about contraception. It’s really more about sex. They’re not convertible because they are, literally, zealots. And I don’t think there’s anything you can do with zealots. I don’t think you can reach these people and, frankly, while they are the electoral strength of the Republican Party, they’re a significant minority in this country. But I think one of the biggest points of the book is to make people who think they are simply marginal and hysterical realize that they control the Republican Party.
Recently in my home state of West Virginia, two prominent Democratic Party leaders allowed the American Family Association to take part in drafting an attempted anti-gay marriage amendment to the state constitution. What do progressives in the South do when members of what’s supposed to be their side adopt rightwing issues?
I think it’s going to take time. In terms of progress, the South as a whole has lagged the West, the Southwest, the Northwest, and the East. The bottom line is while there are people who aren’t as progressive as the mainstream of the Democratic Party, they still at the end of the day, hopefully, provide a majority for Democrats - and they’ll have to deal with the implications of that.
The media often adopts the Republican frame of debate. What do you think is the best way to counter the Republican noise machine?
More books like “F.U.B.A.R.” And I think the Internet is part of it. I haven’t totally given up on the mainstream media, but I don’t have high hopes. People have to get more involved. That’s really why we wrote a more humor-oriented book. When we gave the book to our editor it was like,
“Is all this stuff true?”
“Yeah, that’s the point.”
“Holy shit. That’s scary.”
Reader of the Issue (9)
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Name:
Teeter Alex Sperber
Location:
Right now I live on the Oregon Coast, in the town where The Goonies, the super most important movie of my generation, was filmed. My little house is one block from the giant rock that the pirate ship sails behind in the dramatic final scene. My little house is decorated entirely in a 1970s poo-poo brown color scheme.
Where are you from?
I was born and raised in suburban New Jersey, Exit 109 on the Garden State Parkway (SUP!). I even used to rock the standard procedure hairsprayed “claw” bangs. Believe it!
What’s one of your favorite places there?
I love The Lighthouse. It’s this extra tiny place where you can get the hands down most delicious Italian Ice squeeze cups. My fave flave is creamsicle. A few years ago, my sisters and I designed a totebag for our lil’ accessories company 31 Corn Lane ( HYPERLINK “http://www.31cornlane.com” www.31cornlane.com) that paid total homage to The Lighthouse. We brought them a finished tote as a gift. It said “I Love Squeeze Cups” across the front in giant spazzy lettering. They were psyched, but also thought we were totally weird. Par for the course!
Hobbies?
I love: roller-skating, playing pinball, dancing my butt off, riding my beach cruiser, bird watching and playing tennis against this one concrete wall at my local courts. Another hobby I enjoy very much is visiting David, this super cute, vaguely punk fix-it dude from the neighborhood bike shop. I pretend to have many a complex bike-related need, just so he can know I exist. I can’t be sure how many more bike bells I can buy before dude gets hip to me.
What’s your favorite snack?
Let me blow your mind right now. The best snacks in the nation, into perpetuity and beyond throughout the universe are, e-z as pie, right under your nose, FROZEN BANANAS. I average approximately five to seven of them a day, ideally more, stockpile permitting. No skins, no chocolate, just delicious, delicious sweet frozen banana ice-creamy-style goodness. Seriously, this simple icy treat has bettered my snack patterns for life.
What’s your favorite thing to wear?
My thrift ninja best friend just bought this mind-blowing sweater. I’d say it’s a late 60s number. Puke brown, made by Janice, Junior Styles for Her. It looks like a gingerbread house and has an attached scarf, excessive pockets, micro pom-pom buttons and lettuce edging. This look, combined with my skinny denims and ridiculously oversized sunglasses, has been my style uniform for almost three weeks straight. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m kind of a dirtbag.
What are you looking forward to?
I am looking forward to going to Las Vegas with 31 Corn Lane for the United Trade Show and to the Stitch punk rock craft fair in Austin, TX. I am also really excited about the release of my band, LadybiRdS www.weareladybirds.com new record. Should all be the kewlest and the funnest and the adventure-ist!
Anything else you wanna tell us?
Additionally, I am looking forward to somehow, possibly, fingers crossed, making out with Ben Fee, the most spazztastic, adorable, insane boy of all time ever. He’s such a dudestyle fantasy dreamscape. Google him, he is real! If someone out there could put in a good word for me, that would be great.
Lastly, Bejeezus 4evs!
