In Which You Look Like You’re Losing A Piece of Your Soul

Waitress

by Jessica Skinner

You know you look like you’re losing a piece of your soul each time you go through the greeting, is how a co-worker described my friend’s expression as she repeated her routine explanatory greeting at The Melting Pot.

Dead on balls accurate if you ask me. Some days that’s exactly what it feels like, too.

Like many twenty-somethingers, I have been dabbling in the service industry for a handful of years, alternating between stifling office positions, in an anti-commitment blur as I moved around and settled into the grind here in Austin.

You have to admit, waitressing does present itself as a pretty good match for wanderlust, right? I can take off for whimsical, irresponsible road trips without too much backlash, and I get free food! Given the quality of food at whatever establishment you find yourself, the perks can be kind of awesome. Plus, in contrast to my recent temping position, I don’t have to sit in a stuffy office full of seniors with candy drawers and boring small talk. Count me in!

So then, why is it that waitressing somehow presents itself as a perfect temporary solution to life’s socioeconomic blunders and leaves me feeling so conquered?

No matter how absurd a request you receive from the customer (I’d like the garlic roasted chicken, but without garlic or chicken), and no matter how much slack you catch in return from the chefs in lieu of the costumer, in order to survive you must file it away into ‘experiments in sociology,’ for future reference. If you can’t swim along unaffected, you will sadly find yourself sinking.

Now I fancy myself as somewhat of a normal person, which likely means I’m crazy, but when push comes to shove I’m pretty understanding and can relate to others on the common grounds of the human condition. Or so I thought. I’ve always been told that I am a fairly personable and outgoing individual, and with this inherited skill I get along pretty well, but I’ve recently discovered that socioeconomic rankings swim against the tide of all my previous universal understandings.

I’m not exactly sure what determines this sad occurrence, but to some people, once I present myself in uniform for my waitressing shift, I am no longer a real person, but more likely a descendant of Cinderella who lives only to serve their unrealistic and often nonsensical evil stepmother-esque desires. That is, thankfully, in the boundaries of my position as their waitress. This allows them to force an exchange of the most awkward discourse imaginable at times, or to avoid acknowledging me as much as possible altogether.

Not too long ago I worked a private party catering to oil tycoons and their fancy friends, and felt as though I had unknowingly sold my soul to the devil, trying to justify my temporary self-disgust for the sake of a momentarily inflated income.

It pained me to pour their champagne only to see them proudly raise their glasses to the rising prices of oil, which had met $100 a barrel that morning. I forced my reactive cringe into a smile and hoped the daggers I felt piercing through my eyes came off as more of a friendly sparkle.

“Those fools,” I thought, “their lives are hollow shams,” then I cataloged the night as another experiment from which I’d hopefully gained something, if nothing more than a case of booze.

Sometimes I feel like waitressing must be a lot like working in the longest running play in history. Each night I go through the same basic motions: orders, small talk, and the chaotic dance around in the kitchen. A good night has no re-fires or complaints on food, the guests are relatively nice, normal people, and when the curtain closes I can walk away without fearing the reviews or agonizing about my performance.

The behavior of the audience of course fluctuates, but the common denominator given my current workplace’s ranking as one of the country’s top destination resorts is, and will continue to be, money. The price tag suggests a level of sophistication, which sets the bar of expectations and demeanor one should appropriately assume when interacting with the customer.

While the accolades of the establishment I work for are somewhat highbrow, the general etiquette of the clientèle is not quite up to par with their bankroll. Money, as you know, not only excuses, but also encourages all sorts of eccentric behavior, and suitably the bulk of our women-dominated clientèle get their kicks by patronizing the waitstaff.

For instance, often times their meals have to coincide with their exhaustive spa schedules, and I am expected to test my skills as a magician when they saunter in at 6:45 pm and announce their 7:00 pm appointment. You may not know this, but I am not a skilled magician, nor have I perfected the art of time travel, which never fails to elude my exasperated diner as she is forced to compromise by ordering room service for later in the evening. The horror.

With the emphasis on health comes the freak show of dietary needs the guests pride themselves on like a troop of pedigree dogs. They send the kitchen incessant pages of restrictions to which we must accommodate: gluten free, dairy free, vegan, no salt, no garlic, no taste; and punctuate their needs with claims of allergies in attempt to replace our annoyance with fear or respect.

