I was watching the colossal cult classic ‘Head’ starring the Monkees on Turner Classic Movies the other night, and found myself getting in one of my typical mega-funks over the current state of what passes for culture nowadays. Around the time ‘Head’ was made, the Monkees popularity had nosedived over the fact that they didn’t play their own instruments and the revelation that they’d essentially been a concept borne from the noggin of director Bob Rafelson in order to cash in on some that rock’n’roll action that the kids seemed to be digging so well.

Despite their pre-fabricated origins, the Monkees were pretty damned great. They were charming, bright, funny, and they could sing their asses off. They became an instant smash with TV audiences and sold millions of records. Funny thing was, they became dissatisfied with being forced to record other people’s songs and the cartoonish image that Rafelson and the network machinery had carefully constructed for them. Ultimately they rebelled against these constraints, and things began to fall apart. When it was finally leaked to the public that they were in fact merely a concept and not a ‘real band’ their fate was sealed.

As a response to all of this, they made ‘Head’; an abstract, trippy commentary on the nature of conceptual reality and their struggle to be taken seriously as real artists while fighting to break free of their scripted identities. Written by Bob Rafelson and a then unknown Jack Nicholson, ‘Head’ is filled with amazing music and strange surrealistic vignettes which utilized war imagery as metaphor for the crass commercialism of the day while cleverly busting through the 4^th wall time and again – nearly a decade before Woody Allen was praised for it in ‘Annie Hall’. It’s a fantastic film, and it was the final nail in their coffin.

Unfortunately, they wound up totally alienating their core TV audience, and failed to pick up any of the ‘artsier’ crowd they were hoping to convert.

All I could think about while watching ‘Head’ was how something like it could never happen today. Could you imagine some pre-fabricated tweeny-bopper ‘band’ like One Direction rebelling against the constraints of their machinery and releasing a subversive art-house movie in order to smash their well-constructed and lucrative image to smithereens in the hope that they’d be taken seriously as artists? Sure, you often see transitioning tartlets like Miley Cyrus and Selena Gomez sex it up  in order to garner an older audience, but that’s about sex…not art.

Thing is, craven machinations are something to be celebrated nowadays. No one gives a rat’s ass whether or not One Direction knows how to play their instruments, or whether they write or even sing their songs. Their meticulously crafted image is taken at face value and their commercial success is lauded. Try making a nasty remark about them – or any well-known celebrity of their ilk – on Twitter and the most likely response you’d receive from their fans would be something along the lines of, “You’re just a hater because they’re so popular and they sell so many albums, and you’re just a big fat loser and you’ll never be as rich and fabulous as they are.”

Pretty much guarantee you’ll never hear anything about art.

This leads to the question, “Where has the art gone in our art?”

Sad to say it’s nowhere to be found. Today’s starry-eyed tweeners aspire to become scripted. They dream to someday become unreal. They’d sell their souls to sell their souls.

Fortunately for me however, there’s more than enough art in the archives to keep me fortified until I croak. As long as there are stations like Turner Classic Movies for fogies like me, the sad state of what passes for culture nowadays will have absolutely no effect on me. I’ll just hunker down in my societal fallout shelter, with my vinyl records, old movies and a bottle of scotch, and keep the faintest glimmer of hope curling and dancing in the recesses of my mind that perhaps someday the paradigm will shift once again, and free will might once again rule the world.

Show: Revolution
Season: One
Episode Two, “Chained Heat”
Grade: C+

The writing continues to be the main weakness in this second instalment as, in typical JJ Abrams fashion, the characters act and react predictably and moronically.

Take this week’s early set up, obnoxious, main character Charlie, pulls a shit fit when her Uncle Miles is about to kill a bounty hunter (played by an extremely old looking C. Thomas Howell) who had tried to kill them.  She ends up guilting him out of it and, of course, C. Thomas ends up almost killing them again later.

I seriously don’t know how long the show can sustain the weight of such a hateful central character.  That’s what sunk shows like The Event, which had a way more intriguing premise than the stultifyingly dumb one of Revolution, i.e., all electricity inexplicably went dead so in less than 10 years the world becomes an anarchic mess controlled by a Militant Group that considers people who carry the American flag, rebels… uh yeah, ok.

How much is one supposed to suspend their beliefs?  I guess Abrams intends to stretch that question to its utmost limits.

Anyway, lemme make my way back to the actual episode, which this week was actually a scintilla better than the pilot.