PAINTING THE TOWN CHEAP
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This is the first in a series of guides of things to do for cheap in towns and cities all over. We’re starting it off with our city. Now it’s your turn to give us the scoop on where you live. Email submit@bejeezuszine.com for details on how to send in your suggestions for having fun on a budget in your town, city, or unincorporated census-designated place.
Louisville, Kentucky has many claims to fame. It’s the home of the Kentucky Derby and the birthplace of Colonel Sanders, Hunter S. Thompson, and the cheeseburger. At times, Louisville gives the feeling of being in a big city, but you don’t have to look far to find the southern charm that the backdrop of Kentucky provides. There are tons of fun things to do in Louisville without spending more money than you make in an hour. Here are a few of our favorites.
Cave Hill Cemetery (701 Baxter Avenue)
If you can’t make it to Paris to visit Jim Morrison’s grave, just follow the solid yellow line from the entrance of Cave Hill to the final resting place of the legend behind 11 secret herbs and spices, Colonel Sanders and his wife Claudia. No matter how evil the corporation that has grown up around his special recipe, this site is a great pilgrimage for any fried chicken and/or bolo tie enthusiast. A life-sized magician statue and a set of three disembodied women’s heads, one of which resembles Loretta Lynn, haunt the same row of graves as Harlan and his wife. Once you’ve tipped your 40 to the Colonel, grab your loaf of day-old bread and follow the solid white line to the duck. Be sure to give a shout out to the peacocks, geese and swans to avoid any hurt feelings. If you’re a person of the spelunking persuasion, you might want to check out the cave by the pond, which the cemetery is named after.
Eastern Cemetery (641 Baxter Avenue)
If Cave Hill is closed and you are jonesin’ to see some tombstones, look next door to the always-open gates of Eastern Cemetery. This place was abandoned several years back for a scandal involving burying bodies on top of bodies (ew!) It has now become a quaint little dog park and the occasional Goth kid hangout. Word on the street is that graves of Satan worshippers can be found there. Follow the road all the way back to find the crematorium that still smells of burning embers. Inside is littered with death certificates and other cemetery paperwork. Enter at your own risk. You could meet a ghost or, even worse, weed smoking, fornicating teens. (double ew!)
The Rabbit (Royal Ave)
Alan wrote about this in our last issue, but it’s worth mentioning again. On Royal Avenue (off Eastern Parkway) stands a rabbit more than ten feet tall, guarding the house and flower gardens of Jane Leis. Many believe the rabbit to be a chainsaw sculpture created by artist Mike McCarthy, however those who are well-versed in scripture believe that the rabbit, like the fossil record, was placed here by Satan in attempt to fool us about the origins of life through so-called “science”.
Tyler Park (1501 Castlewood Avenue)
Louisville has more parks per capita than any other US city, impressive, no? Speaking of impressive, the tunnel at Tyler Park, which was built in 1904, is a magical place, connecting the two sides of this small, but quaint park. The swings are fun, no matter how old you may be, and the dirty fountain can be a refreshing place to cool off. On our most recent visit, a midnight vandal had lodged a metal shopping cart atop the fountain making for a surreal scene. The uncrowded atmosphere of the park makes for a nice getaway, but stay away from the bathrooms (triple-ew!)
Flea Market (3502 S. 7th St)
Take a trip out to 7th Street Road, home of gentlemen’s clubs, liquor stores and the most flea-ridden flea markets around. Once you pass the Classie Lady and the White Collar Stag Bar and Lounge, look on your right for a building with a banner that reads “Oh say does that star spangled banner yet wave…You’re damn right it does!” and you’ve found the flea market. Pull into the gravel parking, but be careful not to run over the four shirtless men playing poker for nickels. You may need to haggle with them later to get that naked Sylvester Stallone doll for .75 cents. As we walked inside, we saw a man in his Sunday best, lying on the bench. He may well have been dead, but we chose not to ruin our high from scoring a plush Smurf in the parking lot for $2 and let “sleeping” dogs lie. You may need your umbrella as you cruise the interior to guard against the leaky roof, but fear not prospector, there’s gold to be found! It’s a good place to pick up a vintage his or hers Schwinn bicycles for $20, a Shirelles record for $2, or an Atari 2600 for $5. All transactions are cash and all prices are negotiable. Most sellers respect a good haggle. If they won’t give you the price you want, don’t hesitate to use the Jedi mind trick.
