Yep, we’re all fucked, ladies and gentlemen. This image (stolen from Facebook) clearly shows that British Columbian killer whales have learned how to fly. And oh, you smug land-going krill? You’re not safe either, as this footage of a flying humpback demonstrates. Being heavier, it’s harder for them to achieve and maintain the airborne state, but once they master this, no life-form is safe.
I’m not even kidding. Nobody can top the description MichaelK came up with for the outfit. Joanna Rohrback resembles nothing so much as a freeze-dried Rosanna Arquette, adorned with:
Trace Cyrus galloping through a lavender field while getting attacked by bees. If you really want to look like a professional prancer who is serious about prancing, put a 30 pound wig on top of your head, a gorgeous QVC necklace around your neck, a coral Talbots cardigan on your body and ankle weights (which kind of look like rolled socks, glamour!) around your ankles.
You don’t think that can be possible, do you? You don’t think the reality could possibly live up to that description. Well, you haven’t met Rohrback yet, have you. Behold.
The thing is…the thing nobody is saying is…these are all actually the same goddam move, gramma. Stop this “Prancersise Walk, Prancercise Trot, Prancercise Gallop, Prancercise Box” foollery and take those ridiculous shoulderpads out! There is no such thing as a “Power Cardi.”
Well, we lied. The arm movements that, at the walk, are passably chic and make you think that Gramma must have really gotten her groove on back in the 70′s, devolve as the pace escalates to the “Broken-winged eagle trying to lift off” and then to the truly pitiful “Crushed Butterfly.”
Butterflies aren’t free, clearly
Even in life, there is the reminder of death. Yea, even in Prancercise.
OddityCentral calls this the most awkward workout of all time. Clearly, they haven’t watched the Julian Assange version of Prancersise. Yes, it’s true; would I lie to you? From time to time the bobbies let him out of the embassy for some fresh air, as long as he promises to be back in time for tea. And here he is.
And, of course, there’s a strong showing from an 80′s hair model.
It has been a long, hard day of work…no, wait. That’s not quite right. It has been a long hard TWO days of work packed into one from-10-am-Monday-to-5-am-Tuesday stretch, thanks to getting three article assignments after 9pm, due by dawn. Gee, thanks. Remind me to delete all article pitches at 7pm sharp and simply re-post them the next morning.
Anyhoodle, I ran across the Dancing Queen of Eastleigh here and I just wanted to say that she is my spirit animal. I haven’t got the strength to do this right now, but if I did, I would. Because this queen needs some backup princesses to really make this look work.
Who knows why founding Beat poet and professional reprobate William S. Burroughs chose to fixate on the minor Mayan death god Ah Puch (which he spelled “Ah Pook” probably because it sounds like a dirty phrase in his native Midwestern dialect), but once he did, Ah Pook was resurrected from his sojourn in Limbo and elevated to the Pantheon of immortals, thanks to this bizarre prose poem, now immortalized as an unforgettable, gruesome, beautiful, award-winning animated film.
Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves. Ah Pook is here.
AH POOK IS HERE – This 1994 stop-frame interpretation of recordings by the late William S. Burroughs, was crafted around a selection of tracks from the album “Dead City Radio” produced by Hal Willner & Nelson Lyon – and featuring music by John Cale.
AH POOK received Ten international film awards, was archived in the Goethe institute, and was part of the Burroughs retrospective PORTS OF ENTRY. AH POOK was also voted ‘BEST OF THE BEST’ at the 2010 Stuttgart International Trickfilm festival.
The Guardian review: “Phillip Hunt’s gorgeous, grisly animation mates William Burroughs’s gravelly narration of Ah Pook The Destroyer’s death-dealing parable with music by John Cale at his creepiest. Hunt’s deliberate and disgusting illustrations of Burrough’s monsters of the mind are a revelation; delicately articulated puppets riddled with revolting detail. Turn down the lights, get out the headphones, and give yourself over to The Master’s ghastly visions and sonorous warnings (“The world cannot be controlled, except by accident”) for six gut-churning minutes.” -Kate Stables / The Guardian
Director Philip Hunt Producer Eddel Beck Music Hal Wilner & John Cale Produced at the Filmakademie Baden-Wuerttemberg Distributor BFI & The British Council
PS (still reading? eh?)
You might like the following story ( spoiler alert!): The final scene of the film is an unbroken take wherein Pook puts the gun in his mouth and we pull back until we hear a gunshot and see a red flash, cutting back into the stars… and the spirit of Pook intoning ‘falling in Love again’ among the Heavens… The original intention was to pull the camera all the way back a good respectful distance and show Pook’s body flinch backward etc.. But we had a small problem while shooting. Now, back in the day (‘94) we did this part on film and in-camera without video assist etc. and the entire sequence was one continuous camera track made frame by frame …all adjusted incrementally by hand. When we were nearing the end of the shot we realised the focus had messed up & we were shooting blur. We had no way of knowing how long we had been shooting blur either.. The simple shot had taken us all day to shoot due to the awkward nature of the set up and we despondently wrapped for the day and sent the film off for processing ( a 2 day turnaround due to the location we shot in at that time). Now, the films audio was pre edited, the master mix already had the gunshot set as part of the audio track. So, after 2 days we got the processed rushes back & synched them up to the audio and played out to see how much of the animation had been captured before the accidental focus pull screwed it all up… By some bizarre co-incidence.. The moment of blur synched up EXACTLY with the gunshot.. And so that’s how we left it. Still freaks me out even now…
When I mentioned on Facebook that I was coming to the wild Penticistan steppes above Ruralopolis, I never thought that the locals would take it upon themselves to create a Welcome video for me. Apparently, they were so overcome with joy at the thought that soon the mighty raincoaster would roam the sagebrush slopes above the lake, gibbering softly and occasionally making nameless sacrifices on mysterious altars on the hilltops, that they created this gloriously Canadian multiculti work of art to welcome me.
It appears they think I do not know what is meant by the term “Indian pony” but we will let it slide. After all, OMG PONIES!