Word: ishness
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...under her head here) and sweet, studious Leigh Ann (Katie Holmes). When Tingle threatens to frame her for stealing an exam, Leigh Ann counts on two pals to bail her out: her best friend (Marisa Coughlan, quite funny as a carefully histrionic tyro actress) and the Depp-ish, droolworthy class rebel (Barry Watson). Before you can say oops, they have Tingle trussed to her bedposts and, the kids think, in their power. There are maybe six good lines, and many more dramatic chances wasted. Williamson, the writer of Scream and TV's Dawson's Creek, now directing his first movie...
Long, Ken Burns-ish shots of grass and Ella Fitzgerald songs seem bizarrely out of place in this documentary of a teenager's murder, and yet such embellishments make it no less compelling. The film retraces the life of Teena Brandon, who in her early adolescence left her Nebraska hometown and began posing as a boy, Brandon Teena. As Brandon, she won the hearts of many girls but died tragically, killed by two male friends who were furious that they'd been duped. Interviews with her killers (one is on death row) provide a chilling portrait of intolerance...
Adios, Aretha. Desist, other divas. Jackie Washington has returned. Never heard of her? Well, that's because she exists only in this rascally Spinal Tap-ish faux documentary. On the eve of Jackie's comeback concert, an oily host (Tim Curry) takes us through her disastrous career: her one hit single, her flop blaxploitation movie (Whipped Creme). Whoopi, Liza and other no-last-name-needed stars contribute cameos, but it's the diva herself who really delivers. As Jackie, Jenifer Lewis purrs, snaps and belts--the complete funny lady in a roguishly funny film...
...there, amidst the "eccentric crew" of "hippie-ish" men and women, that Bruzelius says she learned to cook and bake bread and where she served as the informal housing chair, deciding each year's residents...
...June 16 (10:30 p.m. E.T.). Clearly influenced by the get-a-babe-and-grab-the-largest-brew clubbiness proffered in the men's magazines, the two shows have hosts almost interchangeable in their ordinariness, sets that look like a freshman lounge, and a fair amount of Fred Flintstone-ish whining about the demandingness of women...