12/20/04
“If you can spent a perfectly useless afternoon in a perfectly useless manner, you have learned how to live.” --- Lin Yutang
A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE CASTINGS
Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events opens at number one and let’s get this out of the way first: how creepy is it that a 14-year-old girl looks like that? Children should not have big, bee-stung lips. If I’m her father, I’m on the front porch with a shotgun and anyone over the age of 15 who even looks at her funny, gets shot. That aside, The French Woman loves these books and tried to get me to read them, but I simply cannot join literary sub-cults. This, Harry Potter, the Ring trilogy…none of them will penetrate my mind, which is closed like a steel trap. And I damn sure won’t see the movie. Just as there are directors I refuse to see, there are actors I refuse to see as well. Julia Roberts is one and Jim Carrey is another (though Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is one of best films of 2004). I’m sorry, he just tries too hard and it’s annoying. I’ll admit to a reluctant fondness for the original Ace Ventura, and maybe The Mask (back when Cameron Diaz was ten pounds heavier and as attractive as you people think she is now) on a rainy afternoon when there’s nothing else on, but since then it’s been shameless Oscar begging and Robin Williams type of “I’m going to make you laugh even if it kills me” type of mugging. I simply can’t stand it. Having him do multiple characters pretty much assures that’s all you’re going to get here. He simply looks likes he’s enjoying himself too much, which is never a good sign for self-indulgent actors. Not even my beloved Meryl Streep will get me into this, but it’s nice seeing her in something resembling a hit for a change.
LET US FEAR AND DREAD OCEAN’S 13
Ocean’s 12 is down to number two and I threw Out of Sight into the DVD player because I can’t afford to go to movies anymore and you sons-of-bitches (and flat out bitches) won’t take me, and I cannot believe how fucking good that movie was. It almost makes me want to see Ocean’s 12 (well that and the fact that it’s at the Zeigfeld). What the fuck happened? Apparently, the failure of this was too much for Soderbergh, who then entered into one of Hollywood’s unholy alliances. First it was Nicholas Cage/Jerry Bruckheimer, then Tom Cruise/Cameron Crowe, which paved the way for Julia Roberts/Steven Soderbergh. It’s like Most Popular Kid In School, suddenly hanging out with The Brain. The Popular Kid gets better grades and The Brain (hopefully) gets laid. In this case money takes the place of sex, but in Soderbergh’s case is was booty too, because he married Jules Asner from E! Think she would have put out for the director of sex, lies & videotape and The Limey? Nope, but the director of Erin Brockovich and Ocean’s 11 gets booty probably the first night and doesn’t even have to wear a condom.
RICH, PRIVLEGED, HUMORLESS AND MISERABLE
Spanglish opens at number three and James Brooks is on my list of Oliver Stone and Spike Lee of director/writers I just won’t see. I hated Broadcast News and despised As Good As It Gets and simply cannot understand all the critical praise for these films about miserable people who refuse to be happy and throw out the occasional one liner. This looks like another one and don’t be fooled by the jokes in the trailer. I promise you that’s probably all of them (not that they’re funny) and the rest of the film is absolute misery about people who have no reason to be unhappy. And given that he recently went through a divorce, is it a surprise that the wife in this film is the most annoying bitch in the world? It looks like Woody Allen came in and did a little ghostwriting (guarantee you the next James Brooks film will probably be a young girl and some old ass man). And what brainstorm bit of casting was Adam Sandler? He can only play the angry man-child. Even in Punch Drunk Love, that’s what he was playing. He can’t play anything else. If you had the displeasure to suffer through Big Daddy and see that final courtroom scene where Sandler is trying to “act” with that weird ass lazy eye, you know two hours of it must be a type of hell on earth. Never, ever, not even on fucking cable will I ever see this film.
OOH, BURN!
The Polar Express holds at number four but still has yet to make budget. All together now doing the Nelson Munch: “Ha-ha.”
