Column: Hot off the press
It's Britney, bitch
Brenna McCabe
Issue date: 12/4/08 Section: Editorial/Opinion
After all of that waiting, all of that staring at my books hopelessly while contemplating: "Do I dare watch?" the Titanic might as well have sunken again and dragged my brazen love of '90s pop music with it.
The film is an hour of vague, self-deprecating "confessions" about her personality flaws and depression. It was like the first time you watched "Blair Witch Project"-the whole time you're thinking things like "Is this really happening?" "Why did I pay to see this movie?" and "Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I can't rip my eyes from the screen." It was something along those lines, with the exception of more hair extensions and better dance beats.
If anything, all the movie did was prove how unstable she really is, and to make matters worse, mommy and daddy Spears are all about pushing the blond train wreck straight into a world tour. Somebody needs a how-to book on parenting. But that's no shock to most.
She doesn't go into detail about her breakup with Justin, and while surprisingly she puts the Kevin Federline break-up at the top of her shit list, she gives very little detail about why they broke up. Most of the documentary was spent toiling over her longstanding feud with the paparazzi and repeating herself. Loneliness, paparazzi, rinse, repeat. And then sometimes there's a shout out to her kids.
The mysterious man behind the lens seemed to try a journalistic approach to the film, but it's obvious he didn't ask hard enough questions. This was Britney's movie, bitch, not some intense truth-telling saga like documentaries are supposed to be.
And I can't believe these words are appearing in print but, despite it all, I'm on Team Britney.
Yes, your eyes don't need checking and I don't need to make a trip to the URI Counseling Center. I'm serious.
Because even though it was obvious she was crying for a pity party, I can't help but feel bad for the girl. She might be messed up on drugs, but what great entertainer wasn't? I wouldn't go as far to compare her against the likes of the great Led Zeppelin, The Beatles or Elton John ("Bennie and the Jets," anyone?) but she still has this astonishing ability to make the best dance beats I've ever heard.
Many a night I've been caught speeding down Route 108 to "Womanizer" at maximum volume in my car, at least enough to drown out my pitchy-at-best vocal chords.
As long as she doesn't turn out like Brian Wilson from The Beach Boys (I'm still trying to figure out that mess-his last solo album sounds like it was sung in a foreign tongue), I think Britney will do just fine.
Besides, isn't she "stronger than yesterday?" At least she seems to think so, and that's the first step toward overcoming her problems. The next is growing her hair back, but like most things in life that are worthwhile, that takes time.
The film is an hour of vague, self-deprecating "confessions" about her personality flaws and depression. It was like the first time you watched "Blair Witch Project"-the whole time you're thinking things like "Is this really happening?" "Why did I pay to see this movie?" and "Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I can't rip my eyes from the screen." It was something along those lines, with the exception of more hair extensions and better dance beats.
If anything, all the movie did was prove how unstable she really is, and to make matters worse, mommy and daddy Spears are all about pushing the blond train wreck straight into a world tour. Somebody needs a how-to book on parenting. But that's no shock to most.
She doesn't go into detail about her breakup with Justin, and while surprisingly she puts the Kevin Federline break-up at the top of her shit list, she gives very little detail about why they broke up. Most of the documentary was spent toiling over her longstanding feud with the paparazzi and repeating herself. Loneliness, paparazzi, rinse, repeat. And then sometimes there's a shout out to her kids.
The mysterious man behind the lens seemed to try a journalistic approach to the film, but it's obvious he didn't ask hard enough questions. This was Britney's movie, bitch, not some intense truth-telling saga like documentaries are supposed to be.
And I can't believe these words are appearing in print but, despite it all, I'm on Team Britney.
Yes, your eyes don't need checking and I don't need to make a trip to the URI Counseling Center. I'm serious.
Because even though it was obvious she was crying for a pity party, I can't help but feel bad for the girl. She might be messed up on drugs, but what great entertainer wasn't? I wouldn't go as far to compare her against the likes of the great Led Zeppelin, The Beatles or Elton John ("Bennie and the Jets," anyone?) but she still has this astonishing ability to make the best dance beats I've ever heard.
Many a night I've been caught speeding down Route 108 to "Womanizer" at maximum volume in my car, at least enough to drown out my pitchy-at-best vocal chords.
As long as she doesn't turn out like Brian Wilson from The Beach Boys (I'm still trying to figure out that mess-his last solo album sounds like it was sung in a foreign tongue), I think Britney will do just fine.
Besides, isn't she "stronger than yesterday?" At least she seems to think so, and that's the first step toward overcoming her problems. The next is growing her hair back, but like most things in life that are worthwhile, that takes time.
