Waiting For The Kwisatz Haderach

Yesterday, I had a long, meandering conversation with my cousin Ky. This incredibly nerdy talky-talky-time lasted well over three hours. We passed a bottle of honey-kissed whiskey around and just rambled through the night. I didn't record this conversation, so no portions of it will ever pop up in any future podcasts, but that's okay. Sometimes we don't need to worry about that stuff.

Besides, we were far too busy jabbering about nerd shit to care about making podcasts. We talked about George R. R. Martin's A Song Of Ice And Fire series and its HBO counterpart Game Of Thrones. We talked about the decline in serious reading among young people. We talked about Showgirls. Because we almost always talk about Showgirls. I'm not kidding.

If a conversation between us goes on long enough (ten minutes), one of us will eventually mention Paul Verhoeven's misunderstood masterpiece. It's inevitable. Like death and... that other thing. I can't quite remember what that other thing is, but I'm sure it will come to me.

I believe I've already mentioned several times on this blog that I'm a big fan of Showgirls. I'm not a big believer in the "guilty pleasure" concept. As far as I'm concerned, if you enjoy something, then you shouldn't feel ashamed of that. Unless that "something" you like is pedophilia. Then you should drown in shame. And in bricks, as they rain down upon you from a great height. I have to draw a line somwhere, I suppose.

I'm really referring to pop culture. If you enjoy a trashy movie or book, you shouldn't have to apologize for that. It feels like a reductive concept to me. You don't have to shout your love for garbage from the mountaintops, but don't let some dickhead shame you for your own personal taste.

If I had to grade Showgirls objectively, I would give it a score of 1/5, because as a dramatic narrative it is a complete failure. Nothing, and I mean nothing works in this movie. Not a single actor turns in what could be called a "good" performance. Half of the cast simply can't act. The other half clearly doesn't give a flying fuck about the movie in which they're acting. And Elizabeth Berkely is astoundingly terrible.

Her performance is absolutely legendary. She's trying so very hard, and you can see the effort in every moment she spends onscreen. You can see the gears grinding in her head, behind her vacant eyes. She's trying. But every single acting choice she makes is wrong. Bafflingly wrong. No real human being (on their medication) would ever present themselves in such a way in front of other human beings. It's an almost incomprehensible performance.

Unbelievable.

Berkely thought Showgirls would be her ticket to the top. She decided to absolutely lose herself in her starring role in this edgy and controversial film. The team behind Basic Instinct was going to make her a bright, shining star, and people were going to take notice. And she gave Showgirls everything she had. But the unfortunate truth is that she had essentially nothing to offer. Her entire performance is unbelievably wrong-headed.  And nobody ever bothered to tell her.

The only person who knew exactly what they were doing in the whole endeavor was Paul Verhoeven.

Pictured: A fucking genius.

This clever dutch bastard knew the score. He populated a garbage script with the worst possible cast and made something disturbingly transcendent. The film is so completely entertaining in its terribleness that it becomes some kind of twisted masterpiece. This is why I personally give it a score of 5/5. It's perfectly awful and endlessly entertaining.

I love Showgirls and I am not ashamed to admit it. I'm glad I found a kindred spirit in my disturbed cousin who can share my adoration for this monument to trash.

I also came to the realization last night that everything is a prequel to Dune.

Think about it for a moment. Frank Herbert's Dune takes place over 20,000 years in the future. I've never seen a book or film that takes place in a later time period, aside from portions of The Time Machine. But that film take us to the year 802,000 or thereabouts, and who's to say that some irradiated human beings didn't survive the nuclear annihilation of planet Earth from Herbert's Dune saga to create some broken, cannibalistic society in the far-flung future? So The Time Machine does not negate my theory.

Everything is a prequel to Dune.

Citizen Kane? Prequel.

Frankenhooker? Prequel.

Sense And Sensibility? Prequel.

Maximum Overdrive? Prequel.

The Red Shoes? Prequel.

Night Of The Lepus? Fucking prequel.

The entirety of existence is nothing more than a prelude to Dune. It's what everything is leading to. Our destiny is Dune.

This is our future.

Let that sink in for a few moments. I'll wait.

While you wait: Unrelated Smoldering Sexuality.

Now, if your mind hasn't devoured itself after digesting that universe-shattering fact, it's time to unleash some gut-busting podcastery upon your unwitting ears. Yes, I'm aware that I haven't updated this blog since Halloween, but you must be aware by now that I don't care. I've got a life to lead, jackass. I have to watch Showgirls on a consistent basis, and that leaves precious little time for other pursuits.

But because I only mostly don't care, I am delivering to you two, yes, TWO brand-spanking-new podcasts. Yes, this is really happening. But before your excitement reaches a dangerous crescendo, remember what I told you at the conclusion of my previous post. Do you remember? Yeah, it's clip-show time. That means the contents of these two podcasts consist of material I didn't like well enough to submit to the world in a proper podcast format. Leftovers.

To use a Twins analogy, if the previous twelve installments of Lies My Podcast Told Me were the Arnold Schwarzenegger of podcasts, then these two little beauties are the Danny DeVito of podcasts. Since there are two of them, that makes them twins.

Get it? Do ya get it?! Twins?! Because of the... the movie... reference...

Moving on, let me introduce to you Chapter 13 - Bits & Pieces:



And here's Chapter 14 - More Bits & Pieces:



Just click "play" and let the sickening discussions slowly drive you mad. It's better that way.

And remember: we are all nothing more than a prelude to Dune.

Irulan Corrino: The Ultimate Biographer