We have no choice but to dutifully entertain their diet, which only encourages their infantile behavior, then I, their Cinderelli, smilingly place their meal before them, only to receive a commonly used, high-pitched, dismissive “thank you,” which sounds remarkably like, “fuck you,” as they plunge into their dinner. “Oh, you’re welcome,” I reply, as my snide attempt to stick-it-to-‘em. If they looked at me once, perhaps they would notice the dull distaste in my expression.

They are consumed with themselves. Money provides them a huge platform to share their “worldly” perceptions. They flock together to dine in white robes and clink their wine to advances in modern medicine, but it’s not the cure for AIDS, cancer, or MS, it’s the mommy tuck! Who could blame them? The after affects of childbirth are such an eyesore. With such medical marvels, today’s sophisticated woman shouldn’t have to age gracefully or take pride in her natural self-image. How else can a trophy bride survive?

I’ve learned that eavesdropping can be painful. Someone, please shoot me.

In regards to post-Katrina New Orleans, a couple leveled with me about their earnest concerns about crime in cities, and told me they don’t even worry about locking their doors where they live, and could not imagine living in a city with exposure to all sorts of potential dangers. Their description was out of the pages of National Geographic, as if only animalistic Neanderthals lived in places that advised tiresome security measures such as locking doors.

I usually skirt issues, but it was a slow night and I happen to travel to New Orleans to visit a good friend somewhat frequently, so I tried to communicate as best as possible.

There is little room for overlap, and I’m OK with that. Sometimes my discussions with these specimens make me feel more secure, in that I am of sound mind. A recent ill-advised discussion faced me with the ever popular, “Aren’t you afraid he’s really a Muslim?” Game time. I tell myself to keep smiling and disassociate.

It helped that this particular woman, who was half in the bag, put down her glass to cup her face, as if her gesture counteracted the offensive words she thoughtlessly spewed with no fear of censorship or political correctness. I sighed. She told me that an Obama / Clinton ticket is one of her biggest fears.

I don’t know if I’ll ever grow used to the disgusting underbelly, but it does provide for a good laugh on occasion. You just have to take it lightly. And honestly, I get a kick out of the recognizable fact that most of these women exhibit manners more appropriate of someone dining at Medieval Times. Go figure.

At the end of the day, these guys had it right all along:

Cheeseburger, Cheeseburger, Pepsi

Jessica Skinner is a contributor to This Recording. She lives in Austin, Texas. Her blog is here. This is her first appearance in these pages.

SONGS YOU CAN ENJOY ON YOUR FEET

“Desperation Made A Fool of Me” – Belle & Sebastian (mp3)

“Cape Canaveral” – Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band (mp3)

“Tip Your Way” – The Felice Brothers (mp3)

“Soul Suckin’ Jerk” – Beck (mp3)

“Nicotine & Gravy” – Beck (mp3)

“Going On” – Gnarls Barkley (mp3)

“Work Part II” – Gang Starr (mp3)

“I’m Good, I’m Gone” – Lykke Li (mp3)

PREVIOUSLY ON THIS RECORDING

Insane movie projects that are exciting us.

A morality play that This Recording can get behind.

Molly’s Shia posts have aged like whine, here and here.

In Which I Am Not In Love But I’m Open To Persuasion

Our love for the one known as Jennifer Beals knows no bounds. Read of our dalliances with The L Word here and here. Ms. Beals’ favorite photography books follow.

This Time With A Little Dedication

Robert J. Hughes:

Actress Jennifer Beals first rose to stardom while she was a student at Yale and appeared in the 1983 hit movie Flashdance, playing a welder by day and an exotic dancer by night. She now plays a driven art department dean in Showtime’s The L Word, which has just begun its fifth season.

In real life, Ms. Beals also has a keen interest in art, particularly photography. She says, however, that due to the demands of raising her 2-year-old daughter she doesn’t practice that craft as much as she did in the past, when she “photographed every day.” Here, she lists five books of photography she admires.

‘The Family of Man,’ by Edward Steichen and Carl Sandburg

The book was tied to a 1955 exhibition at New York’s Museum of Modern Art.

