Yes, after three lovely seasons, Playing House has been cancelled. After USA took its time announcing season 3 and then burned that season by airing episodes back-to-back over six weeks, it seemed as though this would be the outcome. It stings especially after how personal season 3 was, recreating often word-for-word co-star and co-creator Jessica St. Clair’s real breast cancer treatment journey. And likely knowing this was a big possibility, the writers gave the show a nice ending, replete with drag queens and a happy ending for everyone—even Bird Bones.
The show was a warm joy, a 22-minute hug over a big glass of sauv blanc, a celebration of the best kind of friendship without cruelty or callousness, only support and a multitude of loving jabs. It was a love story, the best, most important love story of female best friends who become sisters. And sisters, have ya heard?
Thanks for three great seasons, Lennon and Jessica. We’ll be there for whatever comes next.
Kelsey McCarter and the 16-year-old sophomore player had sex in her home and in her care over multiple times between Feb. 1, 2015, and Dec. 31, including when she was driving him to his mother’s house to move back in with his family, prosecutors said.
She also once sent him a topless video of herself, prosecutors said.
The boy’s mother said last year the abuse happened while her son and his older brother were living with the McCarters.
If you’re wondering why this kid and his brother were living with the McCarters, the couple took them in in an effort to sort out “behavioral problems”.
Andy Murray wrote an essay, basically about how women and men are equal and women do the same amount of prep work as men in tennis. He’s apparently getting some shit about it, though, because I guess he didn’t advocate enough for women’s equality. — (Celebitchy)
Assignments like these keep being given to children in schools and I can’t understand what is going on in the heads of these teachers! WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK MAKES THEM THINK THIS IS A GOOD IDEA? — (Revelist)
Saturday Night Live returns in 9 days, which means that Dustin is going to have to give up clubbin’ on Saturday nights again. Based on their upcoming slate of guests, it’s totally worth it. (Please let Emily cameo, Kumail!)
I can’t tell if this means that MiMi and BritBrit have never met before or if they ran into each «this was a first time they’ve met in Vegas since they both have shows there»? Reading comprehension isn’t really my strong suit today. Pssst: I feel like it might not be Mariah’s strong suit any day. — (Dlisted)
If this is true and the ’80s ARE back, please Saint Paul Mitchell, let big damn hair be back too! I don’t want to make this allll about me (hahahahaha, yes I do) but I have such good ’80s mall hair and I just want an excuse to wear it that way again! — (GFY)
This is a super cool story! Taika Waititi and his sister (among many others) helped to translate Moana into Maori for the viewers in New Zealand — (NYT)
Equifax. Equifax. GODDAMMIT, EQUIFAX. How can a company in charge of deciding if others are responsible enough to borrow money be this irresponsible — again? — (Yahoo)
Carey Mulligan is a sparkling little gem. And she’s also a beautiful writer. — (LG)
Dustin’s got the finale wrap-up on USA Network’s The Sinner. It’s a little of this, a little of that. (Uproxx)
Look, you’d either love this or hate this. I can’t really imagine there are a whole lot of people who would be indifferent on this flight. — (Mashable)
Happy Birthday Stephen King! Stephen King has been a favorite author of Cannonballers with at least 232 reviews over the past 9 years. Cannonballers have reviewed his short stories, his non fiction thoughts on writing, his long series, and his stand alone novels. What do you wish for the King of Horror on his 70th? (Cannonball Read 9)
I’m amazed it’s taken this long for Hollywood to make a movie about Hedy Lamarr, considering how we might not have some of the cellular, wireless, and bluetooth technology we have today were it not for her. It looks like they’re finally heading that way (sort of) with a miniseries. — (THR)
World Leaders: They’re just like 5-year-olds!
📈 Kim Jong Un calls Trump a mentally deranged U.S. dotard. Searches for 'dotard' are high as a kite. https://t.co/HztPoLSjXi
Do you miss Game of Thrones? Though the show has outpaced the books’ plot, George RR Martin’s books are worthy in their own right. In his reread, Cannonballer ingres77 most appreciated Martin’s upending of fantasy genre conventions. "The central theme of the series is the dichotomy between expectation and reality…The good guys become bad, the bad become good, and everyone ends up inhabiting some hazy gray area. Heroes fail, villains succeed, and the characters lurking in the background take center stage." (Cannonball Read 9)
Everyone knows Game of Thrones is a record-breaking Emmy machine (the series has earned 38 statues, beating out Frasier as the most-won scripted show). But when it comes to individual actors, who’s racked up the most gold? The honor just went to Julia Louis-Dreyfus, who won her seventh Emmy for Veep at this year’s Emmy ceremony, giving her the title of most Emmys won by a single performer for one role. It’s also her eighth total, which means she is tied with Cloris Leachman for most Emmys total.
