12/11/00
"The malicious have a dark happiness." --- Victor Hugo
SORRY, MEL, BUT I'M SURE HAIR IS HIGH ON THAT LIST
What Women Want opens in the number one spot, finally rewarding Helen Hunt for working with every over-40 leading man in a fifty-foot radius for the last month and a half (Kevin Spacey, Richard Gere, Tom Hanks, Mel Gibson). I enjoyed this one joke movie (piggish man develops ability to read women's thoughts---watch the hilarity ensue) more than Id expected, which probably why I enjoyed it at all, because the more I think of it, the more the bloom begins to fade. First off, the gimmick seems to come and go whenever it's convenient, as if people ever stop thinking, especially you broads. Then there's the belief that he wouldn't use this power to bone everything with breasts. This character is shown actually copping a feel in the first five minutes like a 13-year-old, but ultimately only beds one woman in the entire course of the film. I'm sorry, ladies, but even the best of us isn't above it. Even if it were only one woman, it sure as hell would be someone above the coffee shop girl (played by Marisa Tomei---yeah, she earned that Oscar). Needless to say, as the result of reading women's thoughts, Mel Gibson becomes a better person and women love him. And two plus two equals four. Now, I know a mainstream release like this wouldn't ruffle any feathers (the rawest moment is when he reads Tomei's mind during sex and finds out she thinks his dick is small), but given that it was directed by a woman in a post Sex & The City world, couldn't they have at least tried?
UH, HES NOT ACTING
Dude, Where's My Car opens at number two this week and I used to think Ashton Kutcher's Kelso portrayal on That 70's Show was inspired, but after seeing him on talk shows, I realize he's not exactly stretching. But what can you expect from a former model? My life is too short to waste it seeing him play a 90's moron as opposed to his regular gig as a 70's moron and too long to be tortured with the thought that I saw this and not have fed a homeless man or taught a child to read. Still, I'm for anything that gives Kirsty Swanson (the original Buffy The Vampire Slayer) work. No one should feel so low that dating Alan Thicke actually seems like a good idea. Even her recent arrest wasn't as humiliating as that.
SILVER LINING
There's one good thing about superstar starring comedies and teen dope comedies. How The Grinch Stole Christmas has finally been knocked not one, but two notches out of the top spot, down to number three this week. It may wind up the highest grossing film of 2000 (MI2 is number one so far), but that's a dubious honor. That's like being the best lover or best chef in England. It's more a comment on the failure of others than your virtues.
YEAH ,THE MOVIES CUTE, BUT WHAT ABOUT THIS PSYCHO WHO KICKED YOUR ASS?
The Emperor's New Groove opens at number four and all I can think of is poor David Spade. Usually, a Disney movie is a ticket to immortality, but not only is this one of their minor efforts (better than Hercules, but what is that saying), but his nutjob, 300-pound personal assistant is much more interesting. Isn't your personal assistant supposed to be some cute girl or gay guy? Why would your hire a 300-pound personal assistant? Bodyguard? Sure. Personal assistant? I don't think so. First, ugly, old, fat Jack Nicholson steals your girlfriend, now a trusted friend freaks on you. Not good, David. You might wanna get that karma checked out. Oh, the movie's okay, but rumor has it the first version sucked and they had to trash it and start over. It shows. It seems rather rushed and bare-boned. I don't miss the musical numbers, but there's nothing here to take their place.
STANDING ON A SMALL MOUNTAIN TO KISS HER
Vertical Limit is down to number five and I've got some questions about Chris ODonnell's height. The supposed love interest in this Izabella Scorupco (last seen luscious and perfect in Goldeneye), who as a former model, has to at least break 5'9", but during their kiss, he's almost towering over her. At best, he's 5'10" (and I doubt that), so in tried and true Hollywood tradition, they must have had him standing on a couple of phone books. Oh, and this is never going to make back it's nearly $80M budget. No way, no day.
EWWWW
Down to number six with its days as numbered as the relationship of its two stars, is Proof Of Life. Following it at number seven is Unbreakable and between these two movies and the one preceding we suffer through some squeamish moments. In Vertical Limit we get a shot of Scott Glenn rubbing his toe-missing stump of a foot and Izabella Scorupco's broken finger. In Proof of Life we get David Morse's bloody, probably infected feet a few times, as well as wooden spikes in his leg. Finally, we get Samuel Jackson's brittle boned character falling down a subway stairwell. Ewww. Ouch. Ewww. Enough already. A space demon ripping out a man's heart I can handle, but the little shit that really happens to people I can do without seeing.
