Train In Vain

Plus: 'Candyman' and Aaliyah's legacy, 20 years after her death

View this email online by Glen Weldon Welcome! It was the week we got first a leak, then a peek, of Alfred Molina back in octopedal drag. It was the week we lost a Stone. And it was the week OnlyFans, like so many of its clients, flip-flopped. Let’s get to it. Opening Argument: Train In Vain Those of us who punish ourselves on fancy treadmills, rowers or bikes, whether at the gym or at home, desperately need motivation to keep going. There is an evolutionary reason for this. It’s because the word “slog” does not begin to approach the bleak, soul-sickening reality of huffing and sweating and pounding and pulling -- performing all of the bodily activities our brains long-ago learned to associate with, you know, forward movement -- only to remain perpetually, fixedly, Jean-Paul Sartredly, in the same place you started.  Even if you ignore the dispiriting existential symbolism of it all, it’s the stuff of literal nightmares -- exhausting yourself to escape, only to realize that no matter how hard you work, you’re not going anywhere. So it’s not surprising that the fanciest treadmills, rowers and bikes now offer you the option to have a ridiculously fit, rictus-grinning virtual trainer accompany you on your workout. They are there to inspire you, they say. To goose your performance. To help you gauge your Rate of Perceived Exertion (RPE) through your Pyramids, Tabatas and your High Intensity Interval Training (HIIT).  That’s what they say. But let’s you and I, reader, be real. Because you and I know that they are there to be admired. And crushed on. And harshly judged. And bitterly mocked. All within the same workout, usually. The cultural conversation around the rise of parasocial relationships -- the fact that we develop a sense of unidirectional intimacy with public figures who don’t know us from Adam, or from Eve or even from friggin’ Lilith -- has turned to virtual trainers, inevitably. It was accelerated by the pandemic, of course -- all of us locked inside, our only visitors those of the virtual variety -- but it was always gonna happen. Think about it: When you’re at your very worst, exhausted, sweaty, stinky, your face looking the most like a steamed dumpling it ever can or will, there’s this attractive, beaming, inordinately upbeat, professionally ebullient person staring up at you, yelling, “You got this!” Doesn’t matter whatever the specific “this” may be -- the important thing is that you, apparently, have it. You are in possession of it! It’s yours! You know this to be true, because Katie or Lance or Deja or Gerren told you so, and they should know, they’re professionals! At the getting of this! It’s their whole thing! Full disclosure: I’m bad with names, so in my head I refer to my go-to virtual trainers with epithets like Guy Whose Arms Are Good Arms To Have, Ex-Cheerleader Who Seriously Needs To Dial It Down, Hot Guy Who Hasn’t Mentioned A Girlfriend Or Wife Yet, That One With The Abs, Distracting Side-Pony, Forearm Freddy, Was Probably On The Challenge, Twink Martindale and These Thighs Were Made For Crushin’ And That’s Just What They’ll Do. Yes, I’ve looked them all up on Instagram. Yes, I’ve followed the hot gay ones. Yes, that means having to put up with their loghorrean manifestoes about motivation and goals and fitness journeys and how a glass of tepid seltzer makes an awesome healthy cocktail.  That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, on this, my own fitness journey. The fancy machines also let you accompany your virtual trainers out of the studio. You can bike around Fiji or row through the shadow of Christ the Redeemer on Rio de Janeiro’s Rodrigo de Freitas Lagoon or -- as I’ve been doing lately -- hike around the Dominican Republic, led by a beardy man with a soft voice and a kind face and lats of rare and superior quality who alternates between lecturing me about my RPE and HIIT and delivering an impromptu seminar on Caribbean history and the evils of colonialism. Yes, I’ve looked up his Insta. Married to a woman. Four kids. I can never remember his name. I just call him The Bear That Got Away. Newsletter continues after sponsor message We Recommend: The actor John Ross Bowie’s new podcast, Household Faces, has him interviewing his fellow character actors about the life and culture of character-actoring. What could so easily devolve into obscure, jargon-studded, actorly shop-talk instead comes off as lively, knowing banter about the business side of show business. Bowie’s the perfect host – deeply knowledgeable, of course, but also sincerely curious, and he’s striking precisely the right balance as he interviews actors whose work you’ve admired, getting them to open up about the roles that got away and the many everyday indignities and triumphs of being a working actor. Once and future PCHH panelist Kat Chow’s got a book out this week – her debut memoir’s called Seeing Ghosts, and it’s about grief, memory, family, taxidermy and a whole lot more. It’s filled with a kind of assured, hard-won wisdom about navigating loss, and the prose is so achingly precise and elegant – it’s beautiful, but never showily or self-consciously so – that you’ll be surprised every time she articulates an insight with a clear, implacable weight that finds you, and lands on you hard. Trust me, it’s like getting sucker-punched by Tilda Swinton, every time. Um. In the best way. Even if you haven’t lost a parent, you’ll find the book intimately relatable and warmly familiar. I tend to get frustrated by complicated, European-style board games, with their each-turn-consists-of-four-rounds-and-during-each-round-you-may-take-one-or-more-of-six-possible-actions nonsense, and the only birds I care about are the kind that come deep-fried and served in buckets. But dang if this Slate article by Dan Kois didn’t convince me to give the hit board game Wingspan a try on a vacation I’ll be taking over Labor Day week. It might be a fool’s errand, as it’s tough to convince my husband to play any game that doesn’t involve deft deployment of the triple-letter-score, but fingers – and feathers – crossed. What We Did This Week: Universal Pictures and MGM Pictures On Monday’s show, Linda talked with Shea Vassar and Sam Kessler about Hulu’s Reservation Dogs. On Tuesday’s show, Aisha and Karen Tongson took a look at Netflix’s The Chair. Wednesday, Aisha, Jourdain Searles and Kiana Fitzgerald discussed Aaliyah’s legacy, 20 years after her death. Also – Aisha wrote this stunning essay grappling with some of the more complicated aspects of that legacy. On Thursday, we partnered with our pals over at NPR’s Life Kit for this discussion – hosted by me – offering an intro to the Science Fiction/Fantasy genre(s). A terrific talk with a dream panel consisting of authors Tochi Onyebuchi and Amal El-Mohtar, rounded out by NPR’s resident genre-fiction nabob, maven and cognoscente, Petra Mayer. And on Friday’s show Aisha looked into a mirror and repeated the names Walter Chaw, Ayesha Rascoe and Marc Rivers five times each, thereby summoning a great panel to discuss the new film Candyman. Also on Friday, Stephen hosted New Music Friday over on All Songs Considered. What's Making Us Happy! Every week on the show, we talk about some other things out in the world that have been giving us joy lately. Here they are: What's Making Ayesha Rascoe Happy: Scooby-Doo! Mystery Incorporated on Netflix What's Making Marc Rivers Happy: Enlightened on HBO Max What's Making Walter Chaw Happy: A variety of movies at this year’s Fantasia International Film Festival What's Making Aisha Harris: “Vax That Thang Up” by BLK ft. Juvenile, Mannie Fresh, Mia X Stream your local NPR station. Visit NPR.org to find your local station stream. What do you think of today's email? We'd love to hear your thoughts, questions and feedback: pchh@npr.org Enjoying this newsletter? Forward to a friend! They can sign up here. Looking for more great content? Check out all of our newsletter offerings — including Music, Books, Daily News and more! You received this message because you're subscribed to Pop Culture Happy Hour emails. This email was sent by National Public Radio, Inc., 1111 North Capitol Street NE, Washington, DC 20002 Unsubscribe  |  Privacy Policy