LIKE ME, HE WAS TRAPPED IN A HELL OF HIS OWN MAKING
Blade: Trinity is down to number five and apparently it’s Wesley Snipes’ way to stay in character throughout the film, and for some reason he was unhappy about this movie on top of it, meaning he literally didn’t speak to the other cast members if they weren’t shooting. When Ryan Reynolds says, “He really hates me,” he was actually talking about Wesley Snipes after the scene had ended. The director just decided to include it in the film. A far cry from trying to get some off JLo during the making of Money Train (he really didn’t have enough money for her, since she’s proven it’s not about looks). Also, you noticed he wasn’t doing any of the publicity for this. Even stranger still, he’s had director and script control since the first film and is also a producer, so if he was unhappy with everything, it’s no one’s fault but his own. He’s the freaking boss! David Goyer, who couldn’t direct traffic on a one-way street, needed Snipes’ approval on both the script and if he could direct. Granted, he’s always been a bit weird (if you’ve ever seen how he dresses on talk shows, you know what I’m talking about), but now he’s crossed a line and now lives full time in Crazy Town. Also, this was supposed to be the last Blade film, with Jessica Biel and Ryan Reynolds starting their own series called “Nightstalkers” (which in the comic books, was actually Blade and Hannibal King). In, fact in an alternate ending for this movie, they meet a werewolf in a bar (needless to say, it’ll be on the DVD). But, apparently there may be a fourth Blade film and quite frankly, I think we deserve it after this shit. They owe us one. Maybe next time they’ll realize you can’t have Donny freaking Yu, a legend in Hong Kong martial arts films, be the fight choreographer for the second and then Chuck Jeffries (who was an assistant choreographer in the first) for the third. No, that’s like having Paul McCartney writing songs for you today and Ringo doing the writing tomorrow. David Goyer has said he won’t be a part of a fourth, but that’s hardly a bad thing. What’s bad is that this talentless fuck has now been signed to write, produce and direct The Flash for the big screen. Sigh. Just when you think there’s nothing worse than Chris Columbus doing The Sub-Mariner and Nick Cassavetes doing Iron Man (unlike the Coppolas, no talent was passed down there; dad took it with him to the grave). Wait. There is nothing worse than the talentless fuck behind Home Alone doing The Sub Mariner.
JESUS WANTS YOU TO SEE THIS FILM
National Treasure is down to number six, followed by Christmas With The Kranks at number seven and in a desperate attempt to save this, they’ve started advertising it as “John Grisham’s Skipping Christmas” as it’s based on his novel. And if you play close attention to those rave reviews in the commercials, in very tiny print you’ll see the source of one of them is The 700 Club. The fucking 700 Hundred Club. That’s right, Pat Roberson’s evil empire. The people who blamed the 9/11 attacks on homosexuals, they liked this movie. What else to do you need to know?
YOU MEAN IT’S NOT ABOUT THE X-MEN?
Flight of the Phoenix opens at number eight and what was the motivation behind remaking this? Granted, it’s not an A-list classic, but it is considered a minor one to some (my brother being one of them) and going from Jimmy Stewart and Richard Attenborough to Dennis Quaid and Tyrese is quite a freaking drop. What’s sad about this is, at the moment, the concept of a people being stranded somewhere because of a plane crash is insanely popular on TV in Lost (which I’ve never seen, because I simply don’t care). Adding a woman was a good idea, but they should have followed it through and made at least half the cast women. I mean, virtually any single B-List actress would have brought in more people than freaking Sticky Fingaz, much less a cast full of them. Let’s face it, if you’re going to blow it at least blow it big and hire Heather Locklear and one of the broads from CSI.
WHY COULDN’T IT BE JULIA ROBERTS?
Closer is down to number nine and if you think the film is bleak now, know that in the stage play, Natalie Portman’s character gets run over in the end. Yeah, I can’t imagine why theater is dying. Who the fuck wants to see shit like that? With that in mind, it’s probably best her nude scenes were cut, because then she’d be naked then dead and that’s only acceptable in action movies.
TRADITIONS
Finally, The Incredibles closes out the top ten at number ten, but will undoubtedly bounce back over the holiday weekend, during the “get-these-damn-kids-out-of-the-house” that happens the afternoon of every Christmas. It’s as much part of the holiday as opening gifts and being disappointed by them.
IT’S BEEN 16 MINUTES, WHY ARE THEY STILL HERE?
Okay, skankazoid supreme, Tara Reid, got a very obvious, very ugly boob job that she’s “accidentally” revealed twice in public. Why? Is there really a job she’s going to get now that she wouldn’t have gotten otherwise? She’s still ugly, still talent-free and her moment of heat passed about six years ago. And why is Jenny McCarthy naked in Playboy again? It’s ten years later and she’s had a kid. No offense, but that that math doesn’t add up to a more attractive body. Hell, a man’s body looks worse after ten years and a kid and he doesn’t have to carry it.
