Showing posts with label Hulu. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hulu. Show all posts

Saturday, July 16, 2022

Chicken, Cheese, and a Handful of Zzzzzzzzzzzs: Fighting for a Bite of Bob's Burgers



When I heard that The Bob's Burgers Movie was coming to theaters this Memorial Day, I almost broke my pandemic-induced, going-to-the-movies boycott.  Because I do like to see stuff on the big screen, and this just happened to be that unicorn of a movie that hooked both the husband and me.  The wacky misadventures of the struggling, burger-joint-owning Belchers crack us up every Sunday (his favorite character is big cheese Bob; mine is awkward oldest kid Tina).  



We love the offbeat jokes and burger puns (so much so that one Christmas my sister gave us this Bob's Burgers cookbook), and the husband is spot on when it comes to figuring out the names of the guest voice actors.  So, braving the masses to get our buns into those seats seemed worth it.  Nevertheless, I ended up chickening out (and probably, as is usually the case, eating chicken).  But that was okay.  Because The Bob's Burgers Movie started streaming on Hulu this weekend!  The husband and I settled in front of the TV with, not burgers or even chicken, but pizza and got ready to laugh.


So, how was the feature film version of America's favorite carnivorous cartoon?  Well, it's hard to say because for most of it I was asleep!  It was more my fault than Bob's -- Friday nights, after working all week, I usually curl up and collapse.  But the parts I did see seemed less hilarious than the thirty-minute shows we enjoyed.  The husband said that he felt the same, and he stayed awake the whole time.  

Still, maybe I'll give it another try.  On a Sunday.  And with a cheeseburger.     

Sunday, March 6, 2022

The Cat's Me-Wow: Doll Face Head Space


Sneaking that princess figure into my last post made me want to show you more of my dolls.  And no, not the creepy, lace-covered, porcelain kind, although I've got those in my parents' attic.  Just the candy-colored, normal kind that every kid -- and forty-year-old -- has stashed in her playroom-slash-craft room.  

Having Barbie on the brain means prime time to gab about the Hulu original comedy Dollface, which recently debuted Season 2.  For the uninitiated, LA transplant Jules (Kat Dennings) is dumped by her long-term boyfriend, a clueless cad who patronizingly calls her, yes, doll face.  On her own for the first time in years, Jules decides to reconnect with her college besties Madison (Brenda Song) and Stella (Shay Mitchell).  But being a girls' girl instead of a boyfriend girl is more difficult than she anticipates.  As is her dubious gig as a web designer for a lifestyle brand run by you-know-what-on-wheels Celeste (Malin Akerman).  Surrounded by the Allisons at the office -- a trio of mean girl yes women who all go by the same name -- Jules retreats further into her self-effacing shell, her dry wit unappreciated.  That is, until one of the Allisons (Esther Povitsky) breaks away and admits that being in the in crowd isn't all it's cracked up to be.  Suddenly at the center of a hybrid friend group, Jules reevaluates her career and juggles new romantic prospects (Criminal Minds's Matthew Gray Gubler and Katy Keene's Luke Cook), making her feel alive again, far from the plastic doll of her past.  

What's more, she has her cat.  And no, I'm not referring to cozy couch cuddles where Jules pours out her soul to some tabby who'd rather lick itself.  Jules has dream sequences in which her cat morphs into a walking, talking advisor, dropping harsh truths in the voice of the secretary from The Mindy Project (Beth Grant).  This cat lady gone loco, coupled with a beachy, retro theme song and Jules's apathetic-rather-than-perky persona make Dollface more than just another show about a twentysomething trying to figure it out.  It's refreshing to see a heroine who's the antithesis of a go-getter in a world overstuffed with suck-up pick-me's.  Not that Jules doesn't have plenty to learn.  But she grows in her own way, to the beat of her own spirit animal, one well-timed wisecrack at a time.

That said, I look forward to Season 3.  Maybe its feline fever dreams will feature a glitter box of crap decisions.  Or, at the very least, a high stakes hairball brawl.  

Wednesday, November 17, 2021

Pheromones vs. Funerals: Love Finds a Yay

Belt: Marshalls

Shoes: Betsey Johnson, DSW

Dress: B. Darlin, Macy's

Top: Candie's, Kohl's

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Amazon; Orange and striped bangles: Mixit, JCPenney; Green, red, and yellow bangles: B Fabulous

What do you get when you mix Richard Curtis, Mindy Kaling, and a classic '90s rom com?  The Hulu original series Four Weddings and a Funeral, of course!  (Kaling is one of the show's creators but isn't in it.  Far be it from me to cause great but unfulfilled expectations.)  If there's anyone who loves TV more than me, then it's my sister.  So when she told me to check out this 2019 ten-episode comedy inspired by the movie of the same name, I binged it right away.  And it did not disappoint.  