SHOOTING MOBY DICK AT NIGHT
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For the past few years, Sarah Lyon has been photographing the city’s local fish fast food chain Moby Dick in her native Louisville. Last year at the Zephyr Gallery she exhibited the photographs, taken at night, in the form of light boxes. I’ve known about Sarah’s Moby Dick project for a long time and on two occasions I’ve 
gone out with her to take photographs. One time we stopped to drink beers in a church parking lot in Jeffersontown. When we got to the restaurant she wanted to photograph, the lights went out. But after a twenty-six ounce can of Fosters, taking pictures seemed beside the point. And in a sense these photographs and all the work that Sarah does comes second to her primary interest: adventure. And that’s fine with me. Everything that one creates is a by-product of life and how one chooses to live it. In this context, the Moby Dick pictures take on a special significance as a jumping off point. I’m reminded of the Whaleman’s Chapel that Ishmael visits before shipping out on the Pequod. The preacher climbs up into the pulpit on a ship’s ladder and then pulls it up after him, ready to isolate himself from the world in order to deliver the word of God. Ishmael says, “I could not suspect him of courting notoriety by any mere tricks of the stage. No, thought I, there must be some sober reason for this thing; furthermore it must symbolize something unseen.” What these photographs, displayed in light-boxes, symbolize is unclear. But they were chosen for a reason and their resonance is undeniable. In some ways they appear as advertisements, promising a “Whale of Sandwich”. And in other ways they’re almost votive, like the Moby Dick buried in snow. They are personalized versions of the fast-food behemoth. I’m tempted to take one home and put some candles in front of it and maybe a picture of Jim Morrison. Maybe that’s the idea.
There’s something a little subversive about trying to preserve images of a landscape that is meant to be disposable. These are places that are here for us, but they are not by us. Furthermore the occurrence of corporate espionage has made it impossible to take photographs inside any major retailer, unless one does so surreptitiously. When people ask Sarah what she’s doing when she’s taking photographs, she says, “School project”. It’s best not to admit that you’re an artist if you can avoid it.
That first night, shooting Moby Dick on Dixie Highway, we ate at the restaurant and then drove around for a while, waiting for the place to close. There were some funny things on the menu, the “Muncher” which cost only a dollar and seventy cents and the “1st Mate’s Meal”. It’s easy to feel a sense of empathy for whatever genius created this chain of restaurants. Everything about them suggests some sort of unknown magic. There’s a restaurant by my house whose billboard reads, “No Games, No Prizes, Just More Fish”, is this meant to suggest that inside happy meals are being transformed into catfish fillets or the mysterious “Muncher”? I like to think so.
Driving around Louisville’s South End, Sarah told me about an experience she had had in high school. There was a camera on a light post in the parking lot to keep kids from smoking. One night her friend lassoed it with a rope and dragged it down. When they looked at the camera, they found that it was hollow inside. The kids had been tricked into policing themselves. This is suggestive of so much of the artifice that pervades sub-urban America. It’s not so much that people are powerless over their environment. It’s more that they are coerced into surrendering what power they have.
At Moby Dick, Sarah set up her camera and we stood out in the cold with the traffic whizzing by behind out backs. The restaurant had a white whale on it with an awning on either side. Perched above the whale was a small lighthouse that would surely have come loose if lassoed. Behind the restaurant was a church with a cross in the window made of blue and white lights that looked like televisions. On the other side of us was a defunct miniature golf course. The hut where they used to rent the clubs had been turned into a pawnshop and check-cashing place. In this shifting world of strip malls it was easy to think of documentation as an act of resistance against the a-historical.
Try and imagine what’s behind Wal-Mart or Target and it’s almost scary. These buildings come from nowhere and point to nothing beyond them. Beyond Wal-Mart there may very well be another Wal-Mart waiting to take it’s place. Moby Dick seems inspired and strangely human against the backdrop of these kinds of places. When I asked Sarah why she had started taking these pictures she said, “I don’t remember.” But later she said, “There’s just something about going after Moby Dick. At night they look like spaceships.” I know what she means. It’s nearly impossible to talk about the Moby Dick without lapsing into metaphor. Historically it exists somewhere between the eponymous novel of Herman Melville and the Parliament Funkadelic Mothership.
Of course, for a land locked place like Kentucky, anything having to do with the ocean has a built in appeal. This explains Jimmy Buffet and the tiki-torches we put in our backyards come summertime. But it’s not really the ocean people want; it’s the edge of the ocean. They want to see the point where earth, air and water meat, where life’s possibility finds it’s greatest physical expression. As Melville and Coleridge have expressed, the ocean itself is a dessert. In order for the mariner to continue, she needs to posses a certain faith that there is something out there in the ocean’s indistinguishable vastness or that land will eventually appear on the horizon. Forgive me if I wax poetic for a moment here and say that if the camel is the ship of the dessert than Moby Dick is the camel of the blacktop. On the edge of town, awash in darkness, Sarah and I stood under the great whale and contemplated the possibilities for two castaways such as us. Could we get away with creating something new out of these empty forms in overlooked places? Nobody seemed to be paying attention.
