OBSESSED (#8): What makes an Internet movie?
Plus, a reimagined R&B album and a tender meditation on friendship.
Welcome back, my beautiful OBSESSED babies! It’s been three weeks since we last spoke, which is one week longer than I said it would be. But last week, my brain was still warm oatmeal, jiggling around my skull like Jell-O salad. I’ll send a longer dispatch next week, with some fun updates for what you can expect from OBSESSED in 2024! OK, let’s get into this mess.
LISTEN TO THIS: “They Might’ve Even Loved Me (Versions),” a reimagination of NoMBe’s 2018 album of the same name. NoMBe’s first full-length album is a warm, rich fusion of R&B, soul and dance. The godson and grandson of Chaka Khan has already released one reimagining of the album in 2019; this 2023 version comprises sped-up or slowed-down songs. It doesn’t top the original, but it’s a fun listen while you’re working or tuning out a Zoom meeting.
READ THIS: “A Friend Died, Her Novel Unfinished. Could I Realize Her Vision?” by Leslie Jamison for The New Yorker. It’ll make you grateful for the friends who see you for who you are.
I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT: May December, and the perfect Internet movie.
What Makes an Internet Movie?
There’s a great scene midway through “May December,” Todd Haynes’ pitch-black comedy about unchecked narcissism and hot dogs. Famous actress Elizabeth (Natalie Portman) walks through a high school hallway during passing period. A teen boy, 20 years Elizabeth’s junior, clocks Elizabeth, saunters hornily for a beat, then jumps and touches the top of a doorframe. Elizabeth looks down, smiling: the look one gives when they’ve been flirted with, and they don’t hate the flirtation, but won’t be entertaining at this time. She catches herself smiling. Her face falls. Blech. She grossed herself out.
This is a small sequence in “May December” — the whole thing lasts five or six seconds. But it’s one of a handful of visceral little moments that’s been embraced by the Internet, armed with their “that isn’t true, Ellen” memes and bloodlust for iconic slays. I get why this sequence was embraced. It’s a flip book of deeply specific but rarely articulated truths — the universal sign of flirting that is a teen boy achieving a modest athletic feat, that coy look you give yourself when you know you’ve got it. It’s precisely the kind of thing that makes a movie an Internet Movie, which is to say, a movie that’s fun to talk about.
But what, exactly, makes an Internet movie? What gay alchemy is at work in May December, Tár, M3gan, Carol, the Babadook, even Barbarian? Why are they specifically the kind of film that’s embraced by the Internet?
First and foremost, Internet movies are good. The hallmark of a proper Internet movie is the dozens of think pieces written about it, so the film needs enough substance and intrigue to fuel that vital journalism. You might think something like Cocaine Bear is an Internet movie, but you’d be wrong. Cocaine Bear is a movie made for the internet, just like The Emoji Movie is a movie made because of the internet. So much of the fun of Internet movies is (*gag*) thinking and talking critically about them, and there’s only so much nuance one can glean from an obliterated grizzly.
Internet movies skew art house, and aren’t typically big studio releases. Think: heavy on symbolism and stolen glances, light on big twists or, uh, external action. Some Internet movies, especially of late (looking at Tár and May December) are about exploring a specific idea from several different vantage points and layers. A lot of the action in these movies is internal — characters evolving, or struggling to change, or being doomed to never change. Nobody’s robbing banks in these movies. Few are driving over the speed limit. (This is excluding M3gan, who is quite active in her film and stabs 30 people.)
This is critical: An Internet movie might be camp? Maybe? It probably isn’t. Still, you can make the argument that it is camp, and that’s all that matters. Even if you don’t fully know what “camp” means.
Internet movies are led by one of two protagonists: a deeply flawed woman of middle age, or a murderous monster with undeniable panache. Tár’s mother is a predatory, narcissistic conductor. May December’s diva is a sex abuser with a lisp. These films are anchored by women who take their fatal flaws to Level 200, pass Go and solidify themselves as utter monsters. As for those nonhuman monsters? They are stylin’. We’ve got M3gan’s pussybow and Babadook’s gothic steampunk. Even in Barbarian, the mononymic Mother carries her hulking, deformed trunk (thanks for nothing, incest!) with grace as she scuttles through an AirBNB’s catacombs.
If the Internet movie is helmed by a human woman, it’s anchored by one of two kinds of actresses: critically beloved or culturally iconic. Cate Blanchett, Natalie Portman, Julianne Moore? Tiny golden statues bow down to those war horses, lest they disrespect their queens. And Allison Williams? That’s Loft ambassador and neurotic brunch guitarist Marnie Michaels to you. Count her among the culturally iconic, nevermind that Girls has been enjoying an enormous resurgence as of late.
The human actress boldly adopts a new physical characteristic. Julianne Moore’s lisp. Cate Blanchett’s swaggering physicality in Tár, or her deep, husky voice in Carol. This is vital; it takes our protagonist one step away from character and toward caricature, thereby facilitating the “is it camp?” conversation and giving the Internet something somatic to laugh at without any guilt.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the Internet film is either explicitly queer or has hella gay undertones. This is obvious; the Internet is gay, and the queer community (especially the Black queer community) has long been the arbiter of popular culture. If something’s going to entrance the Internet, it’s gotta be gay, by which I mean subversive, coy, a painfully slow burn … or just plain ol’ gay!
Something else: If you have a strong stomach, watch this interview with Mary Kay Letourneau and Vili Fualaau, the real-life couple that inspired May December. An exchange at the 3:20 mark is a near-identical mirror of a pivotal scene in May December that reveals Julianne Moore’s complete lack of self-awareness. Have a barf bag nearby.