10/28/2002
“What!?! But I don’t even believe in Jeebus!” --- Homer Simpson
upon learning he’s being sent to do missionary work. After which he wails,
“Save me, Jeebus!”
AT LEAST IN THIS THEATER THE VOMITING IS ONSCREEN
Opening in the number one spot is jackass: the movie, the big screen version of the idiot show on MTV. Unlike most, I don’t see this as the end of civilization or filmmaking as we know it. Why? Because these guys deliberately made mindless crap. They don’t have any illusions about what it is. True evil is something like Pearl Harbor or My Big Fat Greek Wedding which are both mindless crap that the filmmakers think are something more---with a sad, sad public going right along with them. Accepting mediocrity in the place of excellence is much worse than accepting crap as crap.
GHOST CAREEER?
The Ring is down to number two followed by Ghost Ship, opening at number three and if there is a bigger cliché in a horror movie than the guy who says “Let’s get out of here” dying it’s the Black guy dying. If the commercials of Ghost Ship are any indication, this movie has them combined, which means it must be crap to cling so desperately to these tired clichés. And will Juliana Margulies ever make a good movie? She gave up almost $30M for another three years on ER to do crap like Mists of Avalon and this? Her boyfriend, Ron Eldard is in this as well, so she probably did it for him. But why is Gabriel Byrne, an actor I once respected here? Apparently, times are tough all over for everyone. Maybe that “Irish poet” thing he’s been selling doesn’t sell any more.
THE QUEEN IS DEAD; LONG LIVE THE QUEEN
Sweet Home Alabama is down to number four, but breaking the $100M mark on the basis of Reese Witherspoon alone. Between Legally Blonde and this, she’s been officially anointed as America’s new movie princess and not a moment too goddamn soon. Meg Ryan and Sandra Bullock are both 40 (Bullock’s lying about her age) and I’ve been sick of Julia Roberts from jumpstreet. And unlike any of them, she’s actually made at least one really good movie in her life (Election). Apparently there was once a little more character to her character, but it was left on the cutting room floor to make her more likable. Very odd considering they left in her admitting to being “relieved” when she talks about suffering a miscarriage after getting pregnant as a teenager. What’s a joke about oral sex (one of the cut bits) compared to that?
LET’S GO TO THE NUMBERS
My Big Fat Greek Wedding is down to number four, followed by Red Dragon at number six and talk of this being a blockbuster are a bit premature. It cost between $80-90M to make and you have to estimate at the very least an advertising budget of another $10-20M, so even at the lowest estimate ($90M) it has yet to even break even and not even close to the highest estimate ($110M). And let’s not forget the 3x budget rule of film as laid down by a man who only makes movies to make money, Jerry Bruckheimer. That means this turkey needs between $270-$330M to be truly profitable. It ain’t gonna get it.
SUCH A WASTE
Punch Drunk Love enters the top ten at number seven and both Emily Watson and Philip Seymour Hoffman are in this, but sharing no scenes together---just like Red Dragon, where they both also appear, but sharing no scenes together. In both cases it’s simply talent wasted. Once on a no talent director (Brett Ratner) and again on one whose reach tends to exceed his grasp (Paul Thomas Anderson).
JESUS HATES MEAT
Jonah: A Veggie Tales Movie actually rises to number eight, meaning either that the vegetarian Christian audience has more power than you think (this movie is the story of Jonah told with vegetables) or there was simply nothing else around to drops the kids off at so their parents could have a moment’s peace.
HE’S NOT MAKING IT UP AS HE GOES ALONG; HE STOLE IT FROM ANOTHER MOVIE
The Transporter is down to number nine and believe it or not, there’s a small homage to Raiders of the Lost Ark in this film. At one point the hero commandeers a truck by hopping on top of it, jumping in and throwing out the driver. Then, he gets thrown out, only to go under the truck and come back around to kill the driver. With all due respect to his fight scenes, my description of it is probably more interesting than director Corey Yuen actually makes it.
THE END
Finally Brown Sugar closes out the top ten at number ten.
