Jordan Jensen’s comedy is hard to categorize, just like the rest of her. And while that’s generally how we like our funny people — layered, nuanced, tortured — it tends to wreak havoc on the actual lives of the comics themselves. Not quite fitting in a box (even though she definitely knows how to build one) has basically been Jensen’s schtick since birth. She grew up in upstate New York, raised in a heavy-construction family that included three lesbian moms and a dad who died when she was young. Because of that unconventional background, she says her level of hormone-fueled boy craziness mixed with her rugged ability to swing a hammer and basically turned her into “a gay man.” Somewhere in her teens she hit a “fat mall goth” phase that never left her, even after becoming a popular comedian worthy of a Netflix special. Combining her inner Hot Topic teen with freak-flag feminism and alpha-male energy, her style makes not fitting in feel like one of the coolest things you can do — because it is.
On a recent Saturday night, before her new Netflix special “Take Me With You” drops Tuesday, Jensen prepared herself for one last run of weekend shows before starting from scratch with material for a new hour. Before going onstage in front of a crowd of a suburban crowd at the Brea Improv, the comedian’s Zen-like confidence felt like yet another thing she’s built from the ground up, along with her comedy career … and probably a patio deck or two. But onstage, her love of all things spastically weird and macabre makes her humor a fun and frightening project to unpack for fans and unsuspecting “normie” audiences alike.
How does this moment before your Netflix special “Take Me With You” drops feel for you? Are you past the anxiety of it?
I can’t see the numbers, so if it tanks, I won’t know — so I like that. I’m slightly dissociated because it’s already been done, so I feel good; I don’t feel anxious about it now. I was definitely anxious leading up to it. But the second that night [of filming it] was over it was a relief.
And you filmed it in New York City [at the Gramercy Theatre]. But where did your comedy career actually start?
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My career really started in Nashville, and then I moved to New York after a year. I’m originally from upstate New York. I grew up in Ithaca and then I moved to Buffalo and started trying to do comedy. I moved to Buffalo because my friend became paralyzed, and I moved there to be near here, and then I basically started doing open mic in front of her paralyzed body because she wasn’t allowed to run away. Then my dad died, and I was going to move to New York City and instead [some friends of mine living in Nashville] said I should come live with them, so I did that instead for a year and really got into comedy there before eventually moving back to New York.
Did doing comedy in Nashville help you develop your career?
Definitely. I met [comedian] Dusty Slay, who helped me out. Lucy [Sinsheimer] from [the comedy club] Zanies got me all this feature work, and I drove my truck all around the South.
What is like to hit the touring circuit hard as a young comedian?
You do an open mic and someone says you can be on a show, and suddenly you think you’re hot s—, and every step of the way you kinda think you’re doing really well, so you’re driving around being like, “I’m on tour,” and making weird tour posters, and you’re not even looking at people who are at a different level; you’re just trying to do the most you can do at your level. So, for me, it was the same as it is now. I’m on tour every weekend, and I’ll come back home and hit the [open mics] and get my material and go off again. Even though I was losing money on the road, I felt like I was a touring comic.
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You have jokes in “Take Me With You” about going through a ”mall goth” phase. Are you still a goth kid on the inside?
I stayed in a little punk era in Nashville and dabbled in being everything from punk to goth to hippie to whatever was the shape of my body at that time. But Nashville being similar to where I’m from, which is Ithaca, where I worked as a carpenter, it reaffirmed that you can be a dirty carpenter, and that’s also kinda cool. So I said I’m just gonna dress like I do at work. So I stopped being full goth in ninth grade when I wanted to get a boyfriend.
Judging by the blood–red stage design for your special, I’d say you’re still a little goth. What was your thought process for how you wanted your stage to look?
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I’m obsessed with “Rocky Horror Picture Show” and with Dr. Frank-N-Furter as a character, this bizarre alien trying to fit in with humanity and he’s this beautiful [trans person], you don’t know if he’s a man or woman — and I feel very similar to that. I don’t feel transgender, but I do feel like an alien. So I wanted it to feel like I had scrapped together a set to basically put on a show for my weird alien crowd. And I wanted the red in the curtains to be reminiscent of period blood, reproductive organs. I wanted it be really gnarly, and with the construction netting, I have a construction background, so I wanted it to look like somebody said, “You’re doing a Netflix special” and I’m just a weird creature going, “OK, time to do my big day!” and the stage crew did a great job with that direction.
Were you working in construction right up until you started doing comedy full time?
Yeah, I built houses with my parents and I’ve roofed. I’ve done mason work and landscaping and stuff. But in New York I did remodeling, so I’d do things like turn a crepe shop into a hair salon. So it was like flipping places in New York and making them hip and trendy. And nobody should’ve hired me; there’s nothing better than an all-male construction crew, and I was one woman. People were just so proud of patting themselves on the back for hiring a woman that they didn’t notice I took four times as long as a regular crew — and I hired a lot of day laborers.