“I first saw this book when I was a little girl,” Ms. Beals says. “It creates the cycle of humanity starting with birth, chronicles the good and the great and the not-so-great, the difficult and universal elements of what it is to be human.”

[Looking at Photographs]

‘Looking at Photographs: 100 Pictures from the Collection of the Museum of Modern Art,’ by John Szarkowski

“I encountered it in college,” Ms. Beals says. Pictures in this book “made me more aware of how we exist within our environment.”

‘Henri Cartier-Bresson, the Early Work,’ by Peter Galassi

Ms. Beals admires Mr. Cartier-Bresson’s “ability to hold two opposites with the same photograph, of struggle and joy and alienation and belonging,” she says.

“It jibes with me now as an actor, in terms of being interested in paying attention to life.”

[Teenage]

‘Teenage,’ by Joseph Szabo

“This is a great book,” Ms. Beals says.

“It’s this amazing document of what it is to be in high school at that time, for almost anybody.

“Even though it’s from the ’70s to the late ’80s, you recognize people you went to high school with.”

[Coincidences]

‘Coincidences,’ by Sarah Moon

“She started as a fashion photographer, and the images are really dreamlike,” Ms. Beals says.

“There’s a sensation that something just happened and is about to happen, and you’re in that transitional gap. The technique is astounding.”

WITH A LOVER I COULD REALLY MOVE

“Standing at the Threshold” – Deer Tick (mp3)

“Put It Behind You (fFrisco remix)” – Keane (mp3)

YOU TOOK ME DANCING

“The Brute Choir ” – Bonnie Prince Billy (mp3)

“Lonelity (original demo)” – Damien Rice (mp3)

“Ride My Llama” – Neil Young & Crazy Horse (mp3)

PREVIOUSLY ON THIS RECORDING

The great debate.

The web exposes all.

I can’t be your friend unless I pretend.

ten reasons why

In Which There Is A Lady in the Water

Night Is Here

by Alex Carnevale

The Happening

dir. M. Night Shyamalan

99 minutes

The promise of the auteur is that each effort must attempt to top the next. In the cases of Martin Scorcese, Stanley Kubrick and Alfred Hitchcock, we embarked on a viewing of their next project with tremulous anticipation. I can still feel the first monologued moments of Taxi Driver, the sinking feeling of a taxicab ride to Hell in Eyes Wide Shut, following a hottie in Vertigo, and the time that kid put his penis into the apple pie.

Shyamalan burst onto the scene with 1993’s Wide Awake. I still remember the buzz on him, and when I saw The Sixth Sense it was easy to see we were in the hands of a genre-freak. Our contemporary masters of suspense are so lacking that M. Night stood out. He truly knew dread of the unknown, and he was imaginative as well. He also wrote his own material, which made him even more unique.

whatever they’re laughing about, it probably wasn’t that funny

His second Bruce Willis vehicle, Unbreakable, was comic book fun, yet still unrelentingly dark and weird. Despite a strange turn, Unbreakable is accessible, Groundhog Day fare, and it allowed him to show off his talent for humor. Instead of going on to direct subsequent superhero movies as did sell-out peers like Bryan Singer and Sam Raimi, Night started believing his shit actually didn’t stink.

Like David Mamet’s mock-survival spectacle, The Edge, 2002’s Signs was actually a fun Spielberg parody complete with flummoxed Daddy Mel Gibson. Its ending is so magnificently disappointing that I can’t imagine any audience being satisfied by it.

“i really hope this doesn’t ruin our careers”

Night’s cockiness was evident in his 2006 Princess Bride-style fairy tale Lady in the Water. Entirely set in an apartment building in Philadelphia, Lady in the Water held the promise of Night’s imagination even with David O. Russell trappings. LITW is a hysterical script, with a verbal inventiveness and talent for comedy none of his peers can approach. That it was destined to be a colossal bomb is besides the point. It’s Night’s most underrated project, and judged without expectations, it’s an unmitigated triumph.

Unfortunately, the fun ends here.

you guys an oak tree over there just called me a stupid asshole

Forced to admit its premise at the beginning and divulge little more, The Happening is the reverse journey of the tantalizing scary The Village. M. Night’s small masterpiece of a small Pennsylvania town is an ideal Twilight Zone episode.