Four Weddings and a Funeral follows four American thirty-something friends living their best lives in London.  Complications, misunderstandings, and that old chestnut honor keep the right couples apart and pair off the wrong ones in a plot that's as engaging as it is funny.  Featuring a diverse cast of characters more layered than the sum of their haircuts, it's at the same time timely and timeless.  The vibe is a little Masterpiece Theater goes clubbing, which means that the fashion's divine.  There's even a reality show within the show that ratchets up the weird factor.  Easter eggs (or should I say valentines?) include a cameo from Andie MacDowell and Love, Actually-style grand gesture posters.  To parrot the British, brilliant!

Speaking of birds, in the spirit of love and many-splendored things, I made this Loco Lovebirds Necklace.  Because -- spoiler alert -- I'm crazy in love with color. :)

Loco Lovebirds Necklace

That said, may life always invite you to four weddings for every funeral.  

And send you four lovebirds for every turkey buzzard.  

Tuesday, May 18, 2021

Shrill Quill, Will Thrill: What Happens When Easton Meets West


Last weekend, I binged the third and final season of the Hulu original comedy Shrill.  Based on journalist Lindy West's memoir of the same name, Shrill follows Annie Easton's (Aidy Bryant) journey as a fat twentysomething journalist jousting for justice.  Now, as I said when I blogged about Big Summer, I'm not and have never been fat and don't pretend to know how fat women feel.  But I am a woman and writer who knows all too well what it's like to be weird.  So, I was on team Annie from go.

When we first meet Annie, she's meek on the outside and enraged on the inside.  Although she's a staff writer at Portland's The Weekly Thorn, she's relegated to writing calendar entries, a gig that stifles her creativity.  She's sleeping with a guy who makes her use the back door so his roommates won't see her.  And everyone from strangers to her own mother urges her to lose weight while feigning concern for her health.  Usually, she shrugs it all off.  But one day she stops being quiet and starts questioning everything (indeed, an early chapter in West's book is called "How to Stop Being Shy in Eighteen Easy Steps").  The angrier Annie gets, the more powerful her writing becomes, earning her a reputation as a voice for the voiceless.  This isn't to say that she doesn't make a boatload of bad and hilarious decisions involving but not limited to vandalism, light stalking, and awkward social encounters.  Still, Bryant brings a kind of I-got-this calm to the crazy, reminding us that Annie's not only smart, sensitive, and talented, but worthy of our respect.  This is just one of the reasons why her many wrecked romances rankle.  I had to remind myself that Shrill isn't a rom com, however much I might want it to be, and that Lindy West's own story didn't exactly wrap with her and some dude riding off into the sunset.  But that's okay.  Because Shrill is about something more important, namely accepting yourself even when -- especially when -- no one else does.  

Along for the Shrill ride are Annie's no-nonsense, Nigerian, gay best friend Fran (Lolly Adefope), on-again-off-again bad news boyfriend Ryan (Luka Jones), narcissistic drama queen boss Gabe (John Cameron Mitchell), laidback but put-upon office husband Amadi (Ian Owens), and kooky coworker Maureen (Joe Firestone), whose Carol Kane energy all but levitates from her manic persona and wild curls.  

Some other stuff to watch for: 

1) Annie's dad, who's played by Daniel Stern, the non-Joe Pesci burglar in Home Alone.  (I knew he looked familiar!) 

2) Portlandia's Fred Armisen and Carrie Brownstein (Season 3).  Armisen cameos as Gabe's long-lost bandmate, and Brownstein directs three episodes.

And that brings us to that tired old thing that people do when they start speeches.  Dictionary.com defines shrill as "betraying some strong emotion or attitude in an exaggerated amount, as antagonism or defensiveness."  And to that I say, betray away. Because emotions aren't meant to be hidden.    

After all, the (quill) pen is mightier than the sword, that early and admittedly questionable line about "jousting for justice" notwithstanding.  

Maybe I should've started with the dictionary bit after all.

Tuesday, September 29, 2020

Social Norms and Self-made Storms: Squeeze in Under the Umbrella

Ordinary People.  Smart People.  Funny People.  Any book or movie title with "people" at the end seems to promise to reveal something disturbing yet profound about the human condition.  And Normal People does it in spades.  When I first heard of the Hulu original series, I wanted to watch it.  And then when I heard it started out as a book, I wanted to read it and then watch it.  So I did.  

Normal People is the story of Connell and Marianne, two high school seniors in the Irish backwater of Sligo who start sleeping together but don't tell anyone.  Connell is popular but poor, and Marianne is rich but an outcast.  Connell's mother cleans Marianne's family's house; that's how Connell and Marianne get to know each other.  Yet, for all their differences, both are very smart -- and very damaged.  For Marianne, being brainy -- and argumentative -- is her identity, a way to be strong and separate herself from the abuse she suffers at the hands of her brother.  For Connell, who's shy, the life of the mind is a source of shame and one that sets him apart from his fellow in-crowders -- except when they want to copy his homework.  Marianne can't care less about being liked, but fitting in means everything to Connell, and he does whatever it takes to protect the fragile equilibrium of his social standing.  It doesn't matter that he doesn't like his friends and can't talk to them the way he talks to Marianne.  His acceptance from them means that he can accept himself.  Still, despite -- or perhaps because of -- her pariah-hood, Marianne mesmerizes him.  She convinces him to apply to the same Dublin college as her and to major in English despite its lack of earning potential because, as she puts is, "it's the only subject you enjoy."  In this way they create their own private world, both real and unreal because no one (except Connell's mom) knows about it.  Which is lovely and passionate and cozy.  Until something happens and it isn't, starting a cycle of heartbreak that may never be broken.  

