The Brotherly Largesse Recommends Infighting

Some time ago my friend Notorious spit fire in the direction of Good Will Hunting.  See here.

Lot of venom there.  Lot of venom.

It’s time for the Largesse version of Point-Counterpoint, without any real points or counterpoints.

So, because I care:  The Largesse Matter-of-Factly Recommends Good Will Hunting

Beware of people who reference Barbara Delinsky and Hawthorne in the same breath.  I’m here to protect you from such nonsense and remind you that you’re better than that.  Delinsky is a higher form of art than the vapid Hawthorne, whose overrated pieces of shit have somehow pushed themselves to the top of most American literary top-ten lists.  It’s fucking nauseating.  And I’m not even remotely kidding.  Anyone that sees Hester Prynne as more complex, more interesting, or a higher form of art than any of the cougars Delinsky chronicles in her bestsellers is absolutely out to lunch.  Give me Twain.  Give me Hemingway.  Give me writers who care about character development.  Give me writers that care about humor.  Give me writers that actually know how to showcase the human experience.

Give me Good Will Hunting any day of the week.

The Discerning Largesse Vigorously Denounces Thomas Ian Nicholas

1999 was a fine year.  Apple introduced the Power Mac (again, I think), Y2K preparation was fierce, Wayne Gretzky played his last game, Stephen King was run over by a car, the realization of Prince’s dream was achieved in that we literally partied like it was (and in) “1999” and of course, we watched “American Pie” one thousand times.  How good was that movie?  If you’re like me you might remember feeling quite fond about this movie despite the presence of Thomas Ian Nicholas, the man who we would like to vigorously denounce for the next few hundred words. Look him up. I did and I was shocked to read that he fronted a band named “T.I.N” for many years while soaking in the glow of his post American Pie suckiness. I have yet to download T.I.N., but I’m guessing that they sounded like a cross between childbirth and Blink-182. This guy blows. God, he’s so goddamn irritating.

The Saddened Largesse Recommends John Hughes (1950-2009)

The passing of John Hughes has not gone unnoticed here at The Largesse.  We grew up on the man’s movies and we recognize the fact that in many ways he is largely responsible for the way all of us (including ourselves) viewed teenagers in the ’80s.  We forgive his latter day transgressions as a neutered writer of Disney crap like Beethoven’s Fifth, Beethoven’s Fourth, and Baby’s Day Out, mostly because his track record as a director is spotless.  In case you somehow haven’t read this elsewhere by now, the man directed seven films (we choose to ignore the existence of Curly Sue) and they’re all close to perfect.  In order: Sixteen Candles; The Breakfast Club; Weird Science; Ferris Bueller’s Day Off; Planes, Trains, and Automobiles; She’s Having A Baby; and Uncle Buck.  Oh, and in his spare time he wrote National Lampoon’s Vacation, Mr. Mom, and The Great Outdoors.  Meanwhile, I write for a blog and quietly hate myself.

The Self-Loathing Largesse Denounces The Twilight Series

Anything that becomes an overnight phenomenon (Harry Potter, Hannah Montana, Michael Jackson’s memorial proceedings) is easily deplorable, so it’s not even remotely controversial to hate on these books.  Basically, if you like them, you’re an asshole. You don’t even have to read Twilight to hate it.  I mean, the premise is clichéd and weak: an ordinary girl seems extraordinary to vampire, ordinary girl falls in love with vampire, vampire boosts ordinary girl’s self-image by yearning for her “blood,” sexual tension ensues.  I think Days of Our Lives covered this shit in 1990.  So did Melrose Place.  And Harry Potter porn.

The Independent Largesse Recommends Kicking and Screaming

See?  Now, this is why you need us.  You just assumed I was talking about the piece of shit starring Will Ferrell and Mike Ditka.  Admit it.  Don’t worry – we won’t tell anyone.  Just rent/Netflix/download the real Kicking and Screaming and thank me later.  A word of warning, though, to the Ferrell-minded out there: it’s really dialogue-heavy and the characters sometimes talk about books.

The Star-Spangled Largesse Denounces Colin Firth

Methinks I suck.

Fuck this guy.

The Totally Awesome Largesse Recommends Rad

I suppose I had a lot of delusions as a kid – that I could write a rap song, that I would some day play the sax like Clarence Clemons, that I was an elf named Jaws Jackson in a previous life (true story), that wrestling was real, and on a related note that I could tear off my t-shirt just like Hulk Hogan.  Oh yeah, I also thought that BMX tricks were the coolest things in the world.  Shit, I even owned a neon-lime green Mongoose BMX bike with white tires.  Looking back on it now, the thing was hideous, absolutely hideous – but it was the first bike I ever had with pegs on it and I was convinced that I could do some sick tricks on it.  Of course, I couldn’t do a goddamn thing on it, and the day-glo monstrosity was stolen one summer night before I ever overcame my fear of homemade “ramps” in driveways or learned how to ollie.  Really, I had no business riding that thing when all the cool kids in my beachside town rolled around on cruisers, but, see, I had it in my mind that the life of a BMXer was glamorous and full of adventure, possibly even danger.  I fully expected to stop a crime ring with my buddies as we communicated via walkie-talkie like in BMX Bandits (featuring a very young Nicole Kidman) or, at the very least, to win a crucial hometown BMX race that involved a super-sized cereal bowl for no discernable reason, just like in Rad – the Citizen Kane of the BMX world.

The Color-Coded Sweatshirt-Wearing Largesse Recommends Midnight Madness

I think it’s safe to say that television has played a pretty big role in my life.  It started pretty early – I can remember being lured out of the house by my sister for a trip to the mall by a promise that we’d be back by the end of the commercials during Batman.  I’m still pissed about falling for that.  Fighting for an extra ten minutes to be able to see the beginning of Cheers and then arguing that I’d already gotten into it and had to see the end, a family meeting over the appropriateness of my watching Bosom Buddies (I couldn’t have been older than six.  My dad thought it might adversely affect my sexuality.  It didn’t.), falling asleep watching Cinemax on a Friday night and pretending to my mother the next morning that I must have hit the remote in my sleep since the last thing I remembered watching was American Gladiators – many of my most vivid memories involve the television in one way or another.  Do you remember the day your family got rid of the brown remote that was always attached to the cable box via a telephone cord of sorts?  I do.  I also remember my mother tripping over it at least once a day.  And I kind of miss it.

The Largesse Sadly Denounces Scarlett Johansson

I wanted this to be different.  Really, I did.  “Scarlett fever” has been running wild for a few years now, and when I sat down to consider why, I hoped, and probably expected, that a quick look at its boobs roots would yield a satisfactory answer.  Instead, I’m left to consider whether I think Ms. Johansson is better described as “all sizzle, no steak,” or “all hat, no cattle.”

The Developmentally Able Largesse Denounces Forrest Gump

I’ve got to be honest with you: I am completely at a loss for why people like this movie.  Is it because he keeps popping up at important moments?  Kind of like Woody Allen in Zelig?  Yeah, that was pretty cool.  In Zelig.  The first time.  Or maybe it’s the witty insights of the mentally-challenged protagonist?  You know, like, because he doesn’t know any better and he hasn’t been jaded by society he’s able to see things the way the rest of us don’t?  Just like Chance the gardener in Being There!  Yes!  Oh man, that was an awesome movie.  Um, Being There, that is.  Just awesome.  What?  Forrest Gump?  No, that thing’s a piece of shit.