The Happening documents a airborne virus, possibly originating from the planet itself, that causes people to kill themselves. As a married couple of a verge of a colossal Spitzer, Wahlberg and Zooey have a fun kind of chemistry. The plot heads towards central New Jersey, but it really has nowhere to go.

“i’m sorry i waited this long to tell you this night, but, I really don’t “get” The Village”

You’re resorted to basically turning the heavy-handed metaphor over in your mind. Would plants attack us? They don’t have the facility to. We’ll have to die some other way, like from mediocre scripts or adaptations of anime TV shows.

M. Night’s next project, The Last Airbender, which he didn’t write

The list of people who write and shoot their own material is small – Tarantino when he’s not trying to bang underage women, PTA when he’s not directed his wife in ill-timed stage plays, Woody when he’s not busy dying – so Night stands out. That he’s demanded creative freedom in his quirky ventures is a thing in favor of him. Maybe he just needs a little on-set excitement to get back on track? I hear Rose McGowan is available.

Alex Carnevale is the editor of This Recording.

cheat on your wife night just do it

HEALTH LIFE AND FIRE

“Bucky Done Gun (DJ Marlboro’s Funk Carioca remix)” – M.I.A. (mp3)

“Bucky Done Gun (¥£$ Productions’s remix)” – M.I.A. (mp3)

“Bucky Done Gun (DaVinChe remix)” – M.I.A. (mp3)

“Bucky Done Gun (instrumental)” – M.I.A. (mp3)

“Bucky Done Gun (a capella)” – M.I.A. (mp3)

PREVIOUSLY ON THIS RECORDING

Rachael played where are they now with the cast of Freaks and Geeks. Danish luvs glipsters Hot Chip.

Alex girled out with Michelle Obama, the musical Once, and the weird world that is fashion.

Ready and steady yourself for the return of inimitable priestess Molly Young.

In Which The Time To Sate Our Search Engine Referrals Is Now

You can enjoy our series about pin-ups and photosets here, here, here, here, here, and here.

Inside the Pink Palace of Jayne Mansfield

by Molly Lambert

One of the funniest things about the internet is that no matter how much better it gets, how much more intellectual or culturally valuable, its primary use will always be pornography. I think of the web as an encyclopedia with a dirty magazine shoved inside.

We may get some hits for poetry but our top search term every single day for awhile was Jayne Mansfield. Which leads me to believe that the majority of the internet is dirty old men whose last cultural masturbatory touchstone is Jayne Mansfield. I also imagine that they are using a library computer to search for naked pics of Jayne, and that their bathrobes are flapping open.

With all the focus on Lindsay Lohan’s terrible embarrassing decision to display her freckled mams in New York magazine, she recalls not so much Marilyn Monroe as Mansfield, who became more well known for her publicity stunts than her acting. Jayne may have originated the photographed purposeful nipple slip, though it’s hard to tell where such an ancient trope began.

Marilyn Monroe based her own Gold Digging Blonde screen persona on her favorite actress, Jean Harlow, with aspects of their mutual hero Mae West. Madonna based herself on all of them, and Anna Nicole Smith was the embarrassing drunk girl who eats all the cake at the party.

Jean Harlow, foreshadowing Christina Hendricks

Jayne Mansfield is the real predecessor to today’s media attention hungry harlots like Britney Spears, and Lohan. Or as Emily Gould’s rival pub quiz team called her, “Sad Eyed Lindsay Of The Lohans.”

Jayne with Groucho Marx (as George Schmidlap) in WSSRH

Jayne made two great films with Frank Tashlin, a former Warner Brothers animator who branched out into directing films. The Girl Can’t Help It and Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? channel the manic sight-gag heavy energy of Looney Tunes into live action. And Jayne Mansfield is a human cartoon, a caricature of voluptuousness to make even Sophia Loren jealous.

“Bagascia…“

Mansfield was a Playmate of the Month in Playboy, in February 1955 (preceded by Bettie Page and succeeded by Marilyn Waltz). Mansfield won several beauty contests while living in Texas, including Miss Photoflash, Miss Magnesium Lamp, and Miss Fire Prevention. The one title she turned down was Miss Roquefort Cheese, because it “just didn’t sound right.”

