Isolation this weekend. I got back around 8:00pm Friday night after the Chicago gig (more on that later) and basically brought my bag up to the bedroom and crashed. By crashed I don’t mean sleep-it’s crazy what sleeping next to someone does to you when you’re alone-I just mean that I put my bags down, laid on the bed and watched Todd Phillips’ Hated: The G.G. Allin Story. After that, I started watching an episode of The Trailer Park Boys before I finally fell asleep. I must have hit the “sleep” button because everything was off the next morning.
I was awaken by the neighbor’s Guinea bird. There was lots of lawn activity, so it made the thing very vocal. I feel sad when it calls out, perhaps waiting for a response from its own order, only to hear nothing in return. Sometimes the kids and eye will mimic its all when we’re out back to make it feel less lonely.
The movie, in case you’re wondering, it’s very unremarkable. I suppose if you were to stumble on to G.G. Allin through this movie then maybe it would be very shocking to see him poop on stage for the first time, or when he punches people in the face. If you’re already hip to Allin’s antics though, it just becomes another glimpse into his retarded dogma. Very little is said on explaining why he acts the way he does and even less is said on why he’s even relevant.
At the end of the day a guy like me, someone who feels his actions and music are worthless contributions, isn’t provided with a lot of examples of why our negative view of the man should be compromised. He’s just a sad victim of child abuse by crazy religious parents who wanted to be a rock star, didn’t have the talent, so he relied on every shred of attention that he could muster. It’s the equivalent of a child throwing a tantrum with the difference being that a few people think that tantrum qualified as art.
The film does provide a fan who begins to explain how we could all live vicariously through G.G.’s actions, but then he gets sidetracked about how proud he was that he found a girl who was willing to pee in G.G.’s mouth especially for the birthday party he was throwing him. Then there’s footage of that event.
Then there’s footage of G.G. playing live, only to have the power cut after he starts pooping and hitting people. G.G. gets mad, can’t understand why they won’t let him play, and then he decides to go score some dope with some fans.
It’s the kind of movie I’m sure my wife wouldn’t have appreciated anyway, so what better way to enjoy the solitude.