Sometimes capitalism really sucks. I know, I know—a capitalist market raises the bar on quality consumer options through a fiercely competitive marketplace. Wonk, wonk, wonk; yadda, yadda, yadda. But don’t you get the feeling sometimes that the exact opposite is true? That capitalism in fact enables mediocrity and in that process denigrates anything worthy of respect?

Last week on Super Sunday, I sat down to watch Super Bowl XXXV. I’m a big football fan, and although the Super Bowl rarely ever lives up to its billing, it is still the battle of the two best teams in the league. Often times it’s an incredibly lopsided game, but I still watch it and wait for the best team to prove why it’s the best. Over the years, though, the Super Bowl has been less and less about football and more like one huge block of advertising space—a televised billboard, if you will. From the pregame show to the halftime show to the overpriced commercials in between, the advertisers of the world have no interest in just allowing us to enjoy the game without any gaudy distractions.

As a result, the Super Bowl has become more of an endurance test for football fans than a celebration of the NFL’s two best teams. First this year, we had to watch Sting continuing to prove what a soulless whore he’s become with a medley of his most recent hits and one neutered verse of “Roxanne.” That way he promotes his new stuff and his back catalog. How clever! What makes an artist display such contempt for his own creations? I’ve got two words for Sting and his increasingly cruddy solo career: Stewart Copeland.

After that, there was the absolutely colossal and unnecessary blunder of having Ray Charles singing “America the Beautiful,” followed by Backstreet Boys’ Disney-ized version of our national anthem. Ray Charles opening for Backstreet Boys! That’s practically sacrilegious, but at least the crowd showed their disapproval with a chorus of boos as Backstreet’s music started up.

Then there was the unholy horror of the halftime show, when some intelligent discussion and analysis of the game might have been nice. But no, there are still teenagers to manipulate into buying product. So the network and the NFL had to embarrass everyone by showing former hard-rock heroes Aerosmith trying to soak up some credibility from a generation that thinks Run-DMC wrote “Walk This Way.” It’s bizarre enough that Steven Tyler looks more and more like Joan Rivers every day, but did he and his bandmates have to desecrate their ode to teen horniness by duetting with the nonthreatening, asexual wusses of ♦NSYNC? As if that weren’t spectacle enough, Britney Spears, never wanting to miss a promotional opportunity, showed up to play the role of the diddle-diddle with the kitty in the middle while inexplicably wearing a tube sock on her right arm. And this was all for our “entertainment.”

I realize that the Super Bowl is a large ratings draw and therefore irresistible to advertisers and record companies wanting to promote their product. But do they have to insult the average football fan in the process? How about a Super Bowl that shows some respect for the game and its fans, instead of an exercise in seeing who will sacrifice the most pride and dignity for a dollar?

Pale imitation

If you’re like me, your heart might have stopped for a moment sometime last week when you heard the rumor that Tim Burton was going to remake Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Not only was a remake in the works, but supposedly Marilyn Manson was going to be cast as the title character.

The rumor was quickly shot down by Manson’s representatives and by Warner Bros., but it turns out that the real story is just as disappointing: While it’s true that Tim Burton isn’t associated with the project, director Gary Ross is. Much like last year’s Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Hollywood is going to ruin something that’s already perfect. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is a children’s classic, with a definitive, charming performance by Gene Wilder. There’s no need for a new interpretation of this story.

Already, we know that there will be a generation of kids who will know the Grinch only as Jim Carrey and not the brilliant cartoon character voiced by Boris Karloff. It would be a shame if the same thing happened with Willy Wonka.

More movie foolishness

A couple of weeks ago, I detailed the domino effect of bad judgments involved in the protracted production of Basic Instinct 2. Here’s the latest news: Last week director David Cronenberg dropped out of the project, and now it has been announced that director John McTiernan, responsible largely for big-budget blow-’em-up movies such as Die Hard and the upcoming Rollerball, will helm the project. Taking over in the male lead will be Bruce Greenwood, a fine but minor actor who can currently be seen playing J.F.K. in Thirteen Days. Good luck to the folks involved with this production—they’re really going to need it.

Here are some other confounding lapses in logic that occurred in Tinsel Town in the past week:

♦ Fox Searchlight Films recently pulled some of the Web site content promoting its film Quills. This Geoffrey Rush Oscar vehicle is an anti-censorship story about the life of the 18th-century author Marquis de Sade. Apparently one Web page contained postings of Sade’s writings and links to an XXX-rated Bible site (whatever that is). So after receiving complaints from parents whose kids were reading this stuff, Fox censored its Web site for a film about the evils of censorship. What I wanna know is, who are the bizarro kids cruising the Quills Web site?

♦ Brad Pitt has recently angered Hollywood execs by being vocal about the poor quality of his upcoming summer thriller with Robert Redford, The Spy Game. Most notably, he’s deemed that the film and its lunkhead dialogue are suitable only for “7-year-olds.” Welcome to the summer movie season, Mr. Pitt. This isn’t the first time Pitt has slagged one of his own films before it was released. Back in ’97, he complained excessively about the quality of the script for The Devil’s Own, to the point that he practically refused to do press for the movie. You do read these things, don’t you, Brad? Here’s an idea: If the script sucks, don’t star in it.

♦ This type of behavior we expect from politicians, and by God, conservative boob Orrin Hatch came through for us this week. Hatch made a small cameo appearance in Traffic, Steven Soderbergh’s examination of the drug war. It seems that only recently did he actually see the film, and he was shocked to find—surprise—that it contains violence and profanity. Hatch immediately dismissed the film and withdrew his support for it. Only a dimwitted politician would expect a squeaky-Disney-clean look at the illegal drug-trafficking trade.

What’s more, according to recent press reports, Hatch complained about the nudity in the film—which makes me wonder, just what movie did he go see? There is no nudity in Traffic (though there are some briefly portrayed sexual situations). Do we actually trust these people to pay attention to the details of running our country?

Quotidian Challenge

“Love can get you like a case of Anthrax. And that’s something I don’t want to catch.”

E-mail the origin of this useless bit of trivia to poplife the shame of your name printed in the paper and some free useless crap from the Nashville Scene!

Previous week’s answer: Kathleen Turner and Danny DeVito in The War of the Roses.

Winner: Phil McCrevis