Frequent references have been made to her very high intelligence quotient. Mansfield advertised her I.Q. as 163, spoke five languages, and was a classically trained pianist and violinist, but such intellectual abilities were inconsequential to her career. Mansfield admitted her public didn’t care about her brains. “They’re more interested in 40-21-35,” she said

Jayne married bodybuilder Mickey Hargitay, and they had a daughter, Mariska Hargitay, who stars as on Law & Order: SVU as the totally awesome Detective Olivia Benson. Mariska founded a foundation for sexually abused women and has her own perfume called XO, M.

In 1963 Mansfield became the first mainstream American actress to appear in the nude with a starring role in the film Promises! Promises! Photographs of a naked Mansfield on the set were published in Playboy

In one notorious set of images Mansfield stares at one of her breasts, as does her male secretary and a hair stylist, then grasps it in one hand and lifts it high. The sold-out issue resulted in an obscenity charge for Hugh Hefner which was later dropped.

By the late 1950s, Mansfield began to generate a great deal of negative publicity due to her repeatedly successful attempts to expose her breasts in carefully staged public “accidents.” Her bosom was so much a part of her public persona that talk-show host Jack Paar once welcomed the actress to The Tonight Show by saying, “Here they are, Jayne Mansfield.”

Early in her career, the prominence of her breasts was considered problematic, leading her to be cut from her first professional assignment, an advertising campaign for General Electric, which depicted several young women in bathing suits relaxing around a pool.

Throughout her career, Mansfield was compared to the reigning sex symbol of the period, Marilyn Monroe. Of this comparison, she said, “I don’t know why you people like to compare me to Marilyn or that girl, what’s her name, Kim Novak. Cleavage, of course, helped me a lot to get where I am. I don’t know how they got there.”

Marilyn Monroe as vamp Theda Bara, for Richard Avedon

Jayne Mansfield’s reliance on the racy publicity that had set her path to fame would also prove to be her downfall. Fox did not renew its contract with her in 1962. Even with her film roles drying up she was widely considered to be Monroe’s primary rival in a crowded field of contenders including Mamie Van Doren (whom Mansfield considered her professional nemesis).

Jayne Mansfield being Classy.

Mamie Van Doren is alive (!!) and has a sexy blog (!!!!).

In 2008, at age 77, Van Doren and her husband, Thomas, maintain her popular and controversial web site. Here she sells autographed “nipple prints” and homemade short films starring herself, such as ‘A Girl and Her Banana.’

Classy classy Scarlett J. Boobsalot

Jayne’s ridiculous figure made inevitably her a cartoon of a cartoon, despite her considerable intellect and acting skills. She accepted it and became the living embodiment of the kind of intense pink girliness Julia Allison aspires to, with a similar emphasis on spectacular racks. “I don’t know how they got there!”

Sophia Loren. NSFW. I’m straight but I can’t stop staring. So hot!

Marilyn, Jayne, and Jean all died tragically. Jayne in a car crash, Jean of kidney failure, and Marilyn of an OD.

Jayne’s Heart Shaped Headstone with the engraving “We Live To Love you More Each Day”

Siouxsie & the Banshees wrote a song called Kiss Them For Me about the death of Jayne Mansfield. It alludes to the Cary Grant flop co-starring Jayne as a ditzy bimbo in her last real role. The Siouxsie song is awesomely spooky. The video makes reference to Jayne’s heart shaped pool at her Pink Palace.

Jean Harlow

I think Kenneth Anger put forth the rumor in Hollywood Babylon that Mansfield was decapitated. It’s untrue, as are reports that Jayne was a member of Anton LaVey’s Church Of Satan.

Apparently Jayne’s wig flew off when she was killed, leading to the speculation she’d been beheaded. Two of her kids, including a three year old Mariska, were asleep in the backseat during the accident. Mariska got a zig-zag scar on one side of her head.

Jean Harlow with Anita Loos. Loos is such an ur-Diablo Cody!

I’ve read Anita Loos’s autobiography, A Girl Like I, and it’s hilarious. Loos wrote the 1925 novel Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, which was adapted in several forms. Loos wrote the screenplay for The Women and all kinds of sparklingly witty scripts and prose full of astute observations about gender and class.