The basic plot is Uncle Miles needs to find some woman (who you just know is gonna be an unrealistically hot babe) who is good at “blowing up stuff” in order to retrieve Charlie’s brother from the Monroe Militia.

After Charlie almost gets everyone dead (as mentioned above) Miles decides to continue on his own and meet his niece and her two protectors (who from now until the end of the season I will refer to as Google Guy and Brit Mom) in a couple of weeks in Indiana.  Selfish and insensitive as ever, the petulant teen decides to go after him and leaves her companions high and dry in the middle of nowhere.

This is actually proves to be the most effective scene in the episode and so far the series, as her friends discuss the electrical failure a bit more clearly.  Brit Mom reveals the reason she keeps a long dead iPhone with her is because somewhere in there contains the only pictures of her (assumingly dead) children, bringing up a surprisingly insightful point about today’s technology and just how tenuous it all is.  Google Guy reciprocates her candor with a revelation of his own as he fesses up to his being asked by Charlie’s father to bring the pendant flash drive thingy to a woman who would know what to do with it, thus leading him to the possibility that this black out is man made, and thusly, can be fixed.

Next we see the brother witness the killing a man who was in possession of guns (apparently a big no no).  One of the soldiers gets shot in the ensuing firefight and we see a surprising gentler side to his main captor (Giancarlo Esposito) who comforts the wounded soldier administering a fast acting poison to put him out of his misery.  This adds an interesting wrinkle to the plot… Is he a psychopath (as the brother calls him) or just a good man in a bad situation committed to the cause.

Charlie and Uncle Miles meanwhile do eventually meet up with the explosives expert they were looking for, who does, of course, turn out to be an unrealistically hot babe, in an elaborate fight scene wherein they retrieve a prized sniper rifle and Charlie bypasses her ethics and ends up killing two prison guards.  Explosives expert babe agrees to help them in return for their help in delivering the gun to a rebel base.

All this leads up to the final scene shocker that Charlie’s mother is indeed alive and being held captive by the President of the Monroe Militia.

So far, the series has the emotional content of a B level video game, but it is getting better… So we’ll see.

Show: Revolution
Season: 1
Episode: 1 “Pilot”
Grade: F
_________________________

* SPOILERS AHEAD*

By Walrus September 17, 2012

With maybe one of the flimsiest premises to base a series upon, J.J. Abrams’ latest sci-fi venture for the small screen fails miserably.   There’s just no other way to say it.

As someone who followed LOST religiously, I watched this pilot with heady anticipation; would Abrams learn from past mistakes?  Would we be getting a bit of that LOST magic we nerds have been pining for?  The answer is NO and YES… and that’s a bad thing, because it forced me to remember how much I despised that last season.

To begin with, for anyone who doesn’t know, the major gist of Revolution is that for reasons unknown one day all electricity just turned off, thus throwing the entire world into chaos.

Our first encounter is with a family of four: mom, dad, brother and sister. The dad apparently knows what’s going on.  He “mysteriously” downloads something to a flash drive right before the world goes dark.*

Next we cut to 15 years later where our family is now living the agrarian life in a tiny village surrounded by bandits… kinda like Sherwood Forest except less interesting.

Cutting to the chase, predictably, pretty soon the dad ends up dead (100% the fault of his doofus son who also gets himself taken by the bad guys) and so sets up the quest for his moody teenaged daughter to find her uncle in Chicago who will ‘know what to do’.

Before all this happens, however, the dad gives his flash drive to a friend (an obligatory cheap laughs character), who just happens to have owned Google or something prior to the collapse, for safe keeping.  Little did he know.

Anyway, cheap laughs decides to come along with the daughter as well as dad’s girlfriend (the mother died apparently) who the teenager doesn’t get along with.

After about what seems like a fifteen minute walk to Chicago they find the uncle in the very first place they looked.  Go figure!

The son (an asthmatic) meanwhile escapes, has an attack and is eventually re-captured, but not before meeting a woman who has a secret that is revealed in typical Abrams fashion at the very end.

And, oh yeah, the world has been taken over by a militant group who just so happens to be an old friend of the uncle who has the battle skills of a ninja warrior.  GO FIGURE!

You got all that so far?

Before you say to yourself, “hey that doesn’t seem that bad”, believe me… it is.

We’re still gonna be reviewing every episode this season ‘cause we’re masochistic that way… and we’re hoping beyond hope that it gets better thus avoiding having to become this season’s The Event or even worse… Terra Nova.