Leachman, who also has eight awards under her belt, has accumulated statuettes for a variety of projects over the years. Her first win was in 1973 for the TV movie A Brand New Life. She won again for two consecutive years for her role as Phyllis Lindstrom on Mary Tyler Moore, and in 1975 she double-dipped with a second award for outstanding continuing or single performance by a supporting actress in variety or music, for an episode of Cher. In 1984, she won for her performance on the Screen Actors Guild 50th Anniversary Celebration, and four years later she won for a guest role on Promised Land. Her last two awards were also for guest roles, both on Malcolm in the Middle in 2002 and 2006, respectively.
Julia Louis-Dreyfus has won best comedy actress seven times, and her supporting award for Seinfeld brings her total to eight (not counting a 2015 award for executive producing Veep). Not only did she take the title for most wins in the category, most wins for a single role, she also has the most consecutive wins.
The billboards sit on a back road nobody really uses anymore, on account of the highway, and the guy at the advertising company says they’ve been blank since 1986 («That was Huggies»). So he’s willing to make the deal she’s asking for, all three of them for a year, even after he sees the messages, which are something like an anti-cop Burma Shave campaign: «RAPED WHILE DYING / AND STILL NO ARRESTS / HOW COME, CHIEF WILLOUGHBY?» He just looks up and says, «I’m guessin’ you’re Angela Hayes’ mother?»
He guesses right. Her name is Mildred Hayes, she’s played by Frances McDormand, and she’s the focal point of Martin McDonagh’s Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, but she’s not the «main character.» Much like McDonagh’s previous picture, Seven Psychopaths, this is a packed ensemble piece, and like that film, it features important roles for Woody Harrelson, Sam Rockwell, and Abbie Cornish. (I’m assuming Colin Farrell was off making a movie with Nicole Kidman.) Harrelson is the small-town police chief Mildred name-checks on billboard number three, who’s dealing not only with this unsolved case and the publicity around the billboards, but a terminal diagnosis of pancreatic cancer; Cornish is his understanding wife; and Rockwell is a hot-headed deputy with a reputation for brutalizing black suspects («There was no… real evidence to support that,» the chief shrugs).
How these characters interact, and how their journeys connect and bounce off each other, is one of the many pleasures of McDonagh’s screenplay, so I’ll leave them unmentioned. Suffice it to say that no one is as simple, in motivation or in action, as they initially seem — such is life — and the ways in which the writer/director keeps repositioning these people, and letting them motivate each other’s better nature, is a welcome oasis of warmth in what could’ve easily been a sneer-fest.
In just three films (and a great many more plays), McDonagh has crafted a sui generis style, borne out of the marvelous musicality of his dialogue and the richness of his characters — and, thus, the superb actors they draw. McDormand is new to his stock company, but fits in as comfortably there as she does in the Coens’; the first thing we see after the title is the simple image of Frances McDormand thinking, one more exhilarating than any Marvel hero taking flight. She brilliantly crafts a portrait of furious grief, and of a woman who is just un-fuck-with-able; witness her response to the chief asking why she still put up the billboards if she knew he was sick («Well, they wouldn’t be as effective after you croak, right?») or the wordless, withering stare she gives her ex-husband’s new 19-year-old girlfriend when she says, well, pretty much any time she says anything.
She also faces off with John Hawkes and shares several scenes with Peter Dinklage, and just when you think this thing can’t possibly pack in any more of your favorite character actors, Clarke freaking Peters shows up. Harrelson does the kind of aging, affable good ol’ boy that he does so well, it’s tempting to take him for granted — but he’s playing some tricky notes here, and merely making them look easy. And, as per usual, Rockwell’s performance is a monster, easily conveying the surface of bravado and bullshit typical of this kind of guy, yet revealing the decent person who’s still somewhere underneath, if he can be bothered to dig him out.
But the most impressive element of Three Billboards — and, frankly, of all McDonagh’s work — is his peerless ability to mix profanely dark comedy with honest humanity. There’s an early scene where Mildred and Chief Willoughby are going at each other full-bore, and then he unexpectedly and rather embarrassingly coughs up blood on her. He immediately apologizes, profusely explaining that he didn’t mean to, and she just as quickly assures him, «I know, baby.» That tiny moment of shame, met with comfort, is the skeleton key to the whole movie, and the unexpected turns and allegiances of its third act. At the end of the day, McDonagh’s best quality isn’t his inventive profanity (though it’s certainly up there), or his theatrical monologues, or his zig-zag plotting. It’s his underlying faith in people — or, at least, in these particular people, whom he loves enough to draw so well.
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri premiered at the 2017 Toronto International Film Festival.
