That's that!

The Coen Brothers' Masterful Ode to Flatulence

Fart jokes and subtlety are for the most part mutually exclusive entities. Flatulence is that most unholy of bodily functions, unmistakeable in making its presence known. As such, it has been endlessly milked for humor in countless films, be it Harry Dunne's unfortunately timed episode in Mary Swanson's bathroom, or the Klump Family's exploits around the dinner table. Fart jokes will continue to, uh, announce themselves on the big screen, so long as movie goers continue to laugh at them (and we will). But none will ever top the one orchestrated by the Coen Brothers twenty-five years ago.

Before Joel and Ethan Coen established themselves as masters of modern film noir, they dabbled in broad comedy with 1987's Raising Arizona. The story of a young couple desperate for a child of their own but unable to conceive, who resort to kidnapping one of a set of newborn quintuplets, the film is perhaps best known as Nicolas Cage's breakout role. It has also gained status as a comedy cult classic, and features a number of frenetically-paced set pieces punctuated by the elaborately quirky dialogue and imaginative visual style characteristic of the Coen Brothers' films.

Perhaps my favorite scene is the moment where The Lone Biker of the Apocalypse, played by iconic character actor Randall "Tex" Cobb, enters the couple's ransacked mobile home, and spots an item on the floor along the far wall. The punchline in this quick, blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment, is linked to an earlier scene where the child of friends of the couple is scrawling on that wall (see photo above). While bending over to pick up the item he has noticed on the floor, The Biker pauses to note the child's crude graffitti:

  
In that brilliant moment of continuity, the Coen Brothers haul the Fart Joke out of its scatological doldrums, polish it to a sparkling sheen, and rechristen it as a true comedic art form: the Fart Joke without a fart.

Fart jokes will persist in Hollywood comedies. They're more reliable than ancient comic conventions like the awkward pause or the case of mistaken identity. But no fart joke will ever top the deftly executed gag by Joel and Ethan Coen so many years ago. Unless the brothers themselves are once again struck by a similar burst of flatulent inspiration.

Public Enemy - Back In Effect

As an impressionable young white kid in the late eighties/early nineties, I was caught up in the emergence of hip-hop's "golden era", as the genre exploded out of the inner city and permeated the white middle-class suburbs, thanks primarily to exposure on mainstream radio and music video shows like Yo! MTV Raps! (big up to Dr. Dre and Ed Lover). The Beastie Boys and Run DMC were the first acts to "crossover", the trailblazers who opened the ears of white American youth to this new sound and opened their eyes to new ideas of style and attitude.

Public Enemy emerged on the scene soon after. Chuck D, Flavor Flav, and the rest of the crew never seemed particularly concerned with appealing to this new white audience, but their political lyrics, confrontational style, and innovative production techniques (such as the deft use of vintage soul samples) made them one of the most iconic groups in the history of hip-hop. But Public Enemy lost their immediacy and general relevance long ago, as hip-hop and rap music in general became less politically conscious and more concerned with materialistic pursuits (money, women, and the things that money can buy, like women).

Appreciating The Walkmen

It's hard to believe that The Walkmen have been around since the turn of the Millennium. I guess when phrased that way, it sounds a heckuva lot longer than twelve years. But twelve years is still TWELVE YEARS. I can't imagine how difficult it must be for an indie rock band of modest success to stay together that long. Sure, The Walkmen have gained enough widespread acclaim to achieve Lollapalooza status, but this is a band with five members, a number of whom are fathers. Even at this lofty stage in their career, The Walkmen surely cannot be a lucrative means of making a living.

Paired with my astonishment over the band's longevity is an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. For a band to remain together for over a decade, and to steadily continue to record and release a string of reliably accomplished and tuneful albums, well that is something that one should never be so careless as to take for granted. So I celebrate the band with each painstakingly crafted album they deem worthy of sharing with the world. Finally, it appears that The Walkmen are comfortable enough in their own evolution to reflect on their achievements, and to celebrate along with those that appreciate them so much.

Remembering The Juice Weasel

So I recently worked on a project in my "day job" that required some research on Juicing and its various subcultures (Extreme Juicing, Erotic Juicing, Juiceless Juicing, Juicing for Jesus, to name a few). My immersion into the seedy underbelly of Juicing culture prompted a fond bit of nostalgia from my childhood, The Juice Weasel. Before Jim Carrey became a Hollywood megastar, he was that goofy, scene-stealing white guy on In Living Color. One of his most hilarious sketches was a send-up of "Juiceman" Jay Kordich, the caterpillar eyebrowed (Great Grand) Father of Juicing. I had assumed the Juiceman had finally been jammed into the feed chute of God's own Omega 1000 (i.e. dead), but a quick Google search indicates that Jay is still tirelessly preaching the Juicing gospel at the "ripe" old age of 148. I think I just confused him with Jack LaLanne (definitely dead).

Anyway, after I found that fantastic GIF file up there, I knew a Juice Weasel post was unavoidable.

JUICE! JUICE! JUICE! JUICE!