KID STUFF
Not impressing anyone at Disney Accounting is 102 Dalmatians, down to number eight this week, followed by Dungeons & Dragons at number nine (this failure has got to get someone at New Line fired). Finally, Rugrats In Paris has acquitted itself well enough to guarantee a third one two years from now. Gee, can't wait.
RED MEAT, RED WINE, BARRY WHITEYOU KNOW WHERE I'M GOING WITH THIS, RIGHT?
Not breaking the top ten this week (or any other for that matter) is Chocolat. I didn't enjoy this as much as I wanted to. It seemed so promising. A fairy tale/fable about a mysterious woman and her daughter who arrive in a repressed small town in France in the late 50's to open a chocolate shop and free everyone's desires. Add into this Johnny "I'm So Fucking Pretty" Depp as a guitar playing Irish gypsy and we should have a sublimely little erotic movie. Sorry, but chocolate is sex. You're kidding yourself if you're over the age of 13 and don't realize this. Still, this movie doesn't quite deliver and it has such a nice little cast. In addition to Depp, Juilette Binoche is reunited with her Unbearable Lightness of Being costar, Lena Olin (what would have been perfect is if Daniel Day Lewis accurately played the Irish gypsy, completing the hat trick); and joining them are Judi Dench, Leslie Caron, Carrie Anne Moss and Alfred Molina (that's right you Molina fans, he's here). Director Lasse Hallstrom knows better. He directed the wonderful European-small-town-in-the-50's movie, My Life As A Dog and there was more erotic heat between little Ingemar and his tomboy buddy/soon-to-be-girlfriend, Saga, (who kicks his butt when he refuses her touch her developing breasts) than there was between Binoche and Depp. Again, we have two good-looking celebs with no gratuitous sex scene. Damnit! What the hell am I paying for!?! Again, Depp is the better looking than any woman in the movie, but it's not like Carrie Anne-Moss was a threat. Not that impressive to begin with, they have her dressed up like a woman in this movie and that only makes it all the more apparent. She's much more attractive all butched up in short hair, black vinyl and shades.
NOW I REALLY CANT GO BACK TO THE FARM. OKAY, THE SUBURBS.
Continuing my new career as an escort for my doctor friend (last time it was a vodka party), I wound up on a Park Avenue rooftop Saturday night, smoking a Cohiba. That's right. Fidel's brand, baby! No, I don't smoke, but I felt I had to smoke a good Cuban cigar. When Fidel dies, no one will care, but now it's a rare thing. It was the climax of an evening that began when the manned elevator open into an anteroom of sorts, which then opened into a foyer. Let's go past the enormous plant in the center and the chandelier hanging over it to the open bar and get our REALLY GOOD champagne. Now, into the living room, which like most of the two floors of this place, is littered with antiques and objects of art from all over the world. Hanging over the billiard table in the billiard room (when you have money it's billiards; otherwise it's pool) is an antique French billiard lamp and I can't decide if it clashes with the twelve foot long Italian 19th century painting on the wall or the custom faux Italian painting on the ceiling of Venus and cherubs or some shit like that. Since Daniel is catering in the kitchen (yeah, that Daniel; read Zagat's and weep), we can't go into those rooms, so we head upstairs to the bedrooms, each with gigantic bathrooms with huge steamer showers. After that we go to the roof, where no less than four boxes of Cuban cigars are laid out under the canopy, since it's raining. Did I mention that everyone here is a fucking doctor? Oh, no, I'm not a complete out of my league failure here. Yes, doctor, Ill be trying your special French dessert wine that probably costs more than I make in a month. And ignore me while I steal one of your Cohibas (and a Monterey) so I can say that I have it. Well, if nothing else, I looked good in my new black suit (I had to buy it---my blue Cerrutti makes me look like a fucking lawyer) as I sipped fine wine and smoked a Cohiba on the roof, while overlooking the city, gently blanketed with rain and fog. Going back to inhaling second-hand smoke over mixed novelty drinks at the Dew Drop Inn is going to be quite drop.