Random thoughts:

• WHAT?  No one’s heard of hydro electric power?  Windmills?  COAL? In FIFTEEN YEARS no one has come up with anything? Bueller?
• The main character is a petulant bore who is good at archery…  hmmm… where have I seen that before?
• The acting is uniformly stiff, most egregiously of Tracy Spiridakos, the daughter; a Scarlett Johansen lookalike, with the acting skills of a Scarlett Johansen body double.
• JJ Abrams is fast becoming the small screen equivalent of M.Night Shamalayan.
• Speaking of directors, Jon Favreau (Iron Man) directed this episode… Was he sleep walking?

________________________________

*This scene (complete with airplanes falling out of the sky) was the only mildly cool part of the entire horrid pilot

Show: Saturday Night Live
Season: 38
Episode: 1 “Seth MacFarlane/Frank Ocean”
Grade: C
______________________

By Walrus September 17, 2012

SNL Kicked off its new season, this past Saturday with a mixed bag of old tricks.

Entering their 38^th year with a few new players and the “momentous” news that Jay Pharoah will now be doing Obama instead of stalwart Fred Armisen AND Jason Sudekis will be returning for one final round (mainly to do his hamfistedly lousy impressions of Mitt Romney and Joe Biden) there was certainly a lot of hype surrounding this episode.

Alas, it was all for naught.

I mean, when the highlight of the show was John Mayer’s guitar solo on a pretty great Frank Ocean song, and I can’t stand neither John Mayer nor Frank Ocean, then you know something’s wrong.

It’s too bad too, as I am an unashamed Seth MacFarlane fan (his penchant for anti-Semitic jokes aside).  Unfortunately he did not do a very good job.

Aside from a fairly funny Ryan Lochte impression during the news segment, and a couple of moments in the opening (which was bogged down by an obligatory musical number giving Macfarlane another opportunity to once again bore America with his flaccid crooning style) the Family Guy creator was mostly subdued; appearing to be concentrating too heavily on the cue cards.

As for Pharoah’s new Obama. It was just alright, albeit a decidedly an improvement on Armisen’s take, as he added a few more facial expressions here and there and the timbre of his voice matched perfectly with that of the President’s.  Mainly, however, the sketch was just anemic.

Relying on the premise that Obama has done a lousy job (which I don’t necessarily agree with) but Romney is his secret weapon ‘cause he’s such a nimrod, it just kinda went nowhere.  Sudekis, as noted above, failed, as he did his usual Sudekian imitation of Romney which just means he played a generic goofball.  They’re all the same, it really doesn’t matter who he’s portraying, which makes it all the more baffling that he stuck around one more season to do a job that perhaps other people could actually try to get right.

We didn’t really get a chance to see too much from the new players, aside from Cecily Strong who played WAY over the top and majorly outdated Hispanic character, Mimi Morales, during the news segment, which seemed really out of touch and was pretty much the definition of an inauspicious beginning.

The only other slightly amusing bit was a clip on Clint Eastwood taking his act on the road played by the ever able Bill Hader.

As for the musical guest, Frank Ocean, as I’ve stated previously, I’m not a fan, but he surprised me with a enjoyably laid back and musical couple of tunes, highlighted by a John Mayer guitar solo which came at the end of the last song.

Here’s hoping they kick it up a gear next week.  SNL is always the most fun to watch right before an election, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

EDIT: Yeah that puppet sketch was really funny.

Glory be, all is right with the world, as Twi-tards R-patz and Twitchy Stewart have apparently put their painful recent past aside, mended their shattered amour and gotten back together – at least according to that paragon of periodical integrity – the UK Sun. Their inside ‘sources’ claim that Pattinson has forgiven his beloved’s tramp-ish ways after having an intense heart-to-heart (cough…negotiation…cough) and they’ve moved back in with each other in the same Los Angeles compound where Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie have a place. What’s more they will be walking the red carpet together for the latest Twi-crud installment.

“Rob sees it as Kristen made a really stupid mistake,” stated the ‘source’. “After a lot of long tearful talks, they’ve worked it out and Rob can see how truly sorry Kristen is and has totally forgiven her.”

“They really do love each other,” added the informant.

Personally, I don’t see this as a plus for Lip-bitey McGee. She’s done pretty well for herself post-Twilight, with that crap-tastic, yet unfathomably successful Snow White flick. Moreover, she’s getting decent reviews for her turn in the new movie On The Road. Pattinson on the other hand hasn’t done nearly as well, with a string of stinkeroos that have badly tarnished his reputation as box-office gold. My opinion is, if indeed he has taken his wayward dandelion back, it’s solely a calculated PR move. In other words, he needs her more than she needs him.