In your special, you talk about battling the lesbian energy that you get labeled with in comedy, but I’m guessing that also happened in the construction gig?
It’s always been that way because I was raised by lesbians and they [didn’t] know how to raise a feminine child; they just raised me to be in their construction crew. And my dad wanted a son so I became his son, so I’ve always been super boy crazy and also so boy crazy in that I look and dress like a boy. So I’m basically a gay man … it’s not only being a woman that’s in the trades, but if you have any sort of energy that’s utilitarian, you’re gay and that’s always been a problem for me. Because I’ve liked cars or efficiency and building things, and I’ve never understood dressing up with makeup and jewelry.
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“I’m obsessed with ‘Rocky Horror Picture Show’ and with Dr. Frank-N-Furter as a character, this bizarre alien trying to fit in with humanity and he’s this beautiful [trans person], you don’t know if he’s a man or woman,” Jensen said. “And I feel very similar to that.”
(Mindy Tucker)
As a New York comic, what’s your perception of the L.A. comedy scene right now?
The L.A. scene has less of a fire under its ass, but it has the same amount of good comics — or roughly the same amount because of the population difference. But the difference between doing comedy in L.A. and doing comedy in New York is if you don’t write a new joke in New York every week, everybody knows. Whereas in L.A. they can chill more — they have a dog, they have a hike, they can do ayahuasca, and there’s more to life than comedy.
But in New York, you have 10 people living with you and you have to take a train every day, and you’re so comedy-focused because you’re trying to climb out of that life and into the comfy place of L.A. So they’re just as good, but New York comedy is way more prolific, but [in] L.A. they’re just as funny. Like Josh Johnson, I don’t think that guy is coming out of L.A. Because we’re trying to get to where the L.A. people are — they’re comfortable and have a nice house and they’re gonna be OK. But in New York we’ve committed our lives to being miserable so that we keep producing.
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What’s a note that Netflix producers gave you before the filming process of your special that you didn’t follow?
Netflix was like, “All that stuff that’s f— up about your family, put that way sooner in the special,” and I ended up not doing that because the way I do my regular set I try to ease them into that. Because when if you’re sitting there as a watcher, listening to all the stuff I say about my dad, you need to be loose. Netflix was like, “Just put it up top because it’s your story,” and I decided I’m just gonna go it how I normally do it, because I get it that it’s my story, but I can imagine turning that s— off so fast once your hear some of that stuff. Just like, “No!” So I’m trying to get you to understand me and then letting it rip. The first half-hour is my story, but it isn’t about being raised by lesbian moms and having the dead dad. I just had to gamble and not do the whole closer first thing and do a ramp-up instead.
Considering you’ve now achieved getting a Netflix special, do you think you’re still as hungry as you were before?
I thought the hunger would turn down a bit, but it doesn’t because as soon as the hour is done, you just have all this pressure to come up with a new hour, and the whole thing comes down to performance. When you’re onstage, you want to be giving them a really good show. So even though I can rest on my laurels, I can’t do anything from the special; I don’t want them to watch the special on Tuesday and see repeats. So I feel better on myself, but there’s no less drive. The special didn’t do what I thought it would do; I thought it would make me less of a love addict, I thought it make me less desperate to have people’s affection, but it doesn’t do s—. The only thing I care about is that women from Middle America who are not disgusting mongrels see the special. I want men and normie women to see the special — that’s why Netflix is important. Because my audience is all freaks, but I need nonfreaks to see it so they can feel freaky for an hour. That’s all I want.
NEW YORK (OSV News) – “Avatar: Fire and Ash” (20th Century), the third film in the always visually rich franchise that got its start in 2009, brings forward thematic elements that had previously been kept in the background and that viewers of faith will find it impossible to accept and difficult to dismiss. As a result, it requires careful evaluation by mature movie fans.
Against the recurring background of the fictional moon Pandora, the saga of the family whose fortunes were chronicled in the earlier chapters continues. The clan consists of dad Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) and his wife Neytiri (Zoe Saldaña) as well as their three surviving children, teens Lo’ak (Britain Dalton) and Kiri (Sigourney Weaver) and tyke Tuk (Trinity Jo-Li Bliss).
Rounding out the household is Jake and Neytiri’s adolescent adopted son, Spider (Jack Champion).
As veterans of the earlier outings will know, Jake was originally a human and a Marine. But, via an avatar, he eventually embraced the identity of Neytiri’s Pandoran tribe, the Na’vi. While their biological kids are to all appearances Na’vi — a towering race with blue skins and tails — Spider is human and requires a breathing mask to survive on Pandora.
