On Cinema, Bye And HEI: Take Dump 4/24/26
Yikes! I’ve barely posted this month! Why? Well, first there was spring break. Then there was a body cold, which morphed into conjunctivitis, followed by a lingering snot party. Don’t cry for my sinuses, however. At the tail end of my viral ennui, I was lucky enough to catch the On Cinema Farewell Tour in Los Angeles. As it’s an industry town, I shouldn’t have been surprised to see so many stylish yuppie couples in line, and so few Dan Clowes characters like myself. Some bros behind me wondered if “Charlie Sheen’s grandfather” was going to be there, and I’m very proud of myself for not noting Joe Estevez is actually Sheen’s uncle. But once Estevez did appear, cutting into line not far from us, I forgave everything.
If you’re somehow unaware despite my questionable co-option of popcorn ratings, On Cinema started as a podcast in 2011, comedians Tim Heidecker and Gregg Turkington briefly “reviewing” movies as heightened versions of themselves. A Siskel & Ebert-esque YouTube/Adult Swim series followed in 2012, Heidecker the inane host and Turkington a proud conveyer of “film expertise.” Tim would loudly dream up commercial enterprises and show spin-offs more profitable than movie criticism, as Gregg desperately clung to the dream of celebrating cinema old and new. Ironically, neither seemed like they’d even seen the movie, both spouting absurd assumptions when not distracted by Heidecker’s personal drama or Turkington’s resentment. The show’s fictional universe soon included butt-rock bands, nightmarish attempts at cinema houses, avuncular appearances by the aforementioned Joe Estevez (playing The President in Tim & Gregg’s action series Decker), and the frequent, life-endangering humiliation of Mark Proksch, their hapless, miserable third wheel.
Liz Shannon Miller
I wrote most of this post before Tim Heidecker provided a big news hook.
Just as On Cinema barely managed to review movies, their annual Oscar specials, running during the ceremony, quickly devolved into chaotic disasters, only occasionally interrupted by news of who won. Most of the three hours would involve bickering and bellows heard over haphazard photo montages of Tom Cruise, Peter Jackson and other Hollywood heroes. Typically, Turkington would make outlandish claims from inside sources (Jackson’s winning the “write-in” vote for Best Picture!), refusing to acknowledge the eventual truth. Heidecker would gradually slip into a chemically induced fury, credits rolling as the authorities arrived. And that’s not all! Five hours of footage from Tim’s murder trial was uploaded between seasons 10 & 11. A “documentary” about his run for San Bernardino DA, appeared in theaters (for real) before 11’s end. Turkington’s appearances in the Ant-Man movies as the Baskins-Robbins manager are “in character,” with director Peyton Reed attending an Oscar special.
Clearly, it’s a lot. We’re now 16 seasons and 13 Oscar specials in, all content since 2021 only available on their HEI network app. Somehow, it hasn’t gotten old for me in the slightest. When a friend offered a ticket to last week’s show, ostensibly intended as the end of the ride, I took the opportunity to finally get the HEI app (I kept waiting for it to show up on Roku) and catch up. Honestly, there are better ways to nurse an aging blogger’s ego than hour after hour of two middle-aged men desperately trying to convince people they have value as movie lovers. Gregg is now obsessed with judging movies according to running time. Tim (currently known as “New Amato” for reasons I won’t spoil) is suing Sizzler for enabling infidelity. The latest season has reduced them to sharing an apartment, briefly filming episodes at a nursing home. Whether you relate to their futile ambitions, or simply can’t stop rubbernecking, On Cinema has become the SCTV of cringe.
A violent drop in the bucket from season 2, back in 2013.
The Wilshire Ebell Theater was packed for their appearance, the euphoric audience giving Estevez a standing ovation before the show even started. Understandably, the pair’s dynamic to match this transparent popularity. “New Amato” was still the belligerent, vain bully fans have watched filter through wives, scams and grievous injuries for nearly 15 years. But there was no chance him to fall into silent despondence, earning whoops whether delivering a keynote address setting up his upcoming run for Arizona governor, or playing the MAGA Springsteen with his band Dekkar. Turkington, the seething moral conscience of the show when not frantically defending his own ego, reveled in our appreciation of his schlubby, underdog status. It was amusing to see the comedian also known as Neil Hamburger unironically play to the crowd, quizzing fans about franchises, and appraising people’s VHS collections (“clamshell” cases bring the value up at least $500, because they keep bugs out, FYI).