THE TRUTH IS…IT SUCKS
Not breaking the top ten due to its limited release and generally suckiness is the Truth About Charlie. Now, I’m not going to go off on this based on my love of the great Cary Grant, because, quite frankly, as much as I enjoyed Charade (the best Hitchcock movie Hitchcock never made) he was too goddamned old for Audrey Hepburn at that point. He looks more like her dad than anything. In fact, the script had to be changed so that the general creepiness of their relationship could be lessened. So Charade is not this untouchable classic to me that it is to others (though the original writer had his name taken off this version---your first clue trouble is coming). And I actually find Thandie Newton very appealing. Not being an Audrey Hepburn worshipper I sense no sacrilege on her behalf either Besides, Thandie looks good nekkid, and like most English actors is willing to do so quite frequently. No, the problem with The Truth About Charlie is that it’s not so much a movie as it is an homage to French New Wave filmmaking. Jonathan Demme uses this movie as an excuse to make a film like the New Wave generation he adores (Truffaut, Goddard). It’s a romantic comedy that is neither very romantic nor funny. In fact, when the rare laugh does appear it shocks you because you realize how long you’ve gone without it. And forget about the romance. There is no chemistry between the goregeous Thandie Newton and butt-ugly Mark Wahlberg. Needless to say, Mark Wahlberg as a sophisticate in Paris is an acting task beyond his skills. He speaks a little French and wears a beret, but it ain’t enough. And I’m not comparing him to Cary Grant at all. I’m merely pointing out that he fails to fulfill the requirements of the role---like almost every fucking role he’s ever played. It’s about time for that Boogie Nights pass he’s had for the last few years to run out and for him to stop getting choice work.
DRIVE SHE SAID, PART II
The best thing I saw in the last week was the new BMW commercial----er,
I mean film--- “Hostage” which was directed by John Woo. Short, sweet
and to the point, with an uncharacteristic cruel twist (for John Woo)
at the end it’s worth nine minutes of your time at www.bmwfilms.com.
THEE-ATE-TUR
So, I’m beginning a bit of a theater arc over the next few weeks and the first on this list is Debbie Does Dallas. I kid you not. A musical comedy adaptation of the classic porn film Debbie Does Dallas (using the actual script, mind you) is now an off-Broadway show. Thanks to my Nightlife Guide (the man I go to whenever I need an idea of what bars I should go to) I was able to go to a preview showing (accompanied by one of my Geek Girls to thank her for bringing me ginger ale and crackers when I was recovering from a nasty hangover under the desk in my office). If you’re looking for sex and nudity onstage, look elsewhere, but it is funny show and the intermission-free 90 minutes passes very quickly, because god knows the worst thing about fucking theater is how it goes on for-fucking-ever. Afterwards, I tried to rent the video but couldn’t find it. Odd, it’s probably one of the most famous porn films but I’ve never seen it (even though everyone in my high school seemed to have). Maybe next week I’ll have a comparison ready.
DREAMS OF DOUGHNUTS AND HOT DOGS---WITHOUT THE DOUGHNUTS
Speaking of my Nightlife Guide, he’s got a thing for actor Jonathan Schaech (a.k.a. Mr. Christina Applegate), but that doesn’t explain why I had a dream about spending a weekend in a hotel with him. That’s right, out of all the homoerotic dreams I could have (Taye Diggs, Johnny Depp, Pierce Brosnan), I have to have one about someone I could care less about. Thankfully, there was no sex, but he was a very bad kisser. Very non-committal. If there’s any justice in the world my Nightlife Guide is now suffering through dreams I would like: sex with Drea de Matteo. Sex with Halle Berry. Sex with Bridget Fonda. Sex with porn stars too numerous to mention here. And did I mention this was all one big dream he’d be having?
TOO OLD FOR THIS SHIT, PART 2893798
So the nasty hangover I suffered through was due to a night out before I’d fully recovered from my cold. It was in honor of the Twentysomething Girl I once shared an office with. Normally, I blow these things off, but this was a rare occasion I felt compelled to attend. It started when I broke in my Captain America shot glasses (ironic, because Cap’s not a drinker) with a shot of Skyy vodka even before going to the bar. It was downhill from there. No, it wasn’t the pussyboy Watermelon Martini or the pusssyboy vodka & ginger ales that I had after that. And it wasn’t the beer at the next bar we went to (when all my instincts told me to go the hell home). No, it was the tequila shot I had after the woman sitting in my lap essentially called me a pussy for not being as drunk as she was. I tried to explain that, unlike her, horny Irish guys weren’t buying me free shots all night, but to no avail. So I had the shot. And after that, a vodka gimlet at yet another bar (by the way, all this vodka was exclusively Kettle 1). I felt fine walking home, and even stayed up to 3:00 am (I was home by 12:30) to make sure I was a little bit sober before going to bed. I even felt fine in the morning, but that proved to be just an illusion. One bite of an attempt at breakfast had me bouncing back between the bathroom and under my desk until the afternoon. Again, I blame the tequila. Tequila is why Texas belongs to the US and not Mexico. Tequila is evil.
BUT WHERE WAS BOBBY?
