Tag Archives: Alan Linn

La Migra Migraine

THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES | REVIEW

by James Killough

There is nothing inherently wrong with A Better Life, the new film by writer-director Chris Weitz, also known in some industry circles as the Man Who Killed New Line Cinema, although I suspect he just delivered the coup de grace with his underperforming Golden Compass.  He got right back in the Hollywood crap saddle with New Moon, which I don’t think I’ve seen, or maybe I have but I was thirty-five thousand feet over Greenland in a Xanax cloud, and my attention was derailed by why I am more attracted to Kristen Stewart than I am to Taylor Lautner.

If my shrink were playing a game of association with me and said, “Taylor Lautner,” I would instantly reply “guinea pig.”  I think it’s his nose.

I know, I should have put a pic of Taylor Bloody Lautner with his shirt off here. But I can't bring myself to do it. So I'm putting in Mexican actor Gabriel Garcia Bernal and asking, What's up, man? Where have you gone? We love you.

A Better Life isn’t just about immigrants from Central America, both Salvadorans and Mexicans, it’s about Los Angeles, the real city, not the West Side/Hollywood bubble that is most often portrayed in film and on TV.  Continue reading

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Life In Plastic, It’s Fantastic!

THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

by James Killough

There is something highly comical about cosmetic surgery of any kind, whether it’s just botox treatment or a full facelift.  Vanity is amusing. The vanity of middle-aged people is even more amusing; there is nothing funny about aging gracefully, but fighting it kicking and screaming with excessive nip and tuck and plump and freeze and augmentation can make for some visual slapstick.

Regrettably, transgender icon Amanda Lepore isn't nearly as interesting as a person as she looks. In fact, she's rather dull and kinda stupid. But maybe that's just her reaction to me.

There are instances when plastic surgery is heroic, when it reconstructs a body after an accident or a birth defect.  But that isn’t the bread and butter of the industry, although if I were a surgeon, I would find the reconstructions and the defect corrections far more interesting and challenging than the fountain of youth stuff.  It goes without saying that, Amanda Lepore’s character aside, I consider sexual reassignments corrective surgery.

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Joey Rubin, Street Jew

THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

by James Killough

I got back from a hike through Hollywoodland Friday afternoon, during which I did not see Moby but I did throw envy at his castle, and found a note on Facebook from my buddy Joey Rubin inviting any of his friends in LA to a get-together for Turner Movie Classics at a Eva Longoria’s restaurant Beso two blocks away from me.

You would think that the decision to go would have been difficult, seeing as I’d just sworn off alcohol for all eternity: I had a stonkin’ hangover from too much red wine with Dame Bea at Yamashiro the night before.  That hike through the hills had been like willfully rattling my head in a barrel for an hour and a half.  But there I was bounding down the street to have a drink with Joey faster than you can shake a martini pitcher.

No, this isn't a picture of Joey Rubin. It's what Joey Rubin might look like if he were a gay Brazilian model. And, yes, our experiment to lure readers with gratuitous images of bare-chested hunks is working better than Amanda Seyfried's breasts.

Joey is the proof to my refutation of a classic cliché, which was voiced by Dame Bea and her friend Deborah when we were walking up to Yamashiro the night before.  We passed a house with a very handsome man leaning out of the window, with whom we bantered briefly without breaking stride.

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