SO REAL
So, I caught the VH1 Special “My Coolest Years” when it was about geeks and I have to admit it was dead fucking on more times than not. What was great was the realization and admission that a lot of it was stupidly self-inflicted. Yes, some of us just truly lost the genetic lottery, but there’s no reason to compound it with say, a love of Andrew Lloyd Weber, as one of the people confessed, or having your last words in the year book be a fucking computer program. In my particular case, it was reading comic books in school in full public view during lunch. What the fuck was I thinking? Needless to say, this is what led to me meeting one of my closest friends, Original Geek, 23 years ago. He saw me reading comic books in full public view and stopped to talk to me. Even funnier still on the show were the masturbation confessions with accurate, if unnecessary, graphics of tissues and hand lotion, and how mentioning important cable was to all of that. The only flaw was the ending that purported to show how everyone went from “geek to chic.” Nope. They were all still geeks. Older, richer and famous, but still geeks. That millionaire geek who owns the Dallas Mavericks is not only still pretty ugly, but sad proof that if you give geeks power, money and success, they become the biggest bastards of them all. Now, I had no interest in the “Dirty Hippies” episode (though glad to see those people accurately described) or “The Closet” “Metalheads” “Summer Vacation” and damn sure not “First Time” which geeks didn’t have in high school, but I’m looking forward to seeing “Jocks & Cheerleaders” and most importantly the “Bad Girls” episode. But where’s the “Most Popular” episode? Contrary to popular belief, you didn’t to be a cheerleader or a jock to hold that title and often it was looked down upon because you had to earn your status rather than simply be anointed from birth. My favorite admission about this comes form Eva Mendes, who doesn’t pretend she wasn’t always hot. She was hot in high school, had the hot guy as her boyfriend and was a total bitch about it. Simply put, she would have been the person torturing Molly Ringwald in high school and enjoying every minute of it. What show I can’t stand, however , is the Flab To Fit show because it makes no sense. “The Madonna Workout?” “They Beyonce Workout?” “The Sheryl Crow Workout?” Give me a fucking break. These workouts are for someone with Sheryl Crow’s body, with Madonna’s body, with Beyonce’s body, not the fat bastards they choose to go through them. They will put all the weight back on because their bodies were simply not designed to look that way. What they need is whatever workout Oprah or Star Jones goes through. The only people the Sheryl Crow Workout is for is for naturally skinny people who just let themselves go because they’re depressed over touring with Michael Jackson in the 80’s. Same for Madonna (slim people depressed over fucking Vanilla Ice and taking pictures of it and then publishing them). But Beyonce’s workout is for hot girls between 18 and 24 with big-ass thighs who love fried chicken. It has no bearing on anyone over 25 whatsoever and they need to stop lying and tell these people that.
EVERYTHING MUST GO
So all my eBay auctions are done and my house is cleaner, my bank account is marginally larger and my geek heart is broken. But I’m a little pissed. Yeah, I sold toys I got for free for a lot more than that, but I also got royally fucked when Where The Boys Aren’t 10-13 went for ten lousy dollars! That’s four films of the top stars in porn munching on each other for only $2.50 each! Hell, at the very least it could have gone for $20. Damn. I hope he pulls his dick off. Also, not all the porn sold or could be sold thanks to strange and arbitrary rules on eBay, so I’ve go it up on another venue which will actually be more if it sells. Think of it as an x-rated “half.com.” And I can’t believe anyone wanted Never Too Young To Die and 52 Pickup, both starring Vanity. I mean, I kinda understood when the original George of the Jungle cartoons went quickly, but that other crap. But she is naked in them, so I guess I kinda understand. Also, they’re not on DVD yet, my big selling point. But goddamn, it hurt to lose Bringing Up Baby, It’s Always Fair Weather and Blue Dahlia. Damn. Classic films not on DVD. But I know Bringing Up Baby is being restored for DVD and if I really need the other two, I guess I can go rent them. I even sold a mishmash of old Star Wars toys and five goofy ass Marvel Comics figures (like Superman, Captain America stayed with me; truth, justice and the American way will always be a part of my home). Then again, if I had more cash, I’d probably be expanding my collection with that great new original Superman figure you see above. Damn, this poverty thing sucks ass! I almost sold my acoustic guitar on Craig’s List but the fucker who came by tried to talk me down. No, hell, you old, dressed-pretentiously-in-all-black, muthafucka. Just as well. I was kinda sad at the thought of losing it, since I’ve been playing it more recently. At least now I can say I tried.