My busy weekend climaxed with a wedding brunch for Nice Jewish Doctor at Tribeca Grill Sunday morning. Only for her would I get up on a Sunday morning. Even though it was a free meal at a great restaurant, I still would have slept in had it been anyone but her. The fun thing about these types of gatherings is finding the two or three people you know out of the hundred there. Thankfully, after 18 years with her, I knew my fair share, not the least of which was The Novelist (Leah Hager Cohen, who has four books out, another coming and is currently writing her sixth), who sweetly pleaded total ignorance to the time I asked her out. Glad to see I made such an impression. Of some interest were the lawyer and his wife who was also a lawyer. Apparently we were all at NYU together, but didn’t know one another. She had actually made a student film in which Adam Sandler starred, but it was lost years ago when thieves broke into her car. And he actually made a pilot that didn’t get picked up called “1-800-Lawyer.” So, basically we just stared at The Novelist and asked her what it was like actually doing what you loved for a living as we tried not to cry.
“SPRING WAS NEVER WAITING FOR US GIRL…”
So the great Richard Harris has died---at least forty years after his lifestyle should have freaking killed him. It’s sad that he’s gone, but the man had a hell of a life, spawned a talented brood (his sons Jamie and Jared are both good actors) and ended on a successful high note (the Harry Potter films). This leaves only Peter O’Toole as the last of the hard living trio (Richard Burton was the first to go). Now, when he passes I’ll truly mourn.
10/21/2002
BEFORE YOU DIE, YOU SIT THROUGH ANOTHER LAME HORROR MOVIE…
Opening at number one is The Ring, a remake of a Japanese horror film
about a videotape that causes the death of anyone who watches it in seven
days (no, it’s not Dorf on Golf or Backyard Wrestling). Since we know
how I hate being scared, there was no way I was going to even attempt
this, much less the Japanese original (I don’t know which is creepier,
Japanese horror or Japanese porn). Besides, there’s no way they can make
the tape scary enough to justify why it kills people. Granted I know what
happens (www.moviepooper.com
which tells you the endings to movies you don’t want to see is to thank
for that), and it’s still not enough.
YEAH, HE WAS GOOD AS JFK, BUT EVEN THAT WAS TEN YEARS AGO
Hanging tough at number two is Sweet Home Alabama, and Patrick Dempsey
plays the fiancée doomed to lose her (known forever as the Ralph Bellamy
role). Okay, forget that he’s a decade too old to be playing a love interest
to Reese Witherspoon (he’s gotta be pushing 40 by now), but he’s starting
to get jowl-y and now looks more like a current Michael Nouri than anything.
I know he’s had an effect on Gen X (now pushing 40 as well) similar to
that of John Cusack thanks to Can’t Buy Me Love, but honestly, you all
need to get the hell over it.
JOEL SCHUMACHER IS NUMBER SEVEN
Red Dragon is down to number three and reading about Brett Ratner is just
sad confirmation that he is the sixth biggest hack in Hollywood. Why sixth?
Because slots 1-5 are occupied by Michael Bay all by himself. In fact,
to show you how soulless he is, it was Michael Bay who recommended him
for this movie. If you read the article in Entertainment Weekly, you could
see that pretty much every actor working with him (with the exception
of Anthony “I’m A Whore Like Nicholas Cage Now” Hopkins) thought he was
an idiot. The fact that this asshole now has Superman burns my geek soul.
NO, “GANGSTA BITCH” IS NOT A LOVE SONG…OR IS IT?
My Big Fat Greek Wedding continues to hang around at number four, followed
by Brown Sugar at number five. Brown Sugar becomes the third film Sanaa
Lathan and Taye Diggs have worked on together (The Wood, Love & Basketball)
and is easily their worst. A romantic comedy that tries to use hip-hop
as a metaphor for their romantic relationship, it fails for two reasons.
First is a script so simplistic I’d be surprised to find out it wasn’t
written in big purple crayon. Nothing is simply stated when it can be
overstated. Secondly, hip-hop and romance simply don’t work. Quick, name
three hip-hop love songs. I’ll even give you one: “I Need Love” by LL
Cool J. No matter how they try, there’s still an overwhelming need to
interject some sort of “gangsta” statement which ruins the song (and quite
frankly, who the fuck wants “Thug Love” anyway). Another flaw is the casting.
Sanaa Lathan is very nice, but there’s no way in hell I’d give up the
bright-eyed Nicole Ari Parker for her. Sorry, it just ain’t happening.
And we’re cheated out of sex scenes between Diggs and either of them because
of a need for a PG-13 rating. And speaking of the two of them, what’s
up with sistas and little scars on their faces? Lathan has one on her
jaw that was written into the story of Love & Basketball, while Parker
has one under her left eye that no make-up artist of digital effects man
can seem to hide. Taye Diggs is decent in his role, but all the street
slang seemed a bit incongruous coming from his mouth. It’s the same problem
I always had when Paul Newman tried to play working class. It just doesn’t
work. They’re both simply too patrician. A real surprise is Mos Def, who
has a nice comedic chemistry with Diggs.
