In movies, Judd Apatow, Meryl Streep, and Twilight casting drama.

In music, Eminem records a diss track about Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon.

In other news, I now live in Los Angeles. There’s, like, no pop culture here. How will I get my fix?

I’ll have to get it from you. In the open thread.

Be grateful I didn't make it about Peter Shaffer.

Here are three potential interpretations of Bruno I’ve been hearing recently (okay, four):

— Bruno is about surprising people into revealing ugly truths about themselves, like Borat
— Bruno is a piece of stunt cinema done for shock value, like Jackass
— Bruno is (alternatively) a shameless revel in queerbashing / a clever indictment of queerbashers

Its episodic structure plays into each of these thematic approaches at times. The visual style, format and pacing are pretty similar to Borat, and it has a lot of similar set pieces and gags. It has a lot of gay jokes of questionable kosherness. All true and welcome. But these all seemed subplots, side themes to me, not really the main thrust of the piece – not what it was about.

My gut impression, which thinking about it more has only confirmed, was that Bruno was a much older sort of comedy, a comedy that followed a self-obsessed symbol of vice through a society that didn’t necessarily deserve better, but which at least offered the comfort and amusement of being hilariously consistent. Bruno immediately reminded me of Moliere — the French writer who brought us such Top 40 hits as The Hypocrite, The Misanthrope and The Imaginary Invalid.

And in thinking about the comedy of Moliere, where it sits in the tradition of comedy, and where Bruno sits among today’s comedy offers us some insight on one of the questions I think needs to be asked a lot more critically of our cultural arbiters:

When we laugh at our vices and failures, why must we insist they be fixed, or even be fixable?

Seriously, what is it with Sacha Baron Cohen, homosexuality, and the state of Alabama?

Exhibit A: Season 1, Episode 6 of Da Ali G show, in which Baron Cohen’s flamboyantly gay character Brüno attends a football game at the University of Alabama. Location: Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Original air date: March 28, 2003.

Exhibit B: The ending of Talladega Nights, in which Baron Cohen’s flamboyantly gay character Jean Girard gets a big kiss from Will Ferrel. Location: Talladega Speedway, Lincoln, Alabama. Theatrical release date: August 4, 2006.

Exhibit C: A large portion of the Bruno feature film, in which Baron Cohen’s flamboyantly gay character Brüno attempts to be cured of his homosexuality by visiting with pastors, training with the army, and learning martial arts. Location: Anniston, Alabama (at least for the army scene). Theatrical release date: July 10, 2009.

Granted, Baron Cohen has made satire hash out of other locations in the Deep South, but Alabama seems to be his go-to place for juxtaposing homosexuality against Middle America.

I was planning on writing some long article about some Lost-related topic of my choosing, but your comments re: last week’s article were so good and so full of ripe questions that I couldn’t pass up doing another Q & A week.  This week we’ll tackle the mythology of Lost, the possible whereabouts of Michael and WAAALT!, the paradoxical character of Mr. John Locke and the less-paradoxical character of Mr. Eko, and issues of literary form.  Plus did you know Kate tastes like strawberries?  The things you learn from Lost, season three.

As usual, before we get to the nitty gritty—yeah, I don’t really know what that term means, either—let me remind you all of what happened in these eight episodes.

Matthew Wrather hosts with Peter Fenzel and Mark Lee, with special guest podcaster Lindsay Eanet. Topics include Comic-Con, fandom, vampires, and dudes who date fictional characters.

To join the debate on real vs. pretend people, first visit the New York Times article “Love in 2D.”

Tell us what you think! Email us or call 20-EAT-LOG-01—that’s (203) 285-6401. And… spread the overthinking by forwarding this episode to a friend!

Download Episode 56 (MP3)

With many of the Overthinkers on a media fast at the moment (we’re spending a gorgeous bit of summer summer together water-skiing and grilling) it’s been a light week of posting.

As we return to the dark and comforting embrace of our respective media enclaves, we will rely on you to tell us: What’s up in the world of media and culture? Anyone see Harry Potter? (Fenzel and I had a minor difference about it on our Twitter feed.)

And what do you enjoy doing during a gorgeous week outdoors, when you turn off your computer and television and stagger, bleary eyed, out for some sun and exercise?

Considering the music of Bon Jovi’s Livin’ on a Prayer (we already considered the lyrics last week), two issues emerge. First: What’s up with that awesome key change near the end? And second: What the hell key is the song in, anyway? Step into the Think Tank to find out.

This is the passage we're talking about, FYI.

Lee: I read that epic key change as a change from Em to Gm. Is there a harmonic relationship between the two? Most certainly. The relative major scale of Em is  G major, and the parallel minor scale to G major is G minor.

So in other words, Gm is the parallel minor of the relative major of Em.

Also, the chord progression of the key change itself goes from D major (“…all that you got!”) to G minor (“Whoaaaaa…”). Clever in that D major is both the VII chord of the original key of Em and the V chord in the new key of Gm.

Smooth as silk.

Wrather: Mark, doesn’t that depend on whether you hear that last chorus as being in G minor or in B-flat major? That is to say, in “Livin’ on a Prayer,” I hear a strong arrival at the tonic on the second line of the chorus (“Woah…”) which is underscored by the suspended figure in the melody line over a dominant harmony (“…halfway there”).

We're not having a poll this week, but let us know in the comments which of these you prefer.

I think you could argue that there are 3 or 4 key changes in that song—or at least changes of mode—since the verse is in minor and the chorus (as it sounds to me, anyway) is in the relative major.

You never get away from the dust.

I feel it crunch beneath the palm of my hand as I lower myself to the ground next to the rusting Corvega, resting the .30-06 along its bumper. I brush my hand absently on the padded leather pants I stole off my last victim, not noticing if the dust goes anywhere. Taking a deep breath, trying not to choke on the dry grit in the air, I lower my head to the scope.

“I am in a conventional dither / with a conventional star in my eye …”

One day not too long ago, an innocent crew crash landed on a deserted isle in the middle of the ocean.  Using their wits alone, this diverse group of people learned to work together to devise many ingenious ways of getting off their island.  Again and again, their plots were foiled.  But did they give up?  No, never.  Because they were Men.  Because they believed.

This is the story of those men.

This is the story of Gilligan’s Island.

Seriously, though: this week I’m writing a post about the parallels between Lost and Gilligan.  Strap in.  This is going to be a crazy ride.

But before we get to the poor survivors of the Minnow—I mean, Oceanic Flight 815, let’s recap the last eight episodes.

Matthew Wrather hosts with Peter Fenzel, Mark Lee, and John Perich to overthink stranger danger (and Wrather’s cross-country trip), Michael Jackson’s posthumous sales figures, McCourt…Frank McCourt, Walter Cronkite and the crisis of authority in newscasting, and Emmy Nominations.

Tell us what you think! Email us or call 20-EAT-LOG-01—that’s (203) 285-6401. And… spread the overthinking by forwarding this episode to a friend!

Download Episode 55 (MP3)