PONCE DE LEON WAS AN IDIOT
I know I look younger than I really am because people are forever telling me so. I could really care less, because the older I get, the less people question my crankiness and I personally find the inability to grow facial hair embarrassing. Being young annoyed me slightly less than young people annoy me now. S till, I don't really see it. I think I look my age if not older. I realized why when I was getting dressed for Saturday's decadence (did I mention the gray Liz Claiborne shirt with French cuffs?). Once I put it on, I looked like a 12-year-old in a suit. I then realized the reason I think I look old is because I'm usually dressed like a 15-year-old geek in a Superman T-shirt and pair of jeans. Of course Id look old in that! But once dressed like an adult (I actually picked out a nice tie all by myself; something I'm normally not good at), I more resembled and 15-year-old geek who thinks that his prom get-up is going to get him into a bar. Sigh.
12/11/2001 Rant
"I know I'm not clever, but I'm always right." --- J.M. Barrie
GOOD MEN DOING NOTHING
You know that's how evil succeeds, right? Well, right good men are doing jack shit as How The Grinch Stole Christmas remains on top for the fourth straight week. At a cost of $123M, $195M seems to be successful, but when you add in prints (it costs money to make a copy for every theater, people) and advertising, we're talking $200M easy, so it has yet to even break even. BUT this is essentially just a commercial for all that Grinch shit they're selling and I don't want to think how much Wendy's and all the other tie-in companies kicked in, so maybe it is actually making money for Universal. But that doesn't make it right.
BUT WHERE ARE THE BRUTHAS?
Number Two? Number Two? You know there are heads being scratched all over Hollywood at this no-starring, poorly directed, conventionally-plotted, action movie based on a sport most people simply don't understand (mountain climbing) opening this well. I know what did it. It was the trailer where the guy almost goes off the side of the mountain and Chris ODonnell jumping to another cliff. Ironically enough, each of those action scenes still ends in someone dying for an entirely different reason. But I'm not giving anything away to say that. Everyone knows that in something as conventional and mainstream as this, some of the rescuers have to die to let us know just how dangerous it all is. This goes back to the granddaddy of all super-team movies: The Seven Samurai. Since that movie, all of its doppelgangers and grandchildren live by the rule that all seven can't live. The mortality of the heroes must be shown. This movie might have been better had they done a little less obvious blue screen work and actually put them on the fucking mountain (it's so obvious Chris O'Donnell isn't on the mountain half the time that he might as well be running on a treadmill in front of a backdrop of Indians chasing him, like in some old western). At least that might have distracted us from the story and the bad dialogue. After a certain point, each literal "cliffhanger" just becomes annoying because, not only is the cast so dwindled down that you know no one else is dying, but you just want it to end already (at two hours, this is half an hour too long). Minor league geek casting going on here, though. The doctor from Deep Space Nine is here (actually playing Arabic for once) and so is Nicholas Lea, best known to you X-Files people as the evil Krychek (fuck you geeks and your spelling---I don't care).
AND DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE WATER
Proof Of Life opens at number three and given the so-and-so scandal and star wattage going on here, this is a bit of a disappointment. Could it be that no one really gives a shit who Meg Ryan is banging even if it is the shoo-in for next year's Sexiest Man Alive in People Magazine? It's too bad, because it's definitely better than either of the two films above it. The based-on-actual-events story of insurance firms that deal in corporate kidnapping, Proof of Life follows Russell Crowe as aids Meg Ryan and trying to retrieve her kidnapped husband (David Morse) in South America. It looks great, the action sequences are top notch and Russell Crowe is a star every second he's onscreen---hell, I even enjoyed David Caruso as one of Crowe's retrieval buddies (for my money NYPD Blue ended when he left---I could never get into Jimmy Smits)---but again, the story fails them. What should have been a top notch suspense story with an undercurrent of romance, is lost is hodgepodge of would be domestic drama (did I really need cross-cutting scenes of both Meg Ryan and David Morse talking about their marriage?) and attempts at fairness (did I really need the kidnappers to have any personality at all?) And Meg Ryan is Meg Ryan. Despite having her husband being kidnapped, she appears none the worse for wear and it sure as hell doesn't affect her wardrobe. I'm serious. Each scene brings us a new ensemble that screams the star perk of "I-added-my-personal-stylist-to-the-film's-budget." And if you're looking for a hot ?n heavy love story, look elsewhere. Aside from a few subtle indications, it's almost non-existent. Apparently, a sex scene was cut. As much as I agree with it from a story perspective, from a consumer perspective, I paid good money and I want to see celebrities do it, damn it!