SUDDENLY THE DECISION TO SKIP COLLEGE IS QUESTIONED
Abandon opens poorly at number six and Katie Holmes’s career beyond Dawson’s
Creek is in doubt if these are the types of roles she’s going to choose.
Granted, she did very well in choosing Wonder Boys, but there all she
played was the coed temptation of Michael Douglas. This is based on a
book about a man and his missing roommate, so you can see how some things
may have been lost in the translation. Benjamin Bratt had also better
choose better roles than this and quickly. That receding hairline can
no longer be hidden behind a deliberate “tossled” hairstyle. And that
tiny little head of his doesn’t look like it can support the shaved look.
I’m sure after the first showing of this, he called Sandra Bullock to
see when they were going to start the Miss Congeniality sequel.
“HURT HER AND I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL WOUND YOU!”
The Transporter is down to number seven and it’s a serviceable enough
dumb action movie (directed by Corey Yuen, who usually directs Jet Li),
though I’m becoming increasingly irritated by the forcing of otherwise
“R” rated movies into a PG-13 category. Jason Statham plays an ex-soldier
who works as a type of deliveryman for anyone who’ll meet his price. When
a client tries to kill him (he makes the mistake of opening a “package”
which turns out to be a person) he goes back to that client and beats
the crap out of his bodyguards. Fair enough. But when he gets a gun, he
starts shooting them in the legs. What the fuck!?! These are guys who
try to kill him with an axe at one point and all he does is wound them!?!
Qi Shu makes her English speaking debut (much to the chagrin of my companion
who is also from Hong Kong but had no compassion for her accent) and is
simultaneously burdened with perhaps the film’s best line (“All you do
is complain all the time, but when me make love you say nothing.”) and
its absolute worst (“He was a bastard but he was still my father.”). I
preferred her subtitled with pigtails in the great HK action film Storm
Gods (which my companion also hated, which makes me wonder why I keep
getting drunk with her). Statham is fine in the lead, but the Hong Kong
action style is a little too much for him. He appeared a bit slow in some
of the fight scenes.
I ALSO REFUSE TO BELIEVE THERE’S A GODFATHER 3
Down to number eight is The Tuxedo and the Wife of My Dealer believes
that Jackie Chan and Jennifer Love Hewitt were sleeping together during
the making of this. Now, the way they gushed over each other in interviews
didn’t go unnoticed by me, but given that Hewitt is yet another young
starlet whose dad is MIA, I figured it was just a daddy adoration thing
that Chan happily indulged. I mean, the much more attractive Zhang Ziyi
would feed him grapes on the set of Rush Hour 2, but I don’t think he
was boning her too. This is one of those things that I just don’t want
to believe. You could show me a video of them humping and I’d still deny
it.
WE PREFER NON-FICTION IN MY HOUSE
Jonah: A Veggie Tales Movie is down to number nine, followed by Tuck Everlasting
at number ten. Now, this is supposedly one of those books that’s beloved
by every family and the movie even more so. Not in my house. All I’ve
ever known about it is that people kept renting it in the video store
where I used to work.
WHAT THE FUCK ARE “BOLLOCKS” ANYWAY?
Not breaking the top ten is Formula 51, a bad movie that I fucking love.
I really can’t tell you why I love it except that it amuses me greatly
when the English curse. I don’t know why. It just does. And, of course,
Samuel L. Jackson cursing is always a source of constant delight and this
movie is filled with both. Basically, Samuel L. Jackson is a chemist who
has created a drug 51 times more powerful than any other drug and is in
Liverpool selling it for $20M. Robert Carlyle is the American-hating gangster
helping him and Emily Mortimer (of Lovely & Amazing) is Carlyle’s ex-girlfriend,
who’s an assassin for hire (doing a nice turn in an Emma Peel type of
outfit). There’s lots of funny cursing and Hong Kong action director Ronny
Yu (Bride with White Hair) keeps it going at a quick pace with enough
funny violence to keep it interesting. To me, I mean. To everyone else,
this is probably something best left off their resumes. Oh yeah, Meat
Loaf is in it too as a gangster named “The Lizard” who likes to speak
of himself in the third person. No, I’m not kidding. Probably the only
moment of true wit and inventiveness in the film is the reason behind
Samuel L. Jackson’s motivations and why he’s wearing that kilt for the
entire film.