In the months leading up to it, this fall’s New York Fashion Week saw a minor exodus with designers like Rodarte and Thom Browne decamping to Paris, prompting the New York Times’ Vanessa Friedman to diagnosis the biannual affair with an identity crisis. While the New York shows may be down for the count, NYFW happened to score some major artistic cred this season with the migration of the annual fashion illustration exhibit “Drawing on Style” from London Fashion Week, where it’s been held for the last five years, to New York’s Cheryl Hazan Gallery.
The stateside iteration, which opened this week, highlights three American artists who each define a distinct era of fashion illustration. Kenneth Paul Block, who began his career in the 1950 when fashion editorial was more evenly split between photography and illustration, was the industry’s go-to sketch artist throughout the latter half of the 20th century, serving as chief artist for both Women’s Wear Daily and W Magazine. Bil Donovan and Jason Brooks, both contemporary, represent diverse techniques; Donovan, Dior’s Artist in Residence since 2009 and the first fashion illustrator to hold the role, is known for his classic, gestural illustrations, while Brooks, one of the first fashion illustrators to go digital, creating high-impact campaigns for brands like Lancôme, Chanel and Veuve Cliquot.
While these illustrations may recall a bygone era of editorial, the quaint medium has plenty of upsides to the far more dominant photography, according to curator Connie Gray. “The works that you see here would literally take minutes as opposed to [the] hours or days [it takes to shoot],” she says. “Photography is very much a mirror image of something. Illustration is more about the feeling, the emotion of a look.”
Whether it’s the efficiency of the form or simply the whims of fashion, illustration, says Gray, is coming back in style. “It’s having its time again,” she says. “Of course there is still a lot of photography, but there’s equally beginning to be as much illustration coming back into the pages, which is really exiting.”
“Drawing on Style: Three Masters of Elegance” will be on view until September 10th.
Sadly it seems Aaron Carter’s recent little car accident might not be all that was going on with him this week. Apparently the cops were called to come to Aaron’s house on THREE separate occasions while he was busy tweeting about his wreck. Despite the fact that he says he is (prayer hands) “o.k.,” St. Petersburg PD has a different story. According to the anonymous calls they received, Aaron has allegedly been going around trying to buy a gun and threatening family members.
According to docs obtained by TMZ, someone called St. Petersburg PD in Florida at 11:47 am Tuesday saying Aaron has been trying to buy a gun in the last couple weeks. Cops went to his house, but no one answered the door.
Ooh, didn’t we all know something wasn’t quite right about that “car accident“? This all happened on the same day Aaron was tweeting about his accident; Tuesday, September 5. The police visited Aaron a second time a couple of hours later and found him at home.
Call number two, according to TMZ:
They returned at 2:12 pm after another caller said Aaron needed a psychiatric evaluation because he refused medical attention after a car accident. Police discovered Aaron had indeed totaled his BMW, and broke his nose, but was otherwise fine.
I can only think of one reason to refuse medical treatment immediately following an accident, and it has nothing to do with a fear of needles. Aaron adamantly denied any wrongdoing when he was arrested on DUI charges in July claiming he had a prescription for the pot and besides, it wasn’t him, it was the one armed man.
TMZ, take it away with call number three:
The third incident came at 4:18 am Wednesday, when the caller said Aaron was threatening to harm family and others. Cops showed up, knocked on the door but someone shut off a light and closed the blinds.
Did they send him a DM on Twitter? Because I think that’s the only way he communicates. Aaron’s been very active since these visits from police. He hasn’t been sleeping much, but he has been live tweeting himself tinkering around with his computer, free-styling (“They knock on the door, they ask about me, they wonderin’ what, TMZ?“), and looking for a special someone (“Ride or die, where you at? Cuz you aint on, the internet”).
He’s also been playing Zelda, eating frozen TV dinners, and drinking milk straight from the carton. Can someone step in and help Aaron out? Because drinking milk like that might be one of his worst offenses to date.
You don’t realize you’re sinking into a depression. At least, I don’t. I just think I’m tired or that I’m overreacting to work insanity. I worry about money and everything else before escaping into something mindless. Then one day I wake up and I feel nothing.
I’m just empty inside, which has the bonus of relieving my panic and anxiety disorder, but also? Empty and all.
I decided to watch a movie on Amazon Prime and was surprised that all seven of the Saw movies are available. I watched two that night, two the next night, and two last night. I’m watching the seventh tonight. It began as wanting to revisit a movie that I hadn’t seen in awhile. Say what you will about the sequels, but the first Saw is damned inspired. I remember thinking that it was original, as much as horror can be, and that the twist at the end was terrifying.
The sequels were all painted with the torture porn brush, but they aren’t quite as brutal as advertised until you get to parts V and VI. Those have some truly disgusting kills, with no camera work to hide the gore. Luckily I feel nothing right now, so those do nothing for or to me. Instead I’m finding myself focusing on the core of the films: Jigsaw’s philosophies on life and how you treat others.