“I DON’T WANNA WORK/I JUST WANNA BANG ON THE DRUM ALL DAY”
Now that the initial anxiety about money has passed, let me say I fucking hate working. I’d forgotten how much I hated it, and because I’m temping I’m being forced to experience something I’ve not known since 1992: traveling to get to work. I haven’t taken a train to work in over a decade. Jesus fucking Christ. I’m out there with the masses and I do not like it. Also, I’d forgotten how much offices contribute to being a fat ass, since you tend eat out of boredom. Believe me, when I was laying around all day doing nothing, I wasn’t consuming soda, chips and candy while I did it. I’d also forgotten was it was like to pay $6 for a sandwich at lunch. Unfortunately, the fucking chicken club paninni I had was worth every cent of it. My new employment is the result of my visits to three temp agencies. The first was the one I liked the least. The good part is, you can pretty much do all your paperwork online and they just print it up when you get there, but they take themselves far too seriously. They even have their own video instructing you on “safety in the work place” with such valuable advice as “don’t lift anything too heavy” and don’t use your car to run errands.” Gee, really? I was so going to lift that 54” TV into my car and deliver it for my temporary boss.” Also, and it hurts me to say this, the girl working my case left a little to be desired in her elocution. What makes this sad is that sista-girl was trying soooo hard to properly enunciate her words and sound really professional and all of that was undone every other sentence, and no more so than when she asked me who was “up under me” in my position as a manager. Sigh. Poor thing. It didn’t help that she looked a little like my younger sister. In any case, the next agency was hysterical, filled with Bridge & Tunnel girls running the joint, yelling out unashamedly about which of their workers they did and didn’t like and who needed to be taught a lesson by not getting his check. And some of them were wearing neat little pink, suede construction boots (I swear I’m straight). The last place was recommended to me by Surrogate Sister, as one of her best friends used to work there (before she married Surrogate Sister’s ex-boyfriend and moved away to Australia). I arrived late because I left the paper with the number and address in apartment. If that wasn’t enough, this was that first 25-degree morning and my iPod decided to stop working halfway there. And then the woman working with me was Irish complete with a brogue, once again taking me back to 1992, when I dated the Evil Irish Redheaded Woman. But it all ended well. I walked out of there with assignments for next week and by the end of the day they’d called me for work the very next days. And my iPod started working again! So the next day I had to get up in the fucking cold to haul my ass down to Barnes & Noble corporate office on 5th Avenue between 17th & 18th to spend eight hours transcribing notes from a meeting. This has resulted in me never being able to shop at a Barnes & Noble again. Sorry, but I have a very romantic view of bookstores and to hear just how corporate they’ve made it hurt my soul. I will only shop at independent bookstores, no matter how much it costs. And please let me die before I wind up in another corporate job where all that fucking corporate jargon and doublespeak is a part of my life. My idea of hell is being trapped in a meeting in an office where people are constantly saying shit like “Let’s whiteboard it.” WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?! Why can’t you just say, “Let’s write it down on the board.” Everyone can fucking see it’s a white fucking board!!! I hate, hate, hate, fucking hate corporate America. But I did my little transcribing job too well, because the next day, I did in six hours what it took me seven before and went home at four. On one hand, great; that fucking transcribing was killing me. On the other hand, I NEED THE MONEY! Oh, well. Next week I’ll be in a law office, which means I’ll be wearing my suit and though I hate the circumstances, I look goddamn good in it. Especially when I’m wearing the new overcoat. And now “Return of The Mack” never stops playing in my mind.
MR. SENSITIVITY
So, I finally told my mom I wasn’t coming home for Christmas. Well, not my mom. She was asleep, so I told my dad and he told my mom the next day. I called her two days later to tell her in person, but she was surprisingly accepting about it. In fact, she told she wasn’t the one I should be worrying about. No, it was that guy who’d been talking about it for the last two days since I called. Yep, the person most upset about me not coming home is my dad. So, the true source of my inner core of wussiness has been discovered. But I can’t say I’m too surprised. This is the man who married a girl he met when he was 13.