THAT WHICH DOES NOT KILL ME, MAKES ME BLONDER
Also not breaking the top ten is White Oleander, the year’s number one
piece of female Oscar bait. Not only does Allison Lohman do a great job
of carrying this film on her back through a series of chameleon like changes,
but she’s admirably supported by a her three toeheaded costars. Michelle
Pfeiffer shines as the mother from hell who spouts a type of Nietzchean
view of the world, which justifies her murdering her boyfriend, which
in turn sends her daughter off on a odyssey of foster homes, thus propelling
this narrative. Needless to say, watching her as a strong, beautiful,
dangerous psychotic made me attracted to Michelle Pfeiffer for the first
time ever . And quite frankly, if you fuck a woman and then tell her she
has to leave because you have a date, you really can’t be surprised if
she tries to kill your ass. I can’t even believe she was convicted. A
good lawyer would have gotten her off. In a coincidence that only happens
in movies, almost all of Alison Lohman’s foster homes are run by good-looking
blondes. First it’s Robin Wright Penn as an ex-stripper turned Jesus freak
and then Renee Zellweger as a lonely married actress. I hate saying this,
but the movie probably should have been longer as we get no sense of the
time she spends in each household, other than a few words of expository
dialogue telling us its been months, when it barely feels like days.
HAPPY GILMORE REMAINS THE PEAK
Not in the top ten and not deserving to be is Punk Drunk Love, the seemingly
odd collaboration between Adam Sandler and Paul Thomas Anderson. If you
think Adam Sandler is stretching here, then you’ve never seen any of his
other films. It’s the same old “manchild given to fits of violent rage”
role that he plays in every film he’s ever made. Only now it’s cloaked
in a milieu of the utmost pretension. At least Adam Sandler is trying
to please you in his film. Paul Thomas Anderson is interested in no one
other than himself. Long shots that mean nothing to anyone but Anderson
with the most annoying music known to man accompanying them (gone are
the depressing chords of Amiee Mann or “look at me I’m so witty and wry”
lyrics of Michael Penn, which were just as annoying in their own right
now that I think of it) fill this film. Of course they loved this shit
at Cannes because it was pretentious and annoying and you need little
else to succeed there. I love Emily Watson, but she really needs to get
away from these girlfriend of a freak roles.
DID I MENTION YOU WERE ALL CHEAP NON-MAGAZINE BUYING BASTARDS?
Not breaking the top ten is Rules of Attraction and yes, I did see it,
but no, I won’t review it because it’s in this month’s New Music Monthly.
So far only The Little Drummer Girl has bought it, and the rest of you
cheap, non-magazine buying bastards can just kiss my ass and wait. But
now, that it’s off the stands, I can give you cheap, non-magazine buying
bastards my review of Secretary, which was based on a much darker story
by Mary Gaitskill, who specializes in writing about fucked up women and
how they like their sex on the darker side. James Spader is to movie sex
freaks what Dennis Hopper is to movie wackos. And like Hopper, even though
you’ve seen him do his before, if you really pay attention you realize
he always does it differently. In Secretary, his sexual fetish is domination,
which turns out to be just what secretary likes. So much so, that she
stops the self-mutilation for which she was formerly institutionalized.
And believe it or not, this movie is a romantic comedy, bordering on genuinely
sweet, complete with a happy ending. Though a bit too long, the performances
of James Spader and especially Maggie Gyllenhall (sister of Jake) as the
secretary of the title, make it all worthwhile and lift it above what
was potentially a sleazy one-joke premise.
THE ART OF DOING NOTHING
So I was on vacation all last week, hence no top ten. So, what did I do?
Considering it was not economically feasible to take my planned vacation
in Arizona (not to mention the people I was going to visit wouldn’t be
there that week) and it never, ever stopped fucking raining, I spent my
few hours awake each day Playing Need for Speed 2 on the Playstation 2.
Lawdy, lawdy, I do love that game. How can you beat a game where you race
through Greece or Hawaii or Vermont in a Ferrari while being chased by
cops trying to run you off the road and a helicopter that drops explosives
on you? Okay, you could shoot back, but that’s not the point. The point
is it’s major subversive fun. I saved myself $50 by merely renting it
for a week for $6. Now I’ll wait until the price drops so I can finish
the last six or seven races. Next up: the new Superman game.
TOO MANY BEAUTIFUL WOMEN---A PROBLEM WE ALL SHARE
Because I was home I inadvertently watched movie I’ve long avoided: Loving
Jezebel. It’s another one of those “Woe Is Me I Get Lots Of Pussy From
Beautiful Women But What I Want Is Love” movies, which is narrated by
the oh-so-sensitive hero. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. You
can’t be sensitive and be an ass bandit. One cancels the other out. Hill
Harper, is a minor actor of some note (his greatest claim to fame is perhaps
playing Al Bundy’s little Black protégé on Married With Children for a
season) and stars as the pretentiously named Theodorous Melville, who
spends his life falling for women who are with other men. The fact that
these men are sometimes friends of his means nothing. This is the protagonist
we’re supposed to like. It doesn’t help that it’s over-narrated to the
point of distraction. It gets to the point where you just have to turn
off the sound and try and figure things out for yourself. The best thing
I can say about it is the writer/director Kwyn Bader (you don’t know him
and this movie will help keep it that way) has excellent taste in women.