Besides, I don’t really see why so much animus has been hurled at Hunchy Mc Scrunchy, So she dallied with her director…so what? In Babylonian Hollywood, a brief diddle, followed by a tearful public apology is downright quaint. I can only imagine what most of these actors are doing in their private times. Probably some De Sade-ian fever dream, thickly coated in blow, lube, and Lindsay Lohan’s menstrual blood.   

When I really think about it, I’d say Woody Allen has had one hell of a major impact on my life. His films, books, one-liners, even his personal style, I’ve assimilated it all into my gestalt like some borsht-y Borg. From my thick black rimmed glasses down to the soles of my saddle shoes, I’m a dyed in the wool fan. Still, being a New York City, Jewish neurotic, born into a perpetual state of metaphysical malaise, well, how could I not be?  That being said, you can imagine how much I was looking forward to watching the American Masters special, ‘Woody Allen: A Documentary’ and right off the bat, I can say with no small measure of conviction that documentarian Robert Wade’s attempt at providing fresh insight into the life and work of the diminutive, carrot-topped genius, generally does not disappoint.

Split up into two parts – the earlier ‘funnier’ years and the Soon-Yi-er era – I personally found the second half far more captivating. Sunday night’s intro was pleasant enough, dishing up a competent summary of his ascension from gag writer to lauded stand-up comic, as well as his eventual –and miraculously seamless – transition into filmmaking.  Still, having read Eric Lax’s excellent biography on Allen, there wasn’t too much I already didn’t know about this phase of Woody’s career.

Don’t get me wrong, there were a few tidbits scattered amidst the general table setting which were quite compelling, particularly Diane Keaton’s reminiscences of her former lover/movie partner. Additionally, the sections in which Wade captures Allen on camera touring his old neighborhood, discussing his legendary existential angst and showing off his old-school editing process, are all entertaining as well – if not all that revealing. Thing is, even when Woody is talking directly about himself, his tone is so detached, he may as well be reading the phone book. Listening to Allen describe in that slightly bored delivery of his, the ease in which his ambitions unfurled before him from the word go, sort of got under my skin. This is a man who’s never had to struggle for much of anything in his life and yet every other utterance of his is patinated in fatigued discontent.

It became tiresome after a while.

Aside from these brief snippets, there’s a lot of discussion about his first forays into film. I found these sections a tad eye-glazing, after all,  how much more can really be said about – ‘Take the Money and Run’, ‘Bananas’, ‘Sleeper’, ‘Love and Death’, ‘Annie Hall’ and ‘Manhattan’? I mean, these movies are marble pillars in the pantheon of cinematic greatness. There’s really no new analytical perch to pontificate from when it comes to these pristine efforts.

The first episode concludes with ‘Stardust Memories’ which at the time was widely considered to be a misstep after the huge success of ‘Manhattan’.  Most people believed the film was a mean spirited Fellini rip-off and after years of being a critical darling who could do no wrong, Woody was genuinely taken to task for the negative way he depicted his fans. I’ve actually always enjoyed that film a lot. It’s a bit uneven, and his obvious disdain for his audience is a drag, but there are some great moments.

The second half of the documentary reviewed his later work, but did not dawdle too long over any film in particular. This gave it a welcomed zippier feel and left more room to concentrate on other aspects of Allen’s life, specifically his working relationship with Mia Farrow and their ultimately messy break up, as well as some interesting insights into the way he directs his actors.

Watching the two episodes back to back, it’s hard not to compare the Keaton years with the Farrow years. In the end, I feel they’re both pretty evenly matched. I will say though, that I very much prefer Keaton as a cinematic presence, as I oftentimes  find Farrow grating and mealy-mouthed and generally believe her to be the weak link in many of his films. Still, the writing in the Farrow period is so strong it surmounts her shortcomings as an actress. At the end of the day, if you were to take the two movies that best represent those two eras – ‘Annie Hall’ and ‘Hannah and her Sisters’ – and put them head to head in an ultimate death match, who would win?

It’s just too close to call.