12/13/04
“Like money like I like it, is nothing less than mysticism. Money is a glory.” --- Salvador Dali
OCEAN’S 12, CINEMA 0
Ocean’s 12 opens at number one and this is, perhaps, one of the most unneeded sequels ever. Now, I was not a big fan of the first. It was well made, but that’s about all I could say about it. It was pretty much movie stars looking and acting like movie stars. If that’s all you want, the movie gave it to you in spades. This is seemingly more of the same but with another movie star in the form of Catherine Zeta Jones to try and convince the audience that Brad Pitt’s character is straight and isn’t in love with George Clooney’s character, which was so obvious in the first, I swear they cut a blowjob scene in the car between the two (what better way to welcome your buddy out of prision). I’ve got nothing against fun, good-looking movie star fluff, but two straight hours of it? And not everyone is good looking. How they can sit Julia Roberts and Matt Damon next to George Clooney, Brad Pitt and Catherine Zeta Jones and even pretend they’re all still on the same scale is beyond me. And what about those other eight guys, whose presence doesn’t matter one single bit? Seriously, if you lost everyone but the top five, do you think that opening total would be one dollar less? Who out there would say, “No Casey Affleck? No Scott Caan? No Carl Reiner or Elliot Gould? No, way man.” Only Bernie Mac might get you some Black people who might not otherwise be so entranced by a bunch of the Whitest movie stars on the planet. And let’s not even get into that Chinese guy. A million Asian American actors dying for work and they gave it to this guy, who apparently spent the last few years between sequels eating? Maybe I’ll see it, but not of my own volition, nor will I pay. So, if you wanna take me to see Ocean’s 12 and nothing’s on TV, I can do it. But if there’s a new Smallville or Kevin Hill or yes, a good football game on, I can’t go for that. No, no can do.
NOW WE CAN SAY IT: THIS ONE BITES
Blade Trinity opens at number two and the third time was one time too many for this franchise. The first one was fun, the second suffered a bit from a need for gore, but upped the ante a bit with solid supporting characters and actors (not to mention a better director), but this one allows writer David Goyer to take the directorial reins and he should stay behind the computer. Hell, even the cinematography sucks. It’s not even nice to look at. What’s odd is that he had a hand in writing the first two, but here in the third, totally missed out on the decadent vibe of vampires that makes them so fun and interesting. Here we have our first---and hopefully last---view of vampire skate punks. We went from the sexy club-hopping vampires of the first, to the Eurotrash royalty of the second to…skate punks? Who the hell wants to be an immortal skate punk? What makes this an even greater waste is that the bad guy this time around is none other than Dracula himself and he’s totally wasted. Freaking Stephen Doriff in the first film was more of a danger. And not that you look for a lot of character depth here, but this has the least amount, which is shocking considering, THE WRITER WAS IN CHARGE! This supposed to be when you get too much character development over action. And the lameness of the actions scenes goes without saying. Sigh. People need to learn their limitations. The actors forming the vampire groups of the first two films were all unique people, occasionally filled with genuine character actors like Udo Kier, Donal Logue, and Ron Pearlman, not to mention Sanaa Lathan, Donnie Yen and such honorable mentions as Bruce Lee’s daughter, Shannon Lee, and even Traci Lords. But this time around the best we could do was Parker Posey and…Triple H? You know you’re in trouble when the most unique bad guy is a vampire Pomeranian (there are also two vampire Rottweillers). The great Dracula is played by nobody and with no style or flair at all. Maybe we’ve been spoiled by seventy years of Bela Lugosi, Christopher Lee, Frank Langella and even Gary Oldman, but this is a really sad portrayal of the king of all vampires. Granted, there’s a point where they point out that Dracula never had to evolve, nonetheless even the idea of “Dracula the Barbarian” isn’t used in an interesting manner. Also along for the ride this time---in hopes of a new franchise---are Jessica Biel and Ryan. Well, don’t hold your breath, kids. Another example of a tiny waist with some amazing hips, Jessica Biel is Kris Kristofferson’s daughter, also a vampire hunter. Wait. Didn’t we find out in the first film that the reason he became a vampire hunter was because his entire family was killed by a vampire? Yeah, so she’s explained in the lamest piece of expository dialogue ever as a daughter born out of wedlock. Well, if she wasn’t part of the family victimized by vampires, why would she be doing this? I have no idea and neither does the film. Hannibal King is another Marvel Comics character that occasionally bumped into Blade on the printed page (Morbius, The Living Vampire actually appeared in the first film, but was cut out because they thought would have his own series and can only be seen on the first DVD in the alternate ending). In the comics, Hannibal King is a vampire who refuses to feed on humans and instead works as a private detective. He’s cured by Dr. Strange when Strange and a few of The Avengers (Dracula also fought The X-Men at one point and bit Storm). In fact, you’re better off reading that story than seeing this movie. Ironically, in both cases the goal is to wipe vampires off the face of the earth, suggesting that the writer actually read those books too. In any case, the fact that he’s a cured vampire goes unnoticed by Blade who’s been shown in every film including this one as struggling with his vampiric thirst. Hello? I think he’d be a little interested in this. Hannibal King is played by Ryan Reynolds and is essentially “Van Wilder, Vampire Hunter.” He gained 25 pounds of muscle for this role, leading an extended torture sequence that requires him to be shirtless in low-slung, pubic hair baring pants. And did I mention how amazing proportioned Jessica Biel is? Oh. Just making sure. She’s no Salma Hayek, but if you can’t have filet mignon, a really good burger will still do the job. Besides, I've got this thing for well-armed, ass-kicking women onscreen.
