#97: TMZ and the NYTimes should switch roles
And other thoughts from our trash nation
Death by Consumption
4/7/26 - 4/13/26
The algorithms seem even more broken than ever lately. I spent years training my Twitter algorithm to only serve me reality TV gossip, but over the past couple weeks it’s somehow become 99% UFO content, with a smattering of only the strangest political stories of the day (like Eric Adams’ recent transition into an Albanian — mazel tov!). My feed is so choked with Nancy Mace’s terrifying face screaming about alien disclosure that I somehow missed the actually important news that Lisa from Real Housewives of Miami was arrested for wiretapping??? Look, I know Twitter isn’t where you get real news anymore, and I know that Elon’s algorithm has decided the best way to try to trick me into the right-wing media sphere is via UFOs, but they’ve sorely miscalculated — and I’m actually much more likely to get sucked into conspiracy theories via the Housewives, anyway. (For example: Lisa is innocent! It’s either her evil ex Jody’s fault or she’s being framed by her other evil ex Lenny! Free Lisa!) All I’m saying is, we’ve had some dead canaries in the media coal mines over the last couple years, but if a Real Housewife gets arrested and a gay’s algorithm doesn’t even bother to show him… the internet might be over.
This week: I watched an all-time classic and got distracted by Val Kilmer body horror, I enjoyed a campy recent flop, I circled back on the Beckham family drama, I dove headfirst into some truly trashy TV, and I read two fine books.
Heat (1995) — on Apple TV
I know I’m going to catch some heat for this, but I have somehow gone this long without ever seeing Heat. I know, I know! It’s one of the greatest shames of my life. Don’t get me wrong, I have seen Pacino’s “she’s got a… GREAT ASS!” scene more times than I can count — I’m not living in the damn woods! — but I had never before sat down for the rest of the movie that surrounds that scene. Last weekend, I finally did, and are you surprised to learn I loved it? I was surprised by how attracted I was to De Niro, and obviously everything Pacino does in this is legendary, but the rest of the ensemble — Danny Trejo, Ashley Judd, and Val especially — is essential to why this works so well. (The only true weak spot is Natalie Portman, who we can somewhat forgive since she’s literally a child. But really, the rest of these actors are at the peak of their abilities, while Natalie’s in a Lifetime movie.)
It’s three hours but hums along so well you hardly even notice the time passing — the only time I got distracted was when I noticed a softball-sized lump on Val Kilmer’s elbow in a scene, and needed to pull out my phone to figure out what the fuck was going on. Turns out he broke his arm filming The Doors, which resulted in a massive cyst on his elbow? And that he had it for the rest of his life??? Did you all already know this? Is this something people have been talking about for decades? Am I joining the Val Kilmer body horror conversation too late? He was such a shining star, gone far too soon, and his performance in Heat is one of the best he ever gave, and yet unfortunately all I can really think about now is this:
The Last Duel (2021) — on Apple TV
This one fell through the cracks a few years ago, but for whatever reason I decided this weekend was “watch 3-hour movies you haven’t seen before” weekend. This is possibly Ridley Scott’s campiest film, and everyone in it seems to be having a great time, even though the movie is about, well, rape. (“Medieval #MeToo” is an insane idea for a film, so I can see why this flopped at the box office, but… it kind of works!)
Everyone’s doing their own separate thing in this, but if you free yourself from such questions as, “Are these performances good?” or, “Is this a real movie or an extra-long SNL sketch?” I promise you’ll have a lot more fun with it. Adam Driver is in full thespian diva mode — this man was simply born to put on a cloak and stomp around! Jodie Comer is actually fantastic, easily balancing the subtleties of the most complicated and actually dramatic role in the film. And Matt Damon is, as always, Matt Damon, this time with some bad prosthetics and a terrible English accent that he gives up on halfway through every sentence.
But really, we’re all here for Ben Affleck, who stars as a royal playboy dripping in gold and jewels, with a terrible platinum dye job, who doesn’t give a shit about anything anyone else is doing, and eats up every scene he’s in. Denzel’s iconic quote about his role in Gladiator II — “I’m putting this dress on, these rings, and going crazy” — easily can also apply to whatever Ben is doing in The Last Duel. I don’t care what anyone says, this movie is silly and kind of stupid but I’m prepared to defend The Last Duel to the death.
“What Broke the Beckhams?” by Bridget Read — in NY Mag
Just when I think I’m out on the Beckham/Peltz family drama, this article pulls me back in. There aren’t any revelations, per se, but there are some incredible anecdotes in here that show just how deeply embarrassing everyone involved is. Take, for example, the movie Nicola Peltz wrote, directed, and starred in, using her dad’s money, which is apparently just a ripoff of The Florida Project, in which her husband Brooklyn Beckham “had a cameo, but it was apparently cut by his wife because he couldn’t stop looking directly into the camera.” That’s our boy!
Even better are the quotes pulled from a lawsuit between Nicola and Brooklyn’s former wedding planners, in which they released thousands of texts and emails from the Peltz-Beckhams, revealing that, yes, all rich people do send messages as inarticulate and sloppily as Jeffrey Epstein’s emails. Here are some of my favorite messages Brooklyn or Nicola apparently sent their wedding planners:
“Did Megan get an invite … And Harry”
“deSantis must be OFF THE GUEST LIST. PLEASE CONFIRM!”
Brooklyn asked if they should get a “gun that shoots a net because theres probably gonna be drones.” [Should I get one of those for my wedding???]
“Also david blaine is going to go around to tables on Friday night it’s for free he’s my friend.”