The most revealing moments of the documentary came during the segments focussing on the sturm and drang of the Soon-Yi debacle and their subsequent life together. It’s plain to see that the years spent with his purloined princess have changed his perspective, cinematically and otherwise. The sexiness of ‘Match Point’ and whimsy of ‘Midnight in Paris’ seem to directly reflect on the nature of their relationship. His abject neuroticism has faded to near non-existence, and has been replaced with a slicker, younger, more carnal sensibility. It’s amazing to think that at this point in his career, the bespectacled legend’s become more relevant than ever before – at least in the commercial sense.

As one of those Woody Allen geeks, who obsessively quote his films whilst mimic-ing his comic stammer, I must profess to feeling a bit bummed out by that reality. Then again, I still cling to my neuroses like a rhesus monkey.

Ultimately, Wade paints a likable portrait of a comic icon. Edges are softened, indiscretions Photoshop-ed, and after watching it all, this man who has had such an influence on my life and millions of others seemed more remote than ever before. I suppose it’s always somewhat of an exercise in futility to try and get at the core of an artist like Allen. The best thing to do is rent one of his movies and enjoy – I recommend the ‘early funny’ ones.

SPOILER ALERT!!

Seems like Chuck Lorre doesn’t know when to stop beating a dead horse. After watching tonight’s episode of Two and a Half Men, which was even more criminally devoid of humor than usual, I can officially pronounce the show EQUUS MORTIS!

After suffering through this season’s turgid efforts, this evening’s clichéd fumble took the cake in terms of sheer morbidity. The second portion of a two-parter involving Alan’s mental collapse brought on by a delayed reaction of grief to his brother’s death, one might have thought that the plotline could have served as a poignant summation of Lorre’s feelings towards the death of his relationship with the troubled Sheen.

Not a chance…

Instead it was merely a cheap sequence of horrible circumstances smacking Alan upside the head, ultimately culminating in his death…yeah…I wish. In point of fact, it was all just a predictable dream sequence, and the show will inexplicably go on.

This of course poses the question…why? Why must this show go on?

If memory serves correctly, the whole crux of Two and a Half Men was a middle-aged playboy’s fear of growing up and his contentious relationship with his mooch of a brother and nightmare mater. Within that context, the character of the nebbish-y brother works perfectly. Sure he was annoying, but he was his brother after all – the audience was aware they loved each other. Aside from this basic construct, bottom line was…it was all about Sheen. The guy was just eminently watchable, with an unshakeable comedic timing. He WAS the show.

And now? It’s some lumbering Frankenstein-ian disaster about a rich guy named Walden, who takes Alan into his home out of the kindness of his heart, and mopes around because he misses his ex-wife.

In what universe is this any sort of viable ‘reimagining’? C’mon CHAIM Lorre…admit, you fucked up. It’s a complete turd. Kutcher’s goofy mugging is every bit as intolerable as it was on ‘That 70s Show’, John Cryer just seems adrift at sea and the kid has gone from lovably slow-witted to soulless and icy.

Watching tonight reminded me of the Monty Python ‘Dead Parrot’ skit….this show has ceased to be, it’s an EX-SHOW!

It’s like when Valerie Harper left the show Valerie…if Valerie ain’t in Valerie, then how is it Valerie?

The least they could have done is modify the title and call it ‘One man, one teen and a really hot dude with a big friggin’ cock!’ I mean, every punchline either refers to Walden’s supposed beauty or the weighty heft of his ginormous shlong anyway. Jeebus, what a yuk-fest..or rather…YUCK-fest.

WARNING SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Two weeks ago, it was ‘teased’ in the coming attractions that Rick Petko might be leaving OCC to join up with his old buddies at Paul Jr. Designs. Being a big fan of Slick Rick, I was definitely looking forward to this week’s episode. I think it’d be great to get the Rick-ster back in the fold. Maybe then Discovery Channel could just concentrate on PJD and finally turn the page on that walrus-mustachioed blowhard and his band of sycophantic hacks. Unfortunately, after watching tonite it’s not clear that’s ever going to happen.

Apparently Senior heard wind that Rick’s not all too happy about working in his shop, so he called him in to his office to ask him straight out whether he wanted to continue working at OCC. Rick sheepishly said everything was fine and the matter was settled. In an aside to the camera, Petko basically said he would never jump ship because it would just increase tensions with the Teutuls.

So that pretty much closes the book on that subject…or does it?

Later on in the show, Mikey brings up the Rick subject, carting out some new ‘Free Rick’ T-shirts he had made up.