Not only is Nicole Ari Parker one of the “Jezebels” in question, but on
a rare occasion we get the lovely Sandrine Holt (best known for being
on the lame Once A Thief TV show) with her British accent intact.
I SWEAR I’M DONE THIS TIME
He told me there wouldn’t be a Comet the Superhorse. He lied. Then again,
he’s My Dealer. He’s supposed to lie to me. This is how I once again walked
into the comic book store and walked out spending three times as much
as I planned (this is how I also have Captain America shot glasses). But
now the collection is complete. I have Ace The Bathound, Krypto The Superdog,
Streaky The Supercat, Beppo The Supermonkey and Comet The Superhorse.
Now, the Legion of Superpets didn’t include Ace, but had a chameleon creature
called Proty, but he just looks like a big piece of cotton candy, so in
my little Legion of Superpets, Ace takes Proty’s place.
AND IT’S GOING TO BE A HULK/DAREDEVIL SUCKATHON IN ‘03
Birds of Prey sucks. Aside from really bad writing, the actress playing
Huntress is really, really bad. Hey, I gave it a chance. I thought Smallville
would suck, but it doesn’t (even if that Kryptonite villain every week
thing is seriously lame). I even watched the second episode where they
actually mentioned Dick Grayson, Jason Todd (Robin #2) and Tim Drake (Robin
#3) and it still sucks. Sadly, it’s doing very well in the ratings (though
hopefully the evil West Wing will crush it). This is bad for me because
the Birds of Prey comic book was very good (the creator/writer, Chuck
Dixon just left and already the writing has started to suck) and when
the popular version does well, they force the comic book to change to
accommodate it. The X-Men no longer wear the colorful costumes of old
because they didn’t wear them in the fucking movie. Well, I hated that
they didn’t wear costumes. The whole bright color thing is part of the
fun. The problem is, this entire show is built on a flawed interpretation
of Batman. Basing a show on a daughter that Batman never knew he had is
like basing a show around a guy that Superman murdered. You can’t base
a show entirely on a character, get that character totally wrong and expect
it to be any good. The only good thing is Dina Meyer has work. She’s from
Queens, dontcha know.
WE’RE EVERYWHERE
There’s also super geekdom going on in Entertainment Weekly in their annual
Power List. The list illustrations usually follow a theme of some sorts.
Sometimes it’s Greek mythology, sometimes it’s classic movie characters.
This year it’s superheroes and it’s supergeeky because the choices came
obviously from someone who really knows comic books. I mean, anyone can
name Captain America (Tom Hanks) or Wonder Woman (Julia Roberts), but
only a geek brings up Green Arrow and Hawkeye, not to mention Banshee
(Bono), a minor X-Men character.
ONLY THE FINEST SOURCES OF INFORMATION POSSIBLE
Remember when I told you about my friend who slept with Julia Roberts’s
current husband (that she stole from someone else) a decade ago? Well,
it was on the cover of The Star last week, complete with doctored photos
of her next to Mr. Julia. But the real question now is, can you get me
to Kevin Bacon in six degrees? Me-Young Married Woman-Mr. Julia-Julia
Roberts-Jennifer Anniston-Kevin Bacon. Done!
FA-FA-FA-FA-FASHION
So, I taped the VH1 Fashion Awards purely for Debra Messing, because as
awards shows go, it’s one of the most absolute boring, but probably has
the best after parties. My favorite outfit had to be the Chinese number.
It made her look like she actually had curves. Angie Harmon’s outfit wasn’t
too bad neither. And I still want to make the deal with the devil David
Bowie did to look like that at his age.
WELCOME TO MY HOUSE OF SKANKS
A new episode of Cribs finally aired, but it was lame one set entirely
in the Playboy Mansion. The man is just so creepy now it’s painful. And
those bimbos. Not one natural strand of blonde hair or real breasts among
the lot of. And worse than being stupid, they lack the basic awareness
that lets them know they’re stupid. Do they not realize that every day
millions of girls turn 18 and are ready to take their place? When your
looks are all you have to offer, every tick of the clock is your enemy.
No that most of them are that good looking. I’m an enemy of plastic surgery,
but if they had to spend money, most of them could have used a nose job.
Or two.