WHICH CAME FIRST, THE REVOLUTION OR THE REVOLT?
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A chicken makes a pleasing sound. It is one of contentment. I did not know this until recently. Most nights these days Carmen and I take a beverage out to the coop to unwind and pass stories of the day. If we run out of drink there is a liquor cabinet in the run. Watching chickens has the same hypnotic effect as gazing into the embers of a fire. Something to do with the head-bobbing back-peddling scratch and watch kind of dance they have going on I suspect. That and the gentle cluck and brrrocking they do.
When I tell people that I have chickens their first response is often, “Is that legal?” Do you find that as strange as I do? I want to answer them, “No. It’s entirely illegal and I expect I’ll be off to Abu Ghurayb any day now to wear panties on my head.” but the truth is it isn’t illegal. It is regulated however. Where I live I may only have six chickens and only one of them can be a crowing bird. Furthermore, if the crowing bird is deemed “a nuisance animal” his ass would be soup. Literally.
Here is the rub – chickens are regulated as if they are a danger to society while things far more dangerous are entirely ignored. I may, for example, legally own seven gas-guzzling mega vehicles, each spewing metric tons of carbon into the atmosphere daily, but housing seven hens puts me squarely outside of the law. Aside from the fact that I would often rather be squarely outside the law than squarely in it, this chaps my loins. We have become a society that has encouraged the majority of our citizens to legally divorce themselves from their food supply. I suspect for “irreconcilable differences” but that is my argument for husbanding chickens.
We live at a moment when the word “security” is bandied about like a pennant at a homecoming football game. And while we all rally round the security flag we simultaneously behave in a most insecure manner. We have been sold a false bill of goods when it comes to security. It has been marketed to us like a commodity that you just can’t buy enough of. Let’s look at two eggs. A good egg and a bad egg. A good egg is one that was produced at an industrial chicken farm releasing tons of toxic waste into our water supply and fouling our air with the foul smell of fowl. But it’s a nice white egg that has passed through an inspection process that guarantees that it is pure and wholesome. How do we know this? Government inspectors answering to legislators that answer to our cleverest corporate business executives insure us “it is so!” Now the bad egg. The pedigree of the bad egg is suspect. The chicken that laid that egg has not been penned up all day. It has been running around doing who knows what. Perhaps it has been comforting evil-doers with its head-bobbing and clucking. It may have eaten a bug. That’s just gross. The good egg chicken eats a carefully prescribed and government/industry-approved diet of just the right amount of protein, gross fiber and a carefully concocted cocktail of steroids and antibiotics. What could be better than that?
Food security is knowing the chicken that laid your omelet. It’s knowing the farmer that didn’t spray your kale. It’s knowing that in a pinch your yard will sustain you. It’s knowing that if there is no diesel fuel to get your food to you that you can still peddle to get your food. In WWI there were victory gardens. It was patriotic to provide for yourself. Today, growing a garden is suspicious behavior. If some of the food that reaches your plastic plate hasn’t passed over a scanner and been recorded on your BoxStore scanner card account how can the government be sure you aren’t using that food to do something insidious and downright ugly. No wonder the Patriot Act calls for grocery chains to turn over your FunMeal purchase records if asked. By the way, did you know that if you mix Smakin’ Loops with Jolly CowPokes and Nukey Corn Puffers and then pour Cheezy Cherry Sodalicious over it, the mixture generates enough heat to melt steel? I saw it on MeTube. Think what “one of those people” might do to disrupt the Bridges Project if they knew that.
But back to chickens and why I have them. I have chickens because I want to be as independent as I can when it comes to my food. I have chickens because without urban chicken farmers, the next time draft wording for an ordinance limiting them comes before the Louisville MetroCouncil there will be no champions to crow against it. I have chickens because their shit is like gold when it comes to creating good soil. I have chickens because they are a pet with value. I have chickens because I want to know how it feels to kill and eat something I have raised instead of farming that chore out to others. I have chickens because it is, in some small way, a radical act of defiance against the machine that feeds us. I have chickens because I want to know what my ancestors knew. I have chickens because the kids in my neighborhood love them. I have chickens because they are more entertaining than TV and cracked corn is cheaper than coal. I have chickens because they take something I throw away and turn it into food I can eat. I have chickens because I can. May it always be so.