Lo’ak is guilt-ridden over his role in the death of his older brother, Neteyam (Jamie Flatters), and wants to redeem himself by proving his worth as a warrior. Kiri is frustrated that, despite her evident spiritual gifts, she’s unable to connect with Eywa, the mother goddess the Na’vi worship.
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For his part, Jake is worried about Spider’s future — Neteyam’s death has left the still-grieving Neytiri with a hatred of the “Sky people,” as Earthlings are known on Pandora. He also has to contend with the ongoing threat posed by his potentially deadly rivalry with his former Marine comrade, Col. Miles Quaritch (Stephen Lang), who is also Spider’s estranged father.
As if all that weren’t enough, a further challenge arises when the Metkayina, the sea-oriented Pandorans with whom Jake et al. have taken refuge, are attacked by the fierce fire-centric Mangkwan, led by Varang (Oona Chaplin), a malevolent sorceress. A three hour-plus running time is required to tie up these varied strands.
Along the way, the religion adhered to by the main characters becomes more prominent than in previous installments. Thus Eywa is both present on screen and active in the plot. Additionally, Kiri is revealed to have been the product of a virginal conception.
Director and co-writer (with Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver) James Cameron’s extension of his blockbuster series, accordingly, not only includes material uncomfortable at best for Christians but also seems incongruent, overall, with monotheistic belief. Even well-catechized grown-ups, therefore, should approach this sprawling addition to Cameron’s epic with caution.
The film contains nonscriptural beliefs and practices, constant stylized but often intense combat violence with brief gore, scenes of torture, narcotics use, partial nudity, a couple of mild oaths, at least one rough term, numerous crude and a handful of crass expressions and an obscene gesture. The OSV News classification is L — limited adult audience, films whose problematic content many adults would find troubling. The Motion Picture Association rating is PG-13 — parents strongly cautioned. Some material may be inappropriate for children under 13.
My name is Jon Halperin. I booked and managed Chain Reaction from 2000 to 2006. It started by accident while I was running a one-person record label. I went to the club to see the band Melee perform and the prior talent buyer for the club had just quit that day. I told owner Tim Hill I’d do it (having only booked three shows ever at a coffee shop). We slept on it, and I was hired the next day.
I joined Ron Martinez (of Final Conflict). He was booking the punk and hardcore shows. I booked the indie, ska, emo, screamo and pop punk stuff. We made a great team. Best work-wife ever.
Story time. My friend Ikey Owens (RIP) hit me up and told me that he and the guys from At the Drive In were going to be starting a new band. I’d booked Defacto (their dub project) before, and we agreed to throw them on a show and just bill it as “Defacto.” There were maybe 200 people there to see the first show for a band that would soon be known as the Mars Volta.
That wasn’t out of the ordinary. Chain Reaction had many artists grace that stage that went on to bigger things: Death Cab for Cutie, Avenged Sevenfold, Maroon 5, Fall Out Boy, Panic at the Disco, Taking Back Sunday, Pierce the Veil, My Morning Jacket. The list goes on and on.
Jon Halperin, who booked Chain Reaction from 2000 to 2006, stands in front of the club during its heyday.
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(From Jon Halperin)
I used to make a deal with the kids. Buy a ticket to “X” show, and if you didn’t like the band, I’d refund you. I never had to. I knew my audience and they trusted my curation of the room. … It was by the kids, for the kids, except I was 30 at the time. I had to think like a teenager. My friend Brian once called me “Peter Pan.”
Halfway through my reign, social media became a thing. There was Friendster and a bit later MySpace. YouTube stated just a few years after. But those first few years of me at the venue, it was word of mouth. It was paper fliers dropped off at coffee shops and record stores. It was the flier in the venue window. It was Mean Street Magazine and Skratch Magazine.
I’d tease the press when they wanted to review a show. If you don’t show up with a pen and paper, you aren’t getting in (sorry, Kelli).
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Most music industry went to the Los Angeles show, but smart industry came to us. Countless acts got signed following their shows. You’d often see the band meeting with a label in the parking lot near their tour van.
It was a dry room when I was there. No booze or weed whatsoever. We made only one exception to the weed rule. An artist in a band with Crohn’s disease who traveled with a nurse. Not saying bands didn’t drink backstage, on stage, in their vans (we rarely had buses), but what we didn’t see didn’t happen.
Touche Amoré performing at Chain Reaction in 2010.