10/7/2002
“Anymore at home like you?” “No, not really.” --- Margot Kidder & Christopher Reeve in Superman The Movie, written by Mario Puzio, David Newman, Leslie Newman, Robert Benton and Tom Mankiewicz
MORE LIKE DRAGGIN
Opening at number one is Red Dragon, the first runner up for this year’s most useless remake (the remake of Charade with Mark Wahlberg claims the top spot). This was done over 15 years ago as Manhunter , directed by Michael Mann and featuring Brian Cox as Hannibal Lecter. I say “featuring” because Lecter wasn’t the star of the film. Nor is he the star of this film, but you wouldn’t know it by the way they’re selling it. Red Dragon isn’t a bad film, so much as it is a useless film. Yes, it’s more loyal to the book, but that isn’t in itself a good thing. The book had Will Graham (Ed Norton) with a marriage on the edge that’s over by the book’s end, but you won’t find that in either film. The first twenty minutes of this movie was a five-minute conversation between Graham and his son in the first film and the additional length and detail add nothing. And then there’s the super-cheesy ending where Lecther is told a “young woman is here to see you.” That sums up the major flaw with this film. It doesn’t exist for itself. It exists only because of Silence of the Lambs and to fit with it, while Silence had no allegiance to anything but itself. Ralph Fiennes continues his line of roles where he smiles as little as possible and Emily Watson continues to suffer and cry. Neither Brit was told this was a schlock rip-off enterprise and proceed to turn in good performances, while Hopkins is more like a guy imitating him in Silence of the Lambs than anything. And Ed Norton needs the intensity of previous roles to play a man who knows how to think like a serial killer. And they can’t get too happy over these numbers. This is what Reese Witherspoon brought in all by herself last week with an original (and I use that term loosely) movie that probably cost half as much to make.
HOW TO SPEAK SOUTHERN
Sweet Home Alabama is down to number two and the one moment of this film that rang true to me was when Reese Witherspoon speaks of “lightin’ bugs.” For years I would read books and see mention of “fireflies” and not know what the hell they were, especially when these books would take place in the south, where I should have seen them. I may have been legally driving before I learned that the “lightnin’ bugs” I would collect in my grandmother’s backyard in Alabama during my summer visits, were those selfsame fireflies. Then Scout and I would spy on Boo Radley …
THE REVENGE OF WON HUNG LO
Down to number three is The Tuxedo and supposedly there’s a romantic angle in this film between Jackie Chan and Jennifer Love Hewitt. Now, while I am a prime supporter of seeing my Asian brothers avenge themselves for decades of cinematic White Man/Asian Woman rice-busting (which reached an all-time low when that ugly, balding, curly-haired loser who’s now on Alias was once cast as Ming Na-Wen’s husband), this is still a sad state of affairs. I’d sooner see him making out with Owen .
SOMEWHERE JENNIFER ANNISTON IS SMILING
My Big Fat Greek Wedding is down to number four and they might need to change this to My Big “Not As Fat As It Used To Be” Greek Wedding because I saw the actress/writer of this on a talk show recently and she’s lost no less than ten pounds. You’d think she’d be somewhat empowered by the success of this and feel more comfortable in her own skin. I guess not. Then again, I don’t think anyone anywhere said, “Hey, that film made over $100M. Let’s forget about Gwyneth and go with Mina Vardolos.” It’s a cold business.
TWO NUNS GO INTO A GROCERY STORE…
Barbershop is down to number five, followed by Jonah: A Veggie Tales Movie, which came out of fucking nowhere. I don’t even want to know anything about this movie, because I’ve been too damaged by decades of dirty jokes to ever take a cucumber seriously in any way, even in a kid’s movie.
THAT WASN’T REAL NUDITY IN OVERBOARD
The Banger Sisters is down to number seven, followed by The Four Feathers at number eight, giving us a mother-daughter movie disappointment act. Ironically, I saw the film of the one I like the least, The Four Feathers. Sorry, but Eddie Murphy spoke for two generations of men when he did his routine on Saturday Night Live about going to the movies just to see Goldie Hawn “butt-nekked.” Now, if you could promise me that in The Banger Sisters, I would’ve been there opening night. It’s amazing you can find her nude in Wildcats, where she’s a high school football coach, but not in a story about a groupie.
I’VE ENOUGH PAIN, THANK YOU
Moonlight Mile moves into the top ten at number nine and if you don’t know, this is based somewhat on writer/director Brad Silberling’s relationship with the parents of Rebecca Schaffer, his fiancée who was killed by celebrity stalker back in the 80’s. I feel for them all, but no way am I going to pay to share in their grief. I just can’t do it. Besides, even when this type of thing is done well, it’s depressing, but when it’s done poorly (sorry, but on his resume Brad Silberling has Casper and City of Angels, which doesn’t exactly fill me with hope) it’s even worse because you feel bad about not liking it. Just remember kids, the road to hell is paved with good intentions and hell has a multiplex filled with films like this---and that damn Greek Wedding movie. That’s definitely in there.
LOOKS LIKE THIS IS THE END, MY FRIEND, THE END
Finally, One Hour Photo closes out the top ten at number ten.