AND WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME SCORSESE EVEN CAME CLOSE TO #1?
National Treasure is down to number three and also whoring himself in this is Harvey Keitel. Just as everyone else is sleepwalking through this, mimicking earlier, better performances, so he is channeling his Thelma & Louise sympathetic cop in pursuit. I don’t know what happened between him and Martin Scorsese, but whatever it is, Harvey needs to apologize. Even if he was right, he still needs to apologize, because there’s a far cry between a supporting role in this and a supporting role in The Aviator. I mean, other than people will actually see him in this.
IF YOU SAW PIERCE BROSNAN IN AFTER THE SUNSET, YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN
The Polar Express hangs around at number four, spoiling our schadenfraude, but rejoice in that it has yet to even make budget. Heh-heh-heh. Doing only marginally better (because it cost so much less) is Christmas With The Kranks, down to number five, now a whole four million dollars over its production costs. Oooh. And will Jamie Lee Curtis please stop talking about her body? If you care so goddamn much, do some sit-ups. After all, it is the product you’re trying to sell and the only thing harder to cast than a forty-something woman is a forty-something woman with a gut. Oh, shut up! You know I’m right. Unlike most, Jamie Lee Curtis has the advantage of big, real boobs, so whatever she did for True Lies, she needs to start doing again. She can’t let herself go to shit. I mean, She’s not a male actor.
A FAT MAN WHO KNOWS HIS PLACE
The Incredibles is down to number six, followed by The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie at number seven, and despite a disappointing opening, this movie is already up to about $74M and considering it had a production budget of only $30M, this may hit profitability even before it hits home video. And also in this is the hardest working man in show business, Alec Baldwin. And this is what I’m talking about, Jamie. Alec Baldwin can become a fat bastard and still have a prolific career. Granted, he’s not a lead and hasn’t kissed the girl in a film in forever, but his house note is paid up. And when was the last time you heard him whining about it?
NOTHING GETS YOU LAID LIKE AN ACOUSTIC GUITAR…EXCEPT GOOD LOOKS…AND MONEY
Down to number eight is Closer and believe it or not, Julia Roberts didn’t annoy the shit out of me in this. Maybe because she neither smiled nor laughed that annoying gaping mouthed laugh of hers. And I’m torn about the use of Damien Rice’s “The Blower’s Daughter” as essentially the theme song for this film (it’s a song about the end of a relationship and the lingering that persists through the refrain “I can’t take my eyes off of you”). I want him to have success, but I don’t need every kid in the mall on my bandwagon. Unless you’ve been under rock and have no soul (which would prevent you from enjoying his music), Damien Rice is the epitome of the singer/songwriter, a troubadour in the finest sense. If all electricity were banned from music, not only would he not miss a beat, but would probably rise as a result. He’s Irish, so you know there’s more unnecessary emotion in one of his lines than most people’s whole albums. He sounds like he’s about on the verge of breaking down into tears virtually all the time. Certain lines just bring me to my knees and you understand just why women sleep with musicians (well, good ones anyway). His hit single was “Volcano” which is essentially a conversation between an older man and a younger woman, with him telling her not to fall for him (“Don’t hold