(Joe Calixto)
We were often referred to as the “CBGB’s of the West,” and for a lot of bands, locals and touring acts alike, we were just that. We were the epicenter. There were other venues of course, but for some reason, we were the venue to play. Showcase Theater in Corona was edging toward its demise. Koo’s Cafe in Santa Ana was done. Back Alley in Fullerton wasn’t active. Galaxy Theater [in Santa Ana] was still, well, the Galaxy. There was no House of Blues Anaheim. Bands would drive a thousand miles to play one show at Chain Reaction. We were where the local bands started as first of four on a bill and would be headlining us within a year. We were their jumping-off point. We were where the kids came out. The real fans, many of whom started bands themselves.
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Thankfully, there are other smaller venues out there today fostering the all-ages scene: Programme Skate in Fullerton, the Locker Room at Garden AMP [in Garden Grove], Toxic Toast in Long Beach, the Haven Pomona, but it’s just not the same. It was a moment in time. A time that will be forgotten in a few decades, but for today, my social media is being inundated with memories of a room that was a second home for thousands of kids.
Zero regrets. It was the best and worst times of my life. Working a day gig and then heading to the venue nearly every day of the week was rough. Relationships and friendships were hard, being that I couldn’t go out at night. I couldn’t get a pet. I was constantly tired. But I wouldn’t trade those six years for the world.
If this week’s Telugu release Gurram Paapi Reddy were a human, it would most likely be a teenager. It bursts with energy, overflowing with ideas and wearing its unabashed enthusiasm like a badge of honour. The audience too might end up surrendering to its infectious energy. Yet, like a distracted teenager, the film also gets so enamoured by its very idea that it loses control and does not know where to stop.
The vibe is eerily similar to Jathi Ratnalu early on. Again, Brahmanandam (as Vaidyanathan), is a judge. Faria Abdullah, the actress in the former film, is the only female presence in the lead lineup here. The other oddball male characters — Gurram Paapi Reddy (Naresh Agastya), Chilipi (Vamshidhar Goud), Goyyi (Jeevan Kumar) and Military (Rajkumar Kasireddy) — are the not-so-smart ones who get entangled in a mess.
The similarities end there. Brahmanandam, who is in terrific form, sets the tone of the comedy, doling out harsh punishments to petty criminals, not for their crimes, but for their sheer stupidity in getting caught. Gurram, Chilipi, Goyyi and Military are the victims who reunite after their jail term. This time, they are joined by Soudamini (Faria).
Storyline: A gang of four ex-convicts swap dead bodies for easy money and land in a ‘royal’ mess.
While their earlier heist at a jewellery store goes terribly wrong, the new plan is strangely simple. The four men need to swap a dead body from Srisailam with another body in a graveyard in Hyderabad for a meagre sum. While they execute it, albeit with difficulty, it gets messy when the motive behind the swap comes to the fore, dating back to a royal gift from the pre-Independence era.
The key conflict is established prior to the intermission, but newer problems surface later. Though the story idea is deceptively straightforward, the director builds many layers to the fun quotient and it’s evident that he treats comedy like serious business.
The actors react to the situations without trying too hard to impress. The scenes are not only thematically funny, but also packed with outrageously hilarious one-liners. Every time one feels the film’s trajectory is sorted, there is a surprise. The screenplay is busy with backstories and subplots.
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The second hour could have benefited from some economy in writing. Past connections are strung together, newer characters and their complexities are introduced, there are backup plans, flashbacks and a song is thrown into the mix. Thankfully, the humour quotient remains unaffected. Some breather would have been welcome.
The subplots involving Sangi Reddy, particularly the courtroom proceedings, and Markandeya Raju’s son crowd the screenplay, leaving the viewers with too many dots to connect. It’s inevitable for some restlessness to creep in towards the final 45 minutes — a stretch packed with several events and coincidences. A clever climax salvages the film.
Gurram Paapi Reddy is aware of the crucial balance between the goofiness of its characters and the seriousness of the plot. Too many characters and a packed, expansive narrative make the film exhausting, given its 160-minute runtime.
Naresh Agastya, Vamshidhar Goud, Faria Abdullah, Jeevan Kumar and Rajkumar Kasireddy share wonderful on-screen camaraderie and get ample scope to shine individually too. Yogi Babu, as a convict with night-blindness, brings the roof down even when he doesn’t dub for himself. Motta Rajendran’s antics look repetitive at times, though they land well.
This is also among Brahmanandam’s best on-screen appearances in recent times. It’s an absolute joy to see the veteran actor ever-hungry to prove his worth when he senses potential in a scene. John Vijay is in dire need of reinvention with his dialogue delivery and body language. Both songs in the film, composed by Krishna Saurabh, though well-shot, feel abrupt.
A narrative with lesser flab would have amplified the film’s impact. The makers tease the audience with a potential sequel idea, but appreciably it does not appear forced. The film is also complete in itself.
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Gurram Paapi Reddy is a smartly written and performed con-comedy that delivers laughs aplenty, though a few segments become indulgent.