It seems at first that this guy is infuriated to have cancer and he wants to punish healthy people for not appreciating their lack of cancer. As the series unfolds, loops around, and slides under itself, it becomes clear that Jigsaw/John Kramer sees himself as an enigmatic leader of sorts. Obviously he has disciples that are following his teachings and learning to carry on his life’s work. He also thinks that he is helping the people he forces into traps by making allowing them to be reborn with a newfound gratitude for their lives.
It’s insane, I know. But also? Shouldn’t people understand how their behavior affects other people? One film in the series targets the insurance company executive and his underlings for playing God with people’s lives via policy cancellations and denial of coverage benefits. Another takes people who followed the lead of a shady real estate developer to burn down a building that had people living in it just so they could make money with permits, new developments, and so one could be bribed to hide the evidence. These people are blights on society, it’s true.
The Saw franchise allows you to see some form of justice done to those that act without regard for others. This justice is as flawed as can be and problematic at best, but the catharsis we are denied currently is at least very closely matched by watching it. We don’t have people making the best use of their lives right now. They are destroying themselves and others in an attempt to control their place in a country governed by a coward that would rather line his pockets than lift us up. Justice is slow. It is meticulous and it is often not as satisfying as seeing a rapist stab out his eyes to save his own pathetic life.
It’s just a way to put reality away and revel in the moment of satisfaction you may glean from seeing someone triumph over their trap or fall victim to it. It’s cleaner and less hopeless somehow and I’m sorry I find solace in it right now.
The story of Wade Seago popping a cap into a wild hog’s ass is sweeping across the country thanks to TV stations who are posting this on Facebook as if it happened in their backyard, which then fuels the locals that follow that station’s account, which then leads to people clicking, asking which neighborhood this happened in and then a gun debate on Facebook. You know, the usual.
Anyway, the story that everyone is ignoring is that Seago’s a Bama fan.
Enter Busted Coverage.
That’s just the kind of detail we thrive on. It’s the kind of detail that can lead to dozens of RTs. This is the first thing I look at when stories come out of Alabama. Which school does the guy root for? Wade’s Roll Tide all the way.
Wild hogs aren’t unusual in rural south Alabama, but Wade Seago says he’d never seen anything like the 820-pound animal he shot and killed in his front yard. Seago tells al.com that he and his daughter spotted the massive hog in their yard in Samson after the family’s pet Schnauzer started barking.
Feral hogs cause millions of dollars in damage annually, and Seago thought it could harm the family pet. So he got his .38-caliber handgun and took aim. Seago says it took three shots to drop the hog, which he weighed on scales at a peanut company.
Wade’s obviously not fuccing around. Got his gun and started blasting. It helps that he’s a hunter.
That hog fucced with the wrong yard this time…BOOOM!
We have an Overlords Slack channel for the daily chit-chat and water-cooler stuff that you don’t get as a writer sitting in front of a blank screen and a blinking cursor. I’m usually so busy with kids that I pop over later in the day and scroll up to see all the interesting things I missed.
The other day I was guffawing at my desk as I read through the food conversation that I missed.
1. Is a hot dog a sandwich? 2. Gravy or no gravy? 3. Team Cake vs. Team Pie 4. What is a ‘Chicago Sunroof’? 5. Nuts or no nuts? 6. Should vegetables be allowed in any dessert? 7. What is a tart? 8. Is cheesecake cake or pie? 9. Is carrot cake the Mike Pence of cakes? 10. Are galettes a real thing? 11. Is crust a journey or a destination? 12. The difference between a calzone and stromboli. 13. Ranking croissants on the pyramid of all baked items. 14. Canned ‘food’. 15. Boxed ‘food’. 16. How food choices reveal your childhood tax bracket. 17. Taco Hell. 18. Does a half-sandwich count as a taco? 19. Is a taco a sandwich? 20. Are burritos and wraps the same thing? 21. Should burritos contain rice? 22. When are you ‘done eating?’ 23. What’s musubi?
Brace yourself, because it’s a journey. And you’ll also see Seth refer to ‘here’ — where he is two times. Once he says ‘here’ is Los Angeles. The next time he says ‘here’ is Boston. But he was in Maine at the time. Drunkard.
Anyway, despite Seth’s involvement, it’s inspired. I love these people so much. How often do you get to work with hilarious, intelligent people that you admire? Like, never. Never. I can’t even begin to explain the amount of joy these wingnuts bring me every day. Hope you all laugh as much as I did.
Note ——> Ignore the small gaps in the transmission. They’re a necessary evil of all my cutting and pasting (and minor editing for clarity).
[WARNING: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU’RE HUNGRY. YOU MAY EXPIRE.]