I ask that you consider chickens in your backyard too. Join the revolution. Next issue of Bejeezus I will share the things I have learned about building a coop and keeping chickens. Not that I’m any kind of expert.
I will end now by telling you that I have plans. I am getting a seventh chicken. I trust you good Bejeezus folks will hold this in confidence. If you don’t … I hear they serve good eggs in jail.
MAKING CLOTHES THAT FIT AND FLATTER
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Twenty-nine year old Laura Patterson lives in her hometown of Louisville, sewing full-time out of her apartment.
“I’ve been sewing my whole life. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t making things. Mostly I make clothes, but occasionally a stuffed animal or two. I love working with vintage fabrics and knits.”
Laura moved back to Louisville in 2002. Soon after moving back, she met Sue Schofield and Nathan Erickson, owners of Cherry Bomb, a new and vintage clothing store. Sue and Nathan were very encouraging of her talent, and she began making and selling clothes again.“I make clothes that fit and flatter. Having friends and being a real human being, and knowing people are self-conscious about certain parts of their bodies, helps me do this. I want to make things that people really wear and feel comfortable wearing. My sister is my best customer, a lot of times she will request I make particular things for her and then I will make more of those. I keep her in mind when I’m making things—she’s active, busy, not rich and not perfect.”
GIRL CRUSHES ON FILM
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Intense, intimate relations among female friends can sometimes be much deeper and more complicated than a lovers’ union - and capable of turning just as dark. The exalted, overheated love, the complications of ambiguous sexuality and the temptation to lose oneself in the symbiotic with another are all motifs in the girl crush movie. When looking at these films, it’s easy to fixate on sexuality, to explain the relationships away in soft porn fantasies of frustrated homosexual feelings and the release of surrender. But that’s boring. The following films can’t be narrowed down to these Playboy standards and are comfortable with their dream states and intuitive images. The challenge is for the viewer. Can you be as comfortable?
Persona (Ingmar Bergman, 1966)
Bibi Anderson and Liv Ullman blend into one person in this, Ingmar Bergman’s “artiest” movie. A film about the difficulty of true communication, it concerns Elisabet, an actress who refuses to speak, much less perform her craft, and her nurse Alma, who is the mouthpiece of the film. As the women sit alone in their beachfront cottage, their verbal and nonverbal roles evolve, at turns cruel and loving until their fateful communion takes the film out of reality and into a symbolic realm. Bergman cast the two women because they had similar faces and ultimately left Bibi for Liv as Swedish directors do. Persona is so full of iconic images that any student of experimental and/or film school flicks will recognize the famous dream sequences and Sven Nyvist’s cinematography.
Three Women (Robert Altman, 1977)
Inspired by a dream, Robert Altman filmed this movie as a dream state and didn’t know what it meant himself. Shelley Duvall is the vapid Millie, a transplanted Texan, self-centered to the point of being delusional, but whose hurt ego one can sense trying to peek out from beneath the yellow curtains she so cheerfully embraces. Along comes Pinky (Sissy Spacek) as an even weirder Texan, desperately seeking a personality to make her own. The ladies become flatmates and soon build a relationship based on Millie’s understandable annoyance with the awkward Pinky. The movie is turned on its head when Pinky forces her own rebirth as Millie’s second, forcing Millie to shed her vacuity and grow deeper. The two ladies navigate their lives through a surreal California landscape, full of mute painters, hateful twins and gun toting dirt bike riders that look like porno extras. Looking for a good mindfuck? Watch with Persona for a puzzling and unsettling double feature.
Heavenly Creatures (Peter Jackson, 1994)
Based on a true murder case that shook up the idyllic town of Christchurch, New Zealand in the 1950s, Heavenly Creatures is the ultimate girl crush movie. Quiet Pauline encounters the recently transplanted and dramatic Juliet at their Catholic school and soon the two are so immersed in their own fantasy world that they have established their own mythology and saints. Their overheated relationship causes furrowed brows among their parents and the threatened separation of the two leads to the gruesome death of Pauline’s mother. The film’s main strength, besides Peter Jackson’s sure hand, is the portrayal of Pauline and Juliet’s relationship as a beautiful and heady intimacy between two lonely and sick adolescents, tremendously important at that time in life, but ultimately terrible in this case.