Roughly rendered genitalia and real, live boobies at DIRTier, Detroit's best (and nastiest) annual "art" show ... & A look back at what it all means, in this last Loose Lips column to appear in Metro Times.
The proper way to walk past a writhing orgy ... How best to deal with a mate who doesn't want to be touched ... What to say to "friends" who criticize your sexual preferences ... & A few more juicy reader fantasies.
Canadian director Guy Maddin has taken the rudimentary personality traits of early movies and pumped them up with operatic drama, homoeroticism, fetishes, bondage, necrophilia, children's-book imagery and a strange humor. He's in a league of his own that clutches to its smoldering bosom a love of all things backward — at the Detroit Film Theatre.
This newly opened hot spot features top-of-the-line steaks, tableside preparation, and an upscale retro-lounge atmosphere. Best bets include the restaurant's namesake salad (with goat cheese, pine nuts and caramelized onions), melt-in-your-mouth crab cakes, cheesy roast chicken roulade, and a deliciously sizzling bananas Foster.
In spite of its subject — a ridiculously unlikely pornstar and his comic adventures in and out of the sex industry — this is the real thing: an actual documentary on an ironic, minor American hero, B-list celebrity and pop-culture icon.
David Fincher is arguably the most accomplished director of contemporary thrillers, and Panic Room, like his previous work, is a deep and ironic neo-film noir. Though "panic" may be too strong a word, at the very least it’ll fill your local cineplex with thrills — with Jodie Foster and Forest Whitaker.
Comedy is a slippery beast that when held in inappropriate hands can turn into a monster capable of killing up to two hours of your time: a case in point, Danny DeVito's directorial debacle — a long dreary ride with Edward Norton and Robin Williams.