In Defense of the Offensive, Part I

B-B-B-Bertie

Before Tom Hooper, Colin Firth or David Seidler’s Academy Awards had time to accumulate even a modicum of dust, I was firing up the ol’ Egg of Hip Hop (my 1999 off-white Ford Expedition) to go watch The King’s Speech. Going in, I certainly had my doubts about the film, mostly centered around a suspected inability to empathize with the plight of the King of England. I just can’t see myself throwing a slack arm around George VI and saying I hear what you’re cluckin’, big chicken, I hear ya. But I’ve got some Scottish blood in me, which was influential in not only the figurative setting of the film, but also the literal setting of the cheap theater on Ogden.

On some level I could relate to Firth’s character of George VI, because of my own trepidation with the slightest public speaking requirement. It wasn’t until I was well into high school that I felt comfortable ordering food at restaurants, and even now, it is not a given, depending on the fluttery-ness of the waitress's eyelashes. And I still usually go with a I’ll have the same thing, to avoid any additional baring questions like what kind of sides I would like, or how I’d like my meat cooked. I mean, call me old-fashioned, but how I like my meat is a subject I don’t commonly broach with strangers.

So while it might have unearthed some deeply suppressed memories of Mr. Klemm’s Argumentation class in high school, the movie- in my opinion- lived up to it’s best-picture billing, mostly due to the magnetic charm of George VI's (or Bertie) speech therapist, Lionel Logue, played by Geoffrey Rush. However, it is a scene totally void of Rush that contains far and away my favorite moment of the movie. Returning from some kind of social engagement, Bertie and his wife Elizabeth (Helena Bonham Carter) are attempting to ready their two adorable daughters for bed. In a uncharacteristic showing of comic unruliness, the daughters demand of their father a story before they go to bed, and the ruler of all the United Kingdom is powerless to refuse. While phonetically garbled- it takes place prior to any of Firth’s drastic linguistic improvement- the tale and it’s telling absolutely melted my heart. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the specific clip, but below is the script of the particular instance.

Bertie: There were once two princesses whose Papa had been turned into a penguin by the local witch. This was inconvenient because he loved to hold his princesses in his arms and you can’t do that if you’re a penguin, you have wings like herrings.

Margaret Rose: Herrings don’t have wings.

Bertie: His wings were the shape of herrings. To make matters worse she send him to the South Pole which is an awfully long walk if you can’t fly.

Lilibet: You can’t walk from the South Pole!

Elizabeth: Shh!

Bertie: Exactly. When he reached the water and dived in he found he could fly. Fly through the depths. So fast, in fact, that he was in Southampton Waters by lunchtime. From there he caught the 2.30 to Weybridge, changed at Clapham Junction and asked a passing Mallard the way to Buckingham Palace. He swam up the Thames and came out of a plughole, giving Mama, the cook and Mrs. Whittaker quite a shock. The Princess heard the commotion and hurried to the kitchen where they gave the penguin a good scrub, a mackerel and a kiss. And as they kissed him, guess what he turned into?

Lilibet and Margaret Rose: A handsome prince!

Bertie: A short-tailed Albatross. With wings big enough to wrap around both his precious girls. (He hugs them both together)

         A few days later, I was talking with my mother about the movie, and she informed me of the studio’s plans to edit the film, the extent of which was merely removing one particular scene. The removal of this scene (below) would enable The King’s Speech to shed its “R” rating and merit a “PG-13” rating, opening it’s availability to a much larger audience. The scene in question takes place during one of the therapy sessions, where Lionel is prodding Bertie to speak more emphatically, eventually inciting him into a sailor-esque string of curses and swears directed at an imaginary audience. In the passion of profanity, Bertie is truly unencumbered by his stutter, and it is one of his first true moments of triumph over his linguistic shortcomings.

         The scene is funny and moving, sure, but as I mentioned before, not nearly my favorite moment in the movie. Yet, when I heard of its potential elimination, an anger welled up in me to the point of spewing a similar assemblage of lyrical aberration. It certainly didn’t help that my mom was portraying this as a moral milestone in Hollywood history. TWC's President of Theatrical Distribution and Home Entertainment Eric Lomis, who is mostly responsible for this travesty, rationalizes this decision by saying it “enables those to whom it speaks most directly - young people who are troubled by stuttering, bullying and similar trials -- to see it." Bullshit. Bullshit shit shit. I understand how vulgar language would give parents pause about bringing their young one’s to the theater, but I feel it entirely unnecessary to pander to this insignificant demographic.