When Marianne and Connell start college the following fall, they're estranged.  But eventually they run into each other.  And Connell discovers that now it's Marianne who belongs.  Like their classmates, she comes from money and can launch into intellectual debates with fervor and ease.  Connell, on the other hand, has one pair of shoes and trips over his words.  Yet despite all of this and their troubled past, Marianne draws Connell into her circle.  Although she now has the upper hand, she still lets people hurt her.  In a strange way, this gives their relationship balance, and before long, Marianne and Connell find that they're the same as they ever were, two misunderstoods just trying to make their way.      

As time goes on, Connell finds his voice, speaking up in class in an earnest if unpolished way that reveals his love of books.  He also starts writing short stories, although it's years before he lets Marianne read one.  Writing puts him in touch with his real self, but it's painful.  When people ask Marianne if he's really smart, she says that he's the smartest person she knows.  Connell and Marianne are happy in their bubble, best friends and more and closer than ever.  But when summer comes, Connell loses his job and can't pay his rent.  His insecurities about being poor resurface.  Rather than moving in with Marianne and being beholden to her, he slinks home to Sligo where nothing ever changes and he can feel normal again.  Only being normal has gotten harder, and, as Connell soon realizes, going home in the metaphorical sense is no longer an option.  

Normal People is very real and very raw.  It examines socioeconomic disparity, depression, and domestic violence.  There's nothing cute or whimsical about it, and at times that makes it hard to read.  The TV show is the same, so much so that the dialogue mirrors the book to the letter.  This quality, mixed with the timeless allure of doomed romance, makes both the book and the show heartbreaking.  But they need to be this way to deliver their message: life makes it hard to be true to yourself, sometimes even to the point of having the courage to be with the person you love.  The road to peace begins when you value yourself enough to stop being someone you're not.  It's the bleakness of this struggle -- universal to everyone and particular, in this case, to Connell and Marianne -- that allows you to appreciate the sun when it creeps through the clouds in the hopeful albeit ambiguous ending.  This last act suggests that good things are ahead for Connell and Marianne because of the things that they've taught each other.

Because as even the most seemingly sane person will tell you, there's no such thing as being normal.     

Sunday, September 13, 2020

Alternate Universe Curse: Palm Springs King and Kevin

Fancy Fish Necklace

Colorful Cameo Necklace

Dandy Deco Necklace


This weekend, I watched the Hulu original movie Palm Springs, which can be summed up as a weird, nihilistic, West Coast version of Groundhog Day.  It's about a jaded manchild named Niles (a symbolic name if ever there was one) (Andy Samberg) who gets stuck in some mysterious cave while attending a wedding in Palm Springs, and as a result lives that day over and over again.  While trying to hook up with maid of honor Sarah (Cristin Milioti), he accidentally sucks her into the vortex with him.  They relive the day together on repeat, having fun and making bad decisions because, hey, no consequences!  But then Sarah discovers something about the day that she can't live with, and she and Niles must decide whether to remain in the world where time stands still or work to find a way out.  

Now may be a good time to mention that I've always been confused by Palm Springs.  Because it's a desert with a watery word in its name.  Also, when I hear desert I think cacti, not palm trees.  But in a way, this incongruity only makes the oddness of the movie more fitting.  Point to you, Andy Samberg. 

Earlier this week, I watched another movie, Jeff, Who Lives at Home.  It's about another manchild (alert Pee-wee Herman; "manchild" is the word of the day, if not week), only this one is named Jeff (Jason Segal), and he lives in his mom's (Susan Sarandon's) basement instead of in an alternate universe.  Sweet, introspective, and a little naive, Jeff is convinced that everything happens for a reason and that the universe sends him -- and all of us -- messages.  (Ok, maybe he lives in his mom's basement and in an alternate universe).  So, when he gets a wrong number call for someone named Kevin, he does whatever it takes to follow all the people and things named Kevin that pop up in his path that day.  This means spending time with his jerk of a brother, Pat (Ed Helms), which results in a bizarre string of events that lead Jeff exactly to where he's meant to be.

If I'm talking about manchildren who learn something profound via supernatural means throughout the course of a single day, then what's up with these necklaces?  Not much, but as always, I'll use every tool in my arsenal to force some tenuous connections.  


First, the flamingos in this wall art remind me of palm trees, which remind me of Palm Springs (despite there being no flamingos and only armadillos there).  Secondly, the flamingo art hangs in my home, which is also where I made these necklaces (okay, embellished these necklaces, as I just added ribbon-strung beads to already-made vintage pendants).  And finally, home is where Jeff lives. 

I told you it'd be a stretch.  What isn't is that I liked that Jeff believed in something.  And that he was a fellow homebody. 

Which is my way of saying that everything in life -- and in necklaces -- is always connected.