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Kino Korner March 3, 2003
 
Chick Flix For Everyone
By Mark Ames Browse author Email
 
 

This issue the movies just seem to be a-pourin' in to Moscow. While that may be good news for you, the stranded eXhole, it's terrible news for me because it means I have to go slogging through town casing the pirate video kiosks. Most of the movies I reviewed this week are from videos of the filmed-inside-the-theater low-quality variety (the kiosk prodavshitsy term the quality "sredny") so you and I are going to watch completely different versions if you see them on the Big Screen. Keep that in mind when reading these Helpful Reviewz, m'kay!

This issue I am miserable to present to you several movies including 8 Mile, a pair of chick flix, Maid In Manhattan and Two Weeks Notice, and CHICAGO. Until recently I was inviting American womyn to watch chick flix with me, but that started to get boring for all of us -- boring in a way that is just too damn authentic to be considered entertaining -- so I've abandoned that method for another whose results may surprise you.

So, enough of my yackin', it's time for me to start yankin' -- my opinions, that is...

8 MILE

8 Mile

You can't talk about this movie without touching on the whole wigger phenomenon, yet strangely enough, for all the vaguely snide reviews of 8 Mile, no one is willing to discuss the fundamental issue that Eminem raises: white guys who worship black guys, and the lack of reciprocity in that relationship. If white male middle class pain from this unrequited negrophilia could be bottled, that bottle would be labeled "Hurt" and it would taste like salty tears.

I was never a white middle-class negrophile -- maybe that's because when I was nine years old a gang of blacks beat the shit out of me at Candlestick Park after a 49ers game. Not quickly either. I was more like a seal dragged out to sea by a pod of killer whales. My brother was a negrophile -- he later specialized in black American history. He stood and watched me get thrashed that day at Candlestick. Which would serve as a metaphor of some kind, except that I've had plenty of negrophile friends who also had the shit beat out of them by blacks, and non-negrophile white acquaintances who had hardly ever mixed with blacks their whole lives.

My brother thinks that Eminem is shit -- and I'm an admirer. I'm not sure what that proves either because when I first sat down to write this I was going to expound some half-assed theory about Eminem appealing to coastal white middle-class wiggers attracted to his authentic white trash roots and authentic acceptance by "real" niggaz. My brother is from a different generation -- he still gets excited everytime an old Dylan record is re-mastered and re-released -- so he doesn't really count in testing my theory.

So let me put it this way. When I lived in Louisville, Kid Rock was far more popular than Eminem there, as in most of Middle America. Kid Rock ruled where the white trash and those too close to white trash for comfort live. Kid Rock is the hero out there. His shtick is basically classic rock rap -- which is about as close to rap as most Middle Americans want to go. He is the most loathesome dickheaded fraud in pop, the Tatu of mulletheads, but that's another story.

On the coasts and in the big cities, Eminem seemed more popular among crackers. Among my friends there are two camps: the never-been-a-wigger West Coasters thought he was cool mostly because he came from white trash and because he was a genuinely talented rapper, which brought some white pride (proving that even non-wiggers still secretly harbor the same dream as wiggers do: getting accepted by the toughest, blackest blacks); the negrophile East Coasters hated Eminem for reasons I could never quite understand. In part I think it's because white adult-age negrophiles don't like seeing a young white guy succeed so well among blacks. Aging wiggers enjoy nothing more than seeing young wiggers make the same idiotic fools of themselves as they did at that age -- there are a lot of painful memories that go with being a suburban wigger, so you want to see that pain spread around a bit. No pain is greater than the pain of realizing today that in your youthful wigger days you really thought you'd figured out how to be accepted -- you practiced some kind of feigned hardened indifference, you debated hard within yourself how "white" you should be in manner and thought you'd really figured it out when you decided that not trying to be too black was the way to get black people's respect -- yet no matter what policy you adopted, you still came off like an idiot and earned little more than snickers from the brothers you sucked up to. Eminem's success as a rapper singing about white issues hurts -- it shows that it could have been done, that not all is Vanilla Ice and House of Pain. His success makes it all your fault for being the wrong kind of wigger. I mean Eminem is down with Dre! He's a made man, right up there with Snoop Dogg! And not merely by imitating, but by improving, innovating, carving out uncharted territory!


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Ames
Browse author
Email Mark Ames at editor@exile.ru.
 
 
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