The King Speech is the culmination of countless hours of labor from producers, actors, and directors at the most elite level, and out of every single other movie made this year, was considered by the experts, to be the single best film. There are very, very few people under eighteen who are truly going to be able to understand or appreciate this without wistfully daydreaming of being a theater over, engrossed in the heroic antics of Buzz Lightyear, or, for the adolescent crowd, the incredible buoyancy of Meghan Fox’s breasts (more of Woody fans, I suppose). You wouldn’t go to Charlie Trotter’s, order filet mignon for your little kid, and ask the waiter to cut off all the fat and gristle, would you? If your answer was yes, I want you to look around, pick up the densest object within in reach, and immediately bludgeon yourself to death. I mean, come on.

         Producer Harvey Weinstein reaction is a little more honest. He told the LA Times, “the British numbers are huge because the rating lets families see the movie together. Tom and I are trying to find a unique way to do this that keeps his vision of the movie”. At least he admits that the numbers are the primary factor, and that tinkering with Hooper and Seidler’s masterpiece potentially compromises the movies integrity. I’m not sure I buy the sentimental motivation of keeping families together at the box office, but at least he doesn’t shy away from connecting it with ticket sales.

        

         But I certainly find myself agreeing most with Firth, when he responded agitatedly about the change to the Hollywood Reporter, “the film has its integrity as it stands. I don’t support it. [The scene] serves a purpose. ” I love the honesty from Firth, and I totally understand his frustration. I’m irate over the editing, and my investment in the film was a modest three dollars and a couple hours in a dingy theater. I could not imagine making such a powerful and emotionally raw story, only to have someone pare it down to a mainstream-friendly version out of greed. This perversion of the original film was released on April 1^st, and it has replaced the original in the vast majority (if not all) of theaters, and I implore you to not see it. A similarly-edited version of The Passion of the Christ totally bombed several years back, and hopefully another box-office flop will discourage future producers and companies from fucking (ha!) with the hard work of others for a quick dollar.

43 feat B-Legit-  E-40

I've been a forty water fan and hyphy movement affiliate before I could even drive; my boy Sody and I were going dumb and shaking our imaginary dreads in the back of the Navigator, all the time bickering with Justin's mom over the car radio volume. Once I did get my license,  the Egg couldn't quite get it's gas, brake, dip on, but I feel like the rust spots and dents give it a from-the-block feel. You may not have heard of E-40, born Earl Stevens from Vallejo, California, but you have experienced his impact on society if you have ever watched T.V., listened to the radio, or been in an urban setting.

An immense percentage of modern-day slang has documented origins in his prolific musical output, consisting of 14 studio albums since 1990. His influence is described perhaps most elegantly by Earl himself in an interview with Vice Magazine: "You know, it don’t stop. 75% of the words [slang] I made up. Even before this rap game my ear’s always been to the street. I’ve been making up slang words since the first grade, you smell me? I stay coming with something to keep the game interesting. I tell ’em the rap game without 40 is like old folks without bingo." Here are just a few phrases that E-40 claims he created or made famous: "fo' shizzle", "you feel me?" "playboy" "pimpin'" "pop ya colla" and most incredibly "it's all good".

Obviously, this guy is probably a narcissist/ compulsive liar, but if I cared about that, I'd have never experienced MBDTF, and where would I be then? "43" is off E-40 Revenue Retrievin': Graveyard Shift, part of a dual release that included Revenue Retrievin': Overtime Shift, released off Heavy on the Grind Entertainment on March 29, 2011. The song is a bit atypical of forty's style- a slow bass pluck tip-toeing along the background with a slow bass kick, horns and synths weaving slyly in to give the song "a noir-ish atmosphere", as David Drake of Pitchfork puts it. I don't have the slightest clue what half of the references in the song mean, and I find the chorus "I zip-lock, and flip-flop, 43" utterly indecipherable. But this is indeed classic "E-40-Fonzarigggerdale the ballatician up outta Vallejo Califoolya", and I can only laugh when the he elaborates in a later verse, "What are you, a C.I.? A Confidential Informant?". Yeah, because "zip-lock and flip-flop, 43" is clearly self-evident, but, C.I.? Clearly too tough a nut to crack on my own, thanks forty.

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