FOUR OUT OF FIVE GEEKS RECOMMEND!
Any question as to why I'm king of the geeks and not just another very thin/fat guy with a comic book collection who knows way too much about mythology and porn is in the overwhelming geek love of this freaking movie. Trying to point out this film's flaws (plodding, pretentious, predictablegeeky) to one of my sexless subjects is like trying to deprogram a cult member. Also, it's a rule of thumb that any big hit gets you total indulgence on your next film. This is what's brought the world Magnolia, Four Rooms and every Coppola film after Apocalypse Now. This was Shyamalan's indulgence. Let's hope next time he lays off re-reading his old issues of The X-men and takes his script beyond a second draft.
DRAGGIN' IS RIGHT
I?e done many sad and pathetic things in my life (usually involving traveling to see some woman, somewhere), but one thing that, even in my lowest moments was unacceptable, was playing Dungeons & Dragons. Still, I found myself at the number five film this week. Why? Because I love a good sword and sorcery flick. Too bad this ain't one of ?em (Sword & The Sorcerer, now that's a flick). It's too bad too, because special effects have progressed to the point where you can have actually have a war between gold and red, flying, fire-breathing dragons the way this movie does (that idea alone gives the 14-year-old boy in me a chubby---or should I say, allows his chubby to continue). There's even a moment where the movie becomes exciting, when the hero does the game's trademarked maze journey. This moment is not repeated. Again, it's all in the writing and the inept directing. Jeremy Irons and Bruce Payne are good actors, but all they've left to do is chew scenery in this, while Thora Birch becomes just another teen actress with a nice rack without a competent script and director to guide her. And the bad things I can say about Marlon Wayans are endless. He is every stereotypical black sidekick character ever in this and thankfully, suffers the fate of every stereotypical black sidekick character ever in this. Oddly enough, the movie improves considerably once his mugging is gone and they actually start developing the hero more. Still, it's too little, too late. But that dragon fight is pretty neat.
KID STUFF
102 Dalmatians is down to number six, followed by Rugrats In Paris at number seven.
THE REST
Meet The Parents is down to number eight, followed by Charlie's Angels at number nine and Bounce closes out the top ten at number ten.
VERY HIDDEN DRAGON
Not in the top ten this week (it's only in 16 theaters), but easily one of best-reviewed films of the year, is Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Now, I've been waiting for this movie ever since Ang Lee announced he was doing it and Chow Yun Fat and Michelle Yeoh were cast, so it was my weekend priority. I got up for the first showing on Saturday and still walked into a packed theater. It's a good movie, but it's not the opus they would have you believe. If you've seen Hong Kong action flicks, nothing here is new to you, only the grandeur in which they're presented. One more time for those who haven't been listening, the story has problems. Initially it seems to be about Chow Yun-Fat, who plays a master swordsman retiring and on the verge of confessing his long-simmer love to his fellow warrior, Michelle Yeoh. Then it becomes the story of a young, headstrong girl (Zhang Ziyi) who steals a legendary sword in hopes of emulating the lifestyle of Chow and Yeoh and who resists their attempts to rehabilitate her, since she's spent her life being trained by Chow's greatest enemy, The Jade Fox. The biggest problem happens when there's a 20-minute flashback to the girl's kidnapping by a dashing bandit in the desert (a pretty boy, goateed, long hair, and a red shirt open to his navel---where I come from that's dashing) and their ensuing romance. The film never really recovers from it. Also, despite the pain an aggravation she causes for everyone around her and the sacrifices made on her behalf, Zhang never really matures and it's hard having a character you don't really like as your protagonist, while the real heroes support her.
TAKE ME, BREAK ME, MAKE ME A MAN, PART VII
Despite my issues with Crouching Tiger, I cannot deny the simple pleasure I get in watching women kick butt. It was all I liked about Charlie's Angels and it's epic in Crouching Tiger. What can I say? There's something hot about a woman that can kick your butt. This is why I like the latest issue of Playboy so much. The amazing Gabrielle Reece is on display. This almost makes me regret letting my subscription lapse. Almost, because I'm sure next month they'll be back to plastic 20-year-olds, but for one brief, shining moment they have transcended their shallow limitations and provided us with a view of true Olympian glory. With this in mind, I also must issue a mea culpa on behalf of the Williams sisters, Venus and Serena. In the new issue of Elle (the cover no less) they prove they aren't nearly as man-like as I once accused them of being. In fact, without those goddamn beads in their hair and their awkward teens years finally ending, they actually clean up pretty nice. But make no mistake: both they and Gabrielle Reece are less than perfect from the neck up---but from the neck down (and it's a long way down, give that all three break six feet) Amazons walk the earth, baby, and I'm glad I'm here. Hell makes me wanna work out, which is more than the chiseled men in Men's Health make me wanna do. Looking at pictures of those guys just depresses me and makes me wanna eat cheese.
