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Alyssa

By Association

Is there an actress whose reputation has been more affected by who she’s dated in recent years than Evan Rachel Wood? She’s an undeniably talented young women, but her relationship with and engagement to Marilyn Manson, recently ended, were an enormous distraction. I suspect this has more to do with Manson than with Wood—Dita Von Teese became instantly more likable in mass culture, I think, when she divorced him, if only because he seems simultaneously tacky and creepy (although the covers of “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” and “Tainted Love” are both undeniably awesome). All of which is a way of getting around to saying that I think the fact that I like this Frank Miller-directed perfume-commercial trailer (whew, that’s a narrow field to describe) has to do mostly with a resurgence of goodwill I feel towards Wood:

That said, I could kind of see her and Chris Evans making it work in a romance with a sense of humor. Both are on upswings in their overall likability (Evans should break down exactly went into his performance and role as Lucas Lee in Scott Pilgrim and do more of precisely that), they’re young, they’re charming, and they’re arguably underexposed. It’s a premise worth exploring by someone other than a dude who is dabbling in cinema.

Revelations

But I’m left exceedingly cold by the trailer for Fair Game:
The thing is, Joe Wilson’s speaking up against the administration’s claims in the lead-up to the Iraq war is news. The government’s retaliation against Valerie Plame is news. But so much of the manner of the story is about exceedingly petty Washington infighting that’s been rehashed so many times that even I, who edit a website about Washington, am thoroughly sick of it. The movie’s behind the times, and while it may be true that Plame was running a relevant operation that was disrupted by her outing, the action sequences feel like Hollywood gloss, rather than an honest exploration of the political drama involved. It’s as if they couldn’t sex up or make intelligent and piercing the political material they had, so they defaulted to intel cliches.

Cee-Lo’s New Song

(Which, by the way, you really should not listen to sans headphones if you happen to be at work or around people who are sensitive to profanities) really makes me wonder what Motown might have sounded like if Diana Ross was allowed to cuss out someone who really did her wrong:

Less of the mournful, I think, however awesome she made it sound:

Book Club

Alright, folks seem game. Put in your votes for the following suggestions:

-From Hell, Alan Moore
-The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami
-The Name of the Rose, Umberto Eco
-Perdido Street Station, China Mieville

I’ll close voting at the end of the week, and we’ll get started the week after.

Last Week, At The Atlantic

I wrote about why Mystery, Alaska is such a useful template for sports movies. This doesn’t mean I’m abandoning my long-standing fealty to Bull Durham, which is excellent for many (though not all) of the same reasons. But Mystery, Alaska is not a movie that I would have thought about watching in a million years, and yet proved to be highly worth it.

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