Posts Tagged ‘Jason Lee’

What a Fool Believes

October 22, 2008


From somewhere back in his long-ago

I’ve been lagging on the new Stereo “Field Report” promo for a while here, glued as I am to this presidential campaign and trying to sort out whether Sarah Palin does or does not support skateparks. It’s what the politicos call a “wedge to wedge” issue. (Here all week, my friends.)

Anyway, a few things. Dyson Ramones, getting good, really super good. Something of a springy spaghettio thing going on with his tricks, powerful backside heelflips and a kickflip backside 360 on flat, in a line, which for some reason seems way more impressive than when it’s done down a gap. See also: Jesus Fernandez.

Renaud has some clips and they’re all blazing of course (most in particular the opening backside flip over the Carroll rail) and Supa cracks this amazing fakie inward heelflip on a hip sort of a thing. Also well notable is Benny Fairfax, John Lupfer (who some have suggested could serve as a temporary stand-in for the Dirt) and the welcome return of prodigal agent Matt Rodriguez.

And then we have Jason Lee, whose participation in Stereo may or may not be entirely governed by his NBC contract at this point, but apparently leaves him free to ham it up with Dune to whatever extent the agency deems necessary. I think I get the greasy playboy airhead angle they’re going for, but to me it doesn’t ring true with the founding aesthetic of Stereo, which is basically jazz music. Cool, sophisticated, yes, but also sort of dark and melancholy.

To this end I prescribe J. Lee a dose of heavy medicine care of FanFiction.net, where an anonymous author (auteur?) by the name of “Dark.Morning” recently submitted an “Earl” script titled “Polar,”, containing no small amount of gravitas:

Carl had never imagined feeling like this. There was no way he could have foreseen kneeling in the dark of his living room, holding his eldest son, crying with him, kissing his hair. He was even rocking, slowly, and didn’t even notice the motion. Earl was limp in his father’s arms, shuddering and sobbing in pure agony. Carl rubbed his son’s back with one hand, and laid the other on his nape. And he realized, no matter what had happened, no matter what would happen to Randy, he would still love…Earl. He would love his son.

They used to polar opposites, clashing with teeth bared and heads held high. Not anymore.

Nothing like some stark reality to ground your private jet for a while. Think on it, agents.