THE LOVE THAT DARE NOT SPEAK ITS NAME, BUT WHIPS YOUR BUTT AT POOL
I was forced to see two movies as day this weekend, because I spent Friday night Chasing Amy, which is my way of saying I was out drinking with the bisexual woman who turned me down but wanted to remain friends (this kind of shit only happens to me). It seems she wanted advice on how to deal with her crazy girlfriend. What can I say? If it's anything I'm familiar with, it's relations with nutty broads. Anyway, after dispensing said advice (she took it and things seemed to have worked out for now) she proceeded to beat me in strip pool. Given that it was a pool hall on Christopher Street, I'm sure we could have both stripped right there and not have been noticed, but we kept it theoretical, keeping a mental tally on who owed what clothing (to be paid out at a later date). Actually, I beat myself, scratching while trying to knock the eight ball in during the final game, so it's not like I'm not a man or anything, but the ego doesn't exactly thrive in being outclassed in manly pursuits by a woman who's slept with more women than you?which means she actually beat me in two manly pursuits. Damn.
I HATE EVERYBODY
I went to see Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon first thing Saturday morning mainly to avoid the kung-fu riff-raff. In other words, Black people. Okay, Puerto Ricans too. In any case, I wanted to avoid the loud moron element. Despite it being packed, I thought I was lucky until the brutha next to me was joined by his lady---both of them eating concession stand food at eleven in the fucking morning. They were fine until the desert flashback scene. Being a couple of simple minded idiots, the lack of steady butt-kicking couldn't hold their attention and they started talking about the movie like they were home in their living room, not to mention reading the subtitles aloud. Thankfully, they quieted down once the flashback ended. Had their combined weight not equaled 600 pounds, I might have had to kick some ass. Their Latin brethren made and appearance at Vertical Limit, which I was forced to see in the afternoon, when idiots are definitely awake and walking the earth. Each action scene was accompanied by a Nyuorican accented "Sheeeet!" or a "Daaaammmn!" or the idiot giggling of an entertained girlfriend. Finally, just as annoying were the White pseudo-intellectual elite, who couldn't contain just how fucking above mainstream cinema they were during the trailers and opening scenes of Proof Of Life. I'm sorry, wasn't there a fucking three hour chronicle of the struggle of a farmer in Pakistan playing at the Angelica for you, you brie-and-Chardonnay-sucking, New York Magazine-reading, Hamptons-In-The-Summer-living, sacks of shit!?! I hate everybody.
AND WESLEY SNIPES IS THEIR UGLY-ASS GOD
While waiting to meet Chasing Amy at the Angelika (just meeting there---I refuse to see anything there any more) where crowds were gathered to see Couching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, I couldn't help but think of my old friend JC. See, like many Asian men, JC had a problem with so many Asian women dating and marrying out (it's the number one form of interracial dating in America, with bruthas and blondes running second). Or at least, that's what I thought. In watching the many Anglo male/Asian female couples I realize it was attractive Asian women with ugly White guys that pissed him off. No Asian man alive disliked John Lennon, a notorious rice buster who single-handedly slept with the two ugliest Asian women alive (Yoko Ono and that Chinese broad). Hell, they thanked him from taking them off their hands, but the beauty and beast parade going into the movies on Friday would once have made my friend's blood boil (he's long since married and let it go). Me, I just find it funny?almost as funny as the ugly-ass god of rice-busters, Wesley Snipes, and his attempt to win back his core female audience with Disappearing Acts on HBO. I swear to you, between the hours of 9:00 and 11:00 on Saturday night, no Black woman in America could be reached by phone, fax, email or page (in the same way no geek could be reached while the Dune mini-series was on). Even more so than Waiting To Exhale or How Stella Got Her Groove Back, this was their movie. I tried to watch it, but watching a woman fall for a guy not good enough for her in New York is something I see too much in real life to be entertained by it.