Le Diable

Loos totally paved the way for heroes of mine like Amy Heckerling and Nora Ephron. But doesn’t she sort of look like Diablo? The emo haircut? The bottle jokingly poised above the starlet’s head? And gentlemen do prefer redheads, as Jean Harlow and Christina Hendricks show.

Molly Lambert is the managing editor of This Recording.

PLANES OF PAPER

“Paper Planes (Scottie B remix)” – M.I.A. (mp3)

“Paper Planes (Remix for the children by Adrock)” – M.I.A. (mp3)

“Paper Planes (feat. Big Bun and Rich Boy)” – M.I.A. (mp3)

“Paper Planes (DFA remix)” – M.I.A. (mp3)

“Paper Planes (Blagstarr remix)” – M.I.A. (mp3)

PREVIOUSLY ON THIS RECORDING

We are so many.

Molly went in the time machine back to 1997.

Danish went to ye olde remix well.

In Which All Of Our Opinions Are Right

Not-Guilty Pleasures

by Tyler Coates

I’ve gotten into two fights with friends over The Dark Knight in the last week. Basically, I was underwhelmed by the movie: it wasn’t the best thing I’d ever seen, but it wasn’t the worst thing, either. But the film has received near universal acclaim, and, in my experience in the last few days, someone who does not share the overwhelming positive reviews is branded a heretic.

I even had a friend attack me because I gave The Dark Knight and 27 Dresses the same rating (three stars) on Netflix. HOW DARE I COMPARE THE TWO?! Well, consider this: I have given five-star ratings to The Godfather, Magnolia, Fargo, and Gone with the Wind, as well as Finding Nemo, Noises Off!, Little Shop of Horrors, and Gilmore Girls: Season 2.

I want to live in Stars Hollow.

Film criticism is subjective at the literary level, so I have never said with any sort of serious tone that I know everything I’m talking about. And sure, I rip on people who like Garden State and 300 (which are pretty much on the same level of taste in my mind), but hell, I own The Best of Match Game on DVD, so can I really say who has better taste?

I’m against the idea of a “guilty” pleasure in the same sense that I don’t believe anyone can enjoy something ironically. Did you really spend six weeks growing that ‘stache simply as a goof that only you think is funny? Fuck you! I don’t waste time watching movies with Anna Faris because I think I’m hilarious – I’m doing it because I think she’s hilarious.

Will I rent The House Bunny? Absolutely.

The House Bunny was co-written by Karen McCullah Lutz, who also wrote Legally Blonde and Ten Things I Hate About You. She went to my alma mater (Go Dukes!) and co-wrote one of the funniest movies I have ever seen: She’s the Man.

She’s the Man has four big things going for it. There’s Amanda Bynes, who is hilarious (and creepily passes as a boy). And Julie Hagerty plays her mom! And David Cross plays the school principal! And it has a mustache montage!

Dear YouTube Gods: please have someone with a She’s the Man DVD and iMovie upload the mustache montage on the Internets. KTHXBAI.

She’s the Man also serves as a hilarious spoof of teen movies based on Shakespeare plays. This one takes its inspiration from Twelfth Night, one of his top comedies, and takes it as literal as it can: even the high school is named for the village in which the play is set.

OMG it’s FUNNY because she’s a GIRL but she’s NOT DEMURE like a LADY should be!!

I once recommended this movie to a guy, who scoffed at my tastes. And HE included Girls Just Want to Have Fun as one of his favorite movies on his MySpace profile.

You want to know another film that starred an Arrested Development cast member who managed to steal every scene and made a trite romantic comedy actually watchable? Why, the aforementioned three-star epic 27 Dresses, co-starring the delightful Judy Greer!

In 27 Dresses, Judy Greer plays the best friend of Katherine Heigl’s plain Jane. Is it more obnoxious to see a movie with a hot blonde who just can’t make it happen with men, or to see an actress you think is talented and funny resort to playing the sidekick to the boring star? At least Judy got the better jokes, even if she didn’t end up happy with a boyfriend in the end.