NY Mag excels at well-reported bullshit gossip stories like this, and I think they should simply lean in and become a full-time gossip rag. Now that TMZ is rebranding and fixing their evil eye on DC politicians, New York Mag and The New Yorker and even the NYTimes should stop writing their softball fluff pieces about politics, and instead spend their energy and money investigating and exposing celebrities.
I’m dead serious about this: if the Times and TMZ switched roles, we’d all be significantly better off. Maggie Haberman’s sycophantic style is awful when it’s used for reporting on Trump, but imagine if she used her suck-up skills to report from inside Meghan and Harry’s delusional world? Like, instead of sending reporters to the Pentagon to uncritically parrot whatever boozy lies slur out of Hegseth’s mouth, the NYTimes should send their most dogged reporters to finally uncover exactly what the hell happened with Olivia Wilde and Harry Styles on the set of Don’t Worry Darling. The Times and other “serious” publications have failed us over the past decade, and helped pave the way to fascism, so they should stick to gossip and leave the real journalism to the bloodless psychos at TMZ.
Love Overboard, season 1 — on Hulu
First of all, Hulu’s aesthetics are nauseating. Hate when I have to get on that app. The horrible green, the library of shows that all seem like 30 Rock jokes, the Disney-adjacent vibe of it all… I shudder at the entire experience. But when I heard gay icon Gabby Windey (formerly of The Bachelor, but I look down on Bachelor Nation so I only know her from The Traitors) was hosting a stupid new dating show, I knew I’d have to wade into the Hulu dumpster and watch it. And… I guess I’m trash, too, because I actually enjoyed this stupid fucking show!
Don’t get me wrong: this is absolute brainrot TV. Love Overboard sits squarely in the white-hot molten center of trashy television. But for me, that’s its strength — because unlike other modern reality shows, which largely pretend at more noble goals, Love Overboard knows it’s trash, and openly acknowledges it. This is a throwback to early-2000s reality TV, completely and nakedly shameless in every way.
The premise is devious and designed for maximum drama: 10 or so sexy heterosexual singles all live on a yacht, with half coupling up and living “topside” in luxury, while the single people have to live “downside” and literally serve the couples. Of course, the reveal that half these people will be living a life of servitude below deck leads to some incredible meltdowns almost immediately. This is when I started thinking, oh no, am I going to end up watching this entire show? (Yes.) The only way for a downside single to escape their prison of daily drudgery is to break up a topside couple and basically trick one of them into dating you. No one is here for love — they’re all here for a chance at a slightly better view and an ensuite bathroom.
If the premise sounds manipulative, the show takes it a step further by having the producers shamelessly manipulate the cast on screen — Gabby literally tells people, “Go break that couple up!” — and they found a group that’s incredibly willing to be manipulated. Too much obvious manipulation of reality has killed many a reality show. But the fact that Love Overboard’s manipulation is on-screen and completely in the open makes this show feel, dare I say… kind of honest?
There’s a rawness and a messiness to Love Overboard that’s largely disappeared from reality TV these days — this feels more like a FOX reality show from the early-aughts, with the kind of drama you got on shows like Joe Millionaire. At one point, a man is forced to decide between two women (when you’re kicked off the show, you’re forced to walk the plank), and he’s struggling. One option is the woman he’s been coupled up with for weeks, who he asked to be his girlfriend just the night before. But the other option is a brand new woman, who just gave him a blowjob that very morning. (It must be repeated: this is the trashiest show I’ve seen in a long, long time.) And this stupid, stupid man — who is, I regret to have to tell you, a therapist for children suffering from trauma!!!!! — is completely unable to decide between his girlfriend or the blowjob-giver, forcing these two women to shiver in cocktail dresses while standing at the end of a plank for nearly an hour. Eventually, after even the host Gabby is fully screaming at him to make a decision, he chooses, and, of course, drama ensues.
Look: I’ve watched some trash in my day, and this is some bottom-of-the-dumpster, grad-A garbage TV. But in a world where Love is Blind has a whole slew of abuse-related lawsuits, and Andy Cohen and Bravo are apparently about to go on literal trial over Housewives abuse allegations, and The Bachelor just imploded because they hired a known violent alcoholic lunatic as their new star and then were somehow surprised when she acted like a violent alcoholic lunatic… it’s kind of nice to have a reality show just be like, “Yeah, we’re psychologically torturing our cast members — come watch us do it!” The world is sick, and reality TV is sick, but I’m sick, too, so I’m grateful for Love Overboard for not pretending to be anything other than a sick little show for sick little freaks.
The Library at Mount Char, by Scott Hawkins (2015) — library ebook
This was… fine? It’s a fantasy/horror book that’s got some great world-building, but the writing style was a little too Reddit-esque for my tastes. I’ve spent too many words railing against the way Marvel “humor” has bled into culture, so I won’t belabor it, but it’s upsetting to read a book that has a great premise but, for some reason, decides it needs to try to be “funny.” Maybe I would have enjoyed this more had I not read it so soon after seeing the wretchedly unfunny Project Hail Mary. If I had a time machine, I’d go back and prevent James Gunn from ever being hired at Marvel, which I think would singlehandedly save America from becoming such a deeply unfunny nation.
In A Strange Room, by Damon Galgut (2010) — library ebook
A quick little novel, told in three parts, Booker-nominated, about a man named “Damon” — this is like uncovering an ancient artifact from the autofiction Big Bang of the early 2000s. The three stories follow Damon, a writer from South Africa, who travels to various countries and has a lot of sad emotions. There are some beautiful passages in here, but my tolerance for autofiction is low (will I be reading the new Ben Lerner? Maybe!) so I was happy this was less than 200 pages.