Appointment viewing

I have never, despite her inability to put together an entire sentence or turn down anything hot pink and pleather, disliked Britney Spears. Whatever you want to say about her, she’s totally fascinating, from the larger mysteries, about what she represents, to how she could represent anything at all, down to the details. I still can’t quite figure out how her mouth is moving in the “Hit Me Baby One More Time” video, and her infamous MTV strip tease contains one of the best illustrations of all that is celebrity, performer weirdness, when in a quick final cut she abashedly and hurriedly bows, only seconds after unabashedly getting naked in front of the entire world, nostrils flaring.
The major reason, I think, that Britney, at the pinnacle of her fame (and not her infamy), was so fascinating was that the girl could not string together a sentence, let alone an entire paragraph, to save her life. She’d smoke a pack of cigarettes, chug two red bulls, beat you in a dance contest, marry two of the trashiest dudes not currently making their living as male strippers, get impregnated, and put together a TV show before you could expect a coherent thought to come out of her mouth.
The American obsession with Britney was fed by this fact, this inability to express herself, because it made her a blank canvas. Or rather, a blank canvas intended for a painting about sex and sexuality and women and girls and men and desire and purity and manipulation and innocence and money and fame. We could project any and everything onto it. This blankness was why Spears was always more interesting than other popstresses like Christina Aguilera, who exclaimed what they were (“I am not a good girl. In fact I am Drrrty. Fuck You.”). Who knew what Spears was? Even when she tried to explain, she’d end up with something like, “I am not a good girl. And not yet a woman.” Even the people who knew what she meant to them, talentless idiot, feminist nightmare, pervert fodder, best! person! ever!, could be fascinated with everyone else, and what the hell they found so fascinating.
At some point, after dropping her, in retrospect, genius, genius, genius management team, Britney began filling in the canvas herself. Cheated on Justin. Cursed people out in Brazil. Fucked Fred Durst. Got married and unmarried in five days. Married again. Pregnant. Here too, the bad girl thing didn’t quite last (though the bad mother thing may just be beginning).
And now here’s her new TV show Chaotic, an hour of Spears talking. The two relevant questions about Chaotic are this: can Spears really talk for an hour and say nothing? And if, in fact, she were to say something, would there be any reason to watch (would you even want to)? This is not entirely theoretical; I mean, do you care what Britney Spears thinks about anything? Aren’t you more interested in, like, how she feeds herself?
So does she say anything? Well, she tried too. Certainly, the talking head interviews are the most articulate she’s ever been. Her explanation of the project, that she started video taping to fend off tour-related loneliness, was the most logical thing I’ve ever heard her say. Plus, before I go off on her, her goofiness, her deep goofiness, was kind of appealing. Better that she’s laughing that her knees look like boobs, and singing along to Pink, and making pig noses, and silly voices than being the standard mean and nasty diva.
What this show demonstrates more than anything, though, is that she is strangely unformed, at once a woman who’s had the craziest experiences in the world, and a 12 year old. And that makes her interesting, speaking or otherwise.
In addition to all the goofiness, her focus on love and marriage, demonstrated perfectly in her “interpretation” of a sketch hanging in her hotel room of three figures as a woman, a man who may break her heart, and a fairy, was 100% tween fantasy. But then, to balance that there was all the sex talk, which was surprisingly straightforward. I suppose I expected her to tiptoe around that, but I was wrong. Similarly, I was surprised when she took a big old drag on a cigarette right in front of the night vision camera. What will all the little girls think?
The weirdest moment was all about Brad Pitt. Sitting on the couch with Kevin, on like, their 2nd date, a little drunk, she starts talking about how if she could marry anyone it’d be Brad Pitt. I guess enough 23 year olds engage in fantasies like this for me not to call it out as childish, but then again, most 23 year olds aren’t Britney Spears. How is it possible for a person who has been so under the microscope, who claims earlier in the episode that “they” just portray you how they want to portray you, seriously think she knows a damn thing about Brad Pitt? Or, maybe you say, that’s just unjaded, it’s sweet. But then she turns to Federline and asks, “If you could marry any celebrity who would it be?” and if you think she’s not hoping he’ll say “You,” then Britney Spears never wanted to get in your pants. Federline replies, “none of ya’ll,” which is why I’ve decided not to hate him until next week.
The Pitt thing is odder still coming after a scene demonstrating how strange it is to be a celebrity. When she asks a hotel employee fixing something in her room what he thinks of marriage, he responds that he's done it twice, and they have a good laugh. Then she says something confusing like "I was married too, for a little, it was..." and he goes, "Yeah, I read about it. Everyone read about." And Spears makes eyes at the camera, like, "Damn, that's really weird and kind of creepy." Which it pretty much is. Doesn't stop her from wanting to marry Brad Pitt though. I wonder if she read he was available in the same magazine that said she wasn't taking proper care of her fetus.
But to counter this, when Spears talks about what she wants in a guy, besides being cool, she says “Someone who hasn’t seen a lot. Because I have, and I want to see it again, through them.” For this moment at least, she knows where she is in space.

Restraint

I premise this post by saying this blog’s new tagline should be, all verbal diarrhea, all the time. But that’s gross. Though I’ve argued before that if, say, you were an alien, watching someone eat would be as disgusting as watching them shit (see that eggs and beans scene in “Layercake,” a totally avoidable movie, if you don’t just instinctually understand me) except that food smells better than shit and we’ve been socialized to look at mouths and not assholes. Gay joke TK. Obviously the fact that the first step to this argument was, “if you’re an alien” makes it totally bogus, but I hope you take the gut meaning of my point, that mouths can be nasty, so the phrase verbal diarrhea shouldn’t freak anyone out too much. Not that it did. Sigh. Like I was saying, all the time people, all the time.
Point being, I turned off my comments. The primary reason for this is that I, apparently, share with Stephanie Tanner an overpowering dislike for rudeness. No one could be more surprised about this than me, given that I’m basically the rudest person I know. My manners, particularly of the table kind, are terrible, and my manners of the social kind skew towards the tactless, but at the very least I’m not obnoxious to people that I don’t know. That’s as it should be. If I believed in bumper stickers I’d slap a big ol’ “People Who Are Rude To Strangers Suck” tag right next to my Jesus fish and ride off into the sunset. This is all to say, basically the only people leaving comments were strangers who were always weird and sometimes rude, so I turned them off.