ROTO ROOTER LOVE
Not breaking the top ten is Pipe Dreams an indie romantic comedy about a plumber who pretends to be a director in order to meet women through casting calls---only to have to follow through when momentum actually causes his fake film to be made. It stars two of my favorite actors: Martin Donavan and Mary Louise Parker. He’s the plumber and she’s his neighbor whose screenplay he steals to complete his ruse, and it’s actually her initial dismissal of him (after they’ve slept together) that’s partially responsible for the whole thing. It’s funny enough, but it’s nothing you haven’t seen before (person sets up ruse, unexpectedly has to follow through, almost discovered before actually being discovered, banished, then redeemed), which is not what you expect in an indie movie. The only thing that separates this from Sweet Home Alabama is a little more honesty about the characters and no need to make them disgustingly nice. Also, they have sex first and fall in love second. Just like real life.
BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR/EMBARASSMENT OF RICHES
Remember how just two weeks ago it seemed as though there was nothing to see? Well, now there’s too much. Also opening this week (at least in New York) were The Man From Elysian Fields (Andy Garcia, Julianna Margulies, Mick Jagger), Auto Focus (Greg Kinnear in the Bob Crane bio), Heaven (Cate Blanchett wasted in another movie I’ll never see) and Welcome To Collinwood (George Clooney and a hundred other actors). And opening this week is White Oleander (Michelle Pfeiffer), Punch Drunk Love (Adam Sandler looking for respect), Swept Away (Madonna making another bad movie with another husband), Brown Sugar (Taye Diggs in a romantic comedy, so you know I’m there), Below (more scary from the director of Pitch Black), Tuck Everlasting (again?), Jerry Seinfeld: Comedian (self-explanatory), Rules of Attraction (bad book, good movie), Knockaround Guys (movie pulled out of trash heap ‘cause Vin Diesel’s in it), Bowling for Columbine (anti-gun documentary from Michael “shithead” Moore), The Transporter (yet another action movie produced by Luc Besson) and Ash Wednesday (Ed Burns trying to make a crime drama). Holy shit! When am I going to see this crap!?! Don’t they realize the new fall TV season has started? That’s it’s also football season!?! That I have to work out more to stop the winter fat from piling on? That I’ve perfected my caramel apple martini and just want to lay around and get drunk…while watching TV!?! Sigh. I’m never going to read that book about the French woman who fucked everybody, am I?
THE LENNY KRAVITZ “AGE IS JUST A NUMBER” AWARD
Remember Dream? Well, don’t feel bad, ‘cause no one does. They were Puffy’s answer to Britney and Christina and had a song actually written by one of Christina’s writers. In any case, I predicted the blonde girl who was dangerously fully developed at 15 (she’s 18 now) and had a faraway look in her eye would be a problem. Well, it seems she not only quit the group (to focus on her acting career), but is now dating Mark Wahlberg---who’s 31. Given his history of Jordana Brewster and a few others, look for him to be watching the outcome of the R. Kelly trial more than anyone.
TRUTH IN ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT
Speaking of Christian Aguilera, I saw the making of the “Dirty” video. Why not just call it “Shanky” and be done with it. I can only suspect the hardcore sex scenes were left on the cutting room floor, but the nasty level of this video is nothing short of the crap I’ve been known to rent. It seems she’s following Mariah Carey all the way down the hole, complete with breast implants and skanky video with a rapper directed by David LaChappelle.
WHY DON’T YOU JUST GIVE UP AND DIE, OLD MAN!?!
Woody Allen was shooting a film in the lobby of my building. My initial reaction was to go scream obscenities at him, but was advised against it. Oh, they wouldn’t have all been about Soon-Yi. Most would have been about how he’s not fucking funny anymore! Actually, it would have been more like Godfather II with me as Michael and him as Fredo over his betrayal as a comedy god. “You broke my heart, Woody.” “You’re dead to me, Woody.”
YOU KNOW, THERE’S A WEBSITE FOR THIS
Okay, so I know
I brought this kinda on myself, but getting a phone call at ten in the morning
from someone (let’s call her my Little Lotus Blossom, as she’s yet another member
of the all-girl Asian army I seem to be building) who needed help in buying
porn is a bit much, even for me. I mean, I won’t even eat cake before noon.
And then came the insane criteria that only women ask for: a plot, good-looking
men, no fake breasts…well, I guess that’s all but if you know anything about
porn, you know those are the three things you don’t ask for. Hell, I hate fake
boobs but they’re as much a part of porn now as the freaking nudity. And what
is this insistence on a plot? What the fuck for? If the film is even remotely
successful in doing what it’s supposed to do, you aren’t going to get more than
15 minutes into it anyway. Besides, porn is meant to be watched alone. By men.
In the dark. While you fight thoughts of your loathsome wretchedness for what
you’re about to do.