Plastic Podcast

The venerable and exceedingly intermittent Plastic Podcast, which has outlived the two blogs with which it was intertwined, and whose audio archives were difficult to ...

The Plastic Podcast

An audio program about movies. Listen with your iPod or computer.

Plastic Podcast

The venerable and exceedingly intermittent Plastic Podcast, which has outlived the two blogs with which it was intertwined, and whose audio archives were difficult to ...

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Daily Plastic is a Chicago-based movie blog, a collaboration between Robert Davis and J. Robert Parks, the same pair who brought you the wearable movie tote, the razor-thin pencil pocket, and that joke about aardvarks. If you know the whereabouts of the blue Pontiac Tempest that was towed from the Plastic Parking Lot on the evening of August 7th, 2008, or more importantly if you've recovered the red shoebox that was in its trunk, please contact us at your earliest convenience.

Davis was the chief film critic for the late, great Paste Magazine (which lives on now as a website) from 2005 through 2009, and he counts this interview with Claire Denis among his favorite moments. Every once in a while he pops up on Twitter. He's presently sipping puerh in Chicago, even at this hour. Meanwhile, Parks, whose work has appeared in TimeOut Chicago, The Hyde Park Herald, and Paste, is molding unsuspecting, college-aged minds in the aforementioned windy city. Media types are warned to stay clear of his semester-sized field of influence because of the distorting effects that are likely to develop.

The © copyright of all content on Daily Plastic belongs to the respective authors.

Jessica Miglio/Fox Searchlight
Brad William Henke and Sam Rockwell in Choke

“I’m ok, you’re ok” burst into American consciousness in the ‘70s and has become a mantra of sorts for millions. But no one really believes that crap. It’s more “I’m ok, and you’re a selfish a-hole who needs to stop talking so loud on the damn phone.” One of the bracing things about Choke is that its main character, Victor, doesn’t even try to pretend he’s ok. He’s a sex addict, and he’s proud. He takes advantage of almost everyone around him, and he doesn’t lose a wink of sleep over it. He makes money by forcing himself to choke in front of wealthy diners, hoping they’ll save him and then, feeling a sense of connection, start sending him cash. Amazingly, it works.

His life, though, is a shambles. His mom is moving up the floors of a mental illness facility (up is bad), and she doesn’t even recognize him anymore. And the only people he hangs out with are other sex addicts who, once they find genuine relationships, don’t really need Victor’s caustic friendship anymore. But one day he bumps into a caring, pretty doctor at the facility. Even better, he finds his lust turning into genuine ... well, maybe not love but something approach affection. Oh yeah, he also might be the son of God.

This unlikely setup would be almost impossible to take if it didn’t have Sam Rockwell (Confessions of a Dangerous Mind) and Kelly MacDonald (No Country for Old Men) in the lead roles. Rockwell sells the stylized narration and dialogue (courtesy of the novel by Chuck Palahniuk) as if it was a loaded used car, and MacDonald conveys a vulnerability that humanizes the entire story. And truth be told, some of the movie is hilarious, particularly the scenes set in a Colonial living museum.

Unfortunately, that’s not enough. The repeated flashbacks with Victor as a boy and his mom are pointless. Not only does Anjelica Huston as the mom seem bored, these attempts to add some kind of emotional depth to Victor’s condition are as phony as his choking condition. The Jesus metaphor is equally hollow, serving only to distract us from the somewhat three-dimensional chracters on screen. Worst of all, the film loses its nerve, abandoning the humor and actually embracing the “I’m ok, you’re ok” philosophy. After 85 minutes of cynicism, that cliche is a bit hard to, uh, swallow.

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