Though our energy denied us the show’s addictive awkwardness, the quality and consistency of humor more than made up for it. No mere victory lap, the show's in-jokes mostly took the form of visual easter eggs. Despite the density of potential callbacks, I'd be surprised if any more ignorant attendees were truly lost. With On Cinema siloed on the HEI Network app, the tour allowed fans a rare literal glimpse of itself. Part of me hopes they’ll eventually post footage of one the shows online, but I also wonder if it would break HEI’s mystique. Semi-spoiler: the build-up to New Amato agreeing to one more season had Gregg sputtering “let me talk to Green Day! I think they’ll want to watch Forrest Gump too, and play after!”
If Eddington had stopped at around 90 minutes, I’d be delighted to announce that Ari Aster is back. Yes, Joaquin Phoenix (star of the oeuvre-uglifying Beau Is Afraid) is once again in center stage, playing another dumbass who can’t catch a break. But this time the cast around him is infinitely more multi-dimensional, recalling the ensembles of Hereditary and Midsommar on an even grander scale. Set in mid-2020, Edddington features Phoenix as Joe Cross, a sheriff unsubtly frustrated by how pandemic regulations have usurped his softly swaggering sense of authority and agency. Already contemptuous of Eddington’s mayor, Ted Garcia (played with impatient diplomacy by Pedro Pascal), Cross decides to run against him. Meanwhile, a love triangle is brewing amongs the radicalized youth, and Cross’ wife (a quietly crashing Emma Stone) has fallen under the spell of a dubious cult leader (Austin Butler).
Through these early sequences, I felt Eddington did a terrific job of not being about COVID, so much as how the stress of the pandemic and lockdown escalated tensions long-brewing in families and communities. Phoenix, always best as characters too stoic to mug, deftly earns hisses as a fragile boss man who feels entitled to abuse power, even if he’d say he was forced. The drama reaches a tragic, ugly climax around the aforementioned hour-and-a-half point, and - had the credits then rolled - I'd call Eddington a wandering, but effective portrait of someone choosing brutality over community to protect their self-image. Sadly, the movie is two and a half hours long. As the film turns episodic, Aster belatedly indulges magical irony at the expense of political verity (say what you will about how the naive, horny teens spouting the leftie lexicon are portrayed - that Antifa actually exists). Then comes a prolonged bask in the literal limp dick agony of Afraid, mother-in-law standing in for mother. Cumulatively, Eddington is a half-comeback for Aster, even if he still doesn’t seem to find nuanced filmmaking cathartic enough. FOUR BAGS OF POPCORN.
And now, some 2026 albums I’ll probably only play once.
Jessie Ware, "Mon Amour"
While I’m pro-Jessie Ware and continue to love her discorific 2020 release What’s Your Pleasure?, her new album Superbloom, even more than 2022’s That! Feels Good! is often a dull, middlebrow kind of camp, neither risking Andrea True-tawdriness nor sincere euphoria. By the song about how great saunas are, I wished a Village People male chorus would replace her backup ladies, or a lyric would lean into a groaner. Anything to shake up the admittedly breezy, tasteful tedium of it all. Though when her voice turns brassy on “Don’t You Know Who I Am?”, I was reminded a big swing doesn’t always connect.
Cute.
I didn’t hate Angine de Poitrine’s Vol. 2, but for all the wacky business an instrumental noise guitar and drums duo can get up to, especially with a props budget, only rarely do they reach the audio excitement of even Ram Jam.
Now this would get you excited to call the bank.
Confession: I only I got a third of the way into Squarepusher’s Kammerkonzert. It's reportedly a big change for the drum’n’bass veteran I mostly remember for a video about a dog brain transplant on MTV’s Amp almost thirty years ago, trading blitzing beats for more orchestral timbres. Great news if you're burnt out on your Frank Zappa synclavier albums. I couldn’t tell if Kammerkonzert was a sincere vision of smooth techno-fusion or, like, Air. And I didn’t really care.
Again, my earnest-in-comparison popcorn ratings are explained here. If there's something in the streamosphere you think I should check out, feel free to tell me at anthonyisright at gmail.com