This whole ‘Free Rick’ deal has obviously been an underlying current this whole season, and dollars to donuts the matter will probably be addressed once more in the finale. For now, the specter of their incarcerated fabricator-in-arms will simply continue to dance about, mid-air, like a dangling matzoh ball.

The rest of the program revolved around a big new build Paulie’s undertaking, commissioned by the company constructing the new World Trade Centre. There was also a goofy looking bike OCC built for some rich guy who raised Arabian horses. It was seriously weak, resembling a lopsided, store-front mechanical pony.

What I found interesting about tonite’s effort, was the fact that I kind of felt sorry for Senior. For the past couple of years, the guy’s been virtually intolerable, but tonite he just seemed – defeated. One scene in particular while he was addressing a rumor that PJD called OCC’s work ‘cheap’, the greying biker just seemed as if he was going through the motions in his half-hearted attempt to defend his shoddy workmanship.

All-in-all, this season’s been rather underwhelming. The whole ‘Vs.’ concept is sort of irrelevant at this point. I mean, the two camps have no interaction whatsoever, and their builds are completely independent. So where’s the ‘Vs.’?

Discovery should just give Paulie his own show and be done with it.

On a side note, for an upcoming promotion, Jesse ‘Vanilla Gorilla’ James is apparently going to be involved in some way with the American Chopper Show. Oh Joy…like we haven’t had enough of that scabies ridden numb-nutz.

It never fails to astonish me how slow Americans are at catching on. After a combined 16 years of anal rape between Reagan and Bush and the thick, steamy spooge the top one per cent has unloaded into the willing faces of Mr. and Ms. Joe dumbshit for an eternity, it finally appears like people are just NOW beginning to get that they’ve been duped.

Same goes for the relentless societal indulgence of muldoonish amoeba like Kim Kardashian.

After her millisecond marriage, the popularity of this frozen-faced, fat-rumped fraud seems to be plummeting faster than Rick Perry’s poll numbers. My question as always is – what took you so long? What was the fascination to begin with? The sex tape? For a country with such a still sizable contingent of racists, who would have thought watching a white chick getting nailed by a well hung black guy would prove to be such a goldmine.

Oh the hypocrisies and contradictions of the pea-brains who’ve got this nation in their greasy stranglehold.

I guess watching ole’ junk in da trunk make a mockery out of the sanctity of marriage was too much to bear. Whatever the reason, I’m not complaining. Six months ago, I went on hiatus from this website, because I couldn’t stomach writing another blurb on that dimwit, or another one of her blithering ilk. The fact that she’s going down has given me a sliver of hope in humanity…that is if it lasts.

Is her career really over? Or will some new E! channel iteration capture the non-imaginations of the biscuit-head patrol. I’m going to go out on a limb and predict that her ’15 minutes’ are up.

On a side-note… when will the fifteen minutes be up for the term ’15 minutes of fame’? God what an irritating expression, doled out by the original and all-time fame-whore.

That said…her 15 minutes are up.

When Michael Buble is publically calling you a bitch at his concerts, then you know something’s awry. I mean, this guy’s a Canadian lounge singer and he getting all gangsta on her ass. You know when you’ve irked a Canadian to that extent it’s over.  

I can only hope anyway.

Next time, don’t go all-the-way dumbass with your new Kardashian du jour. If some vacant eyed, cat-faced, big bosomed fribble-headed douche knocker makes a sex tape, jerk off to it for a month and MOVE ON!!! Don’t enable her, like some greedy garbage dump Kodiak.

In other words…don’t feed the animals!!!

While promoting his recent film ‘Moneyball’ in Tokyo, Brad Pitt had some interesting thoughts on the value of happiness…

‘I think happiness is overrated. Sometimes you’re happy, sometimes you’re not. There’s too much pressure to be happy. I don’t give a s**t. I know I will be happy sometimes and I won’t be at times. Being at peace is more of a goal for myself.’

After reading this, I immediately fell into a catatonic state of depression. Seriously, if this guy feels that being happy is too lofty a goal to set in one’s life, then how the hell am I supposed be of good cheer?

He went on to announce that he’d be leaving the thespian game behind in a few years when he turns 50.

I dunno, sounds like the former golden-boy is feeling a tad blue to me. I suppose once you’ve reached the heights he has, the inevitable downward slide must be pretty dizzying. In the end I do tend to agree with him about ‘peace’ being a far more reachable, and ultimately more substantial goal than the transitory zing-a-ding happiness brings.

Who knows…maybe Angelina ain’t giving him enough.