While writing all of this I came to a realization that I really like movies about attractive women like Katherine Heigl, Jennifer Aniston, and Jennifer Lopez who FOR SOME REASON can’t seem to find a husband. Where is this fantasy land, and why does Carrie Fisher always show up?

Carrie Fisher: Everywoman’s best friend, particularly Nora Ephron.

Hey! I know what you’re thinking. “Why does Tyler seem to focus only on movies targeted generally to women?” Well, to that I say: I like dumb cock-rock movies as well! Take, for example, the oevure of Will Ferrell.

Anchorman was a great stupid-but-funny movie that I can still enjoy after several viewings. It helps that it takes place in the 70s and I have an affinity for very wide plaid ties (I do love Match Game, after all). And it’s a dude’s movie, but I think we all agree that this girl owes her entire career to this film:

And when I’m not laughing along to cheesy jokes, I’m laughing along to cheesy melodrama.

Critics have called Valley of the Dolls one of the worst movies ever made. The acting is fairly atrocious, and the writing not much better, but it’s one of the quintessential late ’60s Hollywood films, one that surprisingly flirted with taboos and the counterculture. It has one of my favorite lines: “Ted Casablanca is not a fag!” (Duh, he totally is!) And the theme song, sung by Dionne Warwick, has the greatest title.

“Theme from ‘Valley of the Dolls'” – Dionne Warwick (mp3)

I’d even recommend the novel by Jacqueline Susann, which goes further than the film by including blow jobs and lesbians. (Those who like meatier subjects can go straight to Ayn Rand: The Fountainhead is basically Valley of the Dolls, only with architecture instead of Broadway and S&M instead of lesbianism. Oh, and that whole Objectivism thing.)

Ayn Rand in a funny little hat.

Roger Ebert and Russ Meyer one-upped the makers of the original by creating their own wacky, sort-of sequel / sort-of remake Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. It’s as if Ebert and Meyer said to America, “You want lesbians? Why, we’ll give you lesbians!”

Meyer and Ebert heart boobz.

Like any good Russ Meyer film, this one is all jump-cuts and boobies. It’s a bigger cult classic than its predecessor, with more speed, more sex, and even an awesome beheading!

While the original Valley of the Dolls focused primarily on the Broadway world, this one takes place amid the music industry of the early ’70s, which means it has equally and awesomely terrible music. And yes, I do have the soundtrack.

“Find It” – The Carrie Nations (mp3)

“Look On Up At The Bottom” – The Carrie Nations (mp3)

“Sweet Talkin’ Candy Man” – The Carrie Nations (mp3)

“In The Long Run” – The Carrie Nations (mp3)

Read fourfour’s exhaustive appreciation of BVD here.

Oh man, and don’t even get me started on movie musicals:

But even I have standards, and I will not be seeing Mamma Mia!

Finally, here’s something I’m not afraid to admit: I love movies where Southern women sit around and talk. I dunno, I guess it just reminds me of the comfort of home and the parts of my childhood that weren’t so awkward. So, naturally, Steel Magnolias is pretty much the best movie ever.

Well, OK, maybe not the best movie ever. That might have to go to Coal Miner’s Daughter, which I watched daily for two weeks until I had developed a Butcher Holler twang.

Stop makin’ that noise, Doo! You sound like a big ol’ beaaarrr growlin’!

Can a movie that garnered critical acclaim and an Oscar for its lead actress be considered a guilty pleasure? Well, I know if I told people that one of my top ten movies was the Loretta Lynn biopic starring Sissy Spacek and Tommy Lee Jones, they might give me some shit. But, like most movies, it’s worth a viewing; it’s well made, absolutely endearing, and hilarious.

But really, the truth of the matter is that one shouldn’t have to defend his or her movie tastes. People like what they like and, contrary to some people out there, it’s unfair to base someone’s entire personality around what shitty movies they like.

Honestly, I’m more suspect of people who are ashamed of secretly liking The Truth About Cats & Dogs than those who can say with a straight face, “Yeah, I like that movie where the dog pulls Janeane Garofalo around on roller skates. What of it?”

Own your opinions! If you stand your ground, you’re more likely to sound like you know what you’re talking about.

Tyler Coates is the contributing editor of This Recording. You can read more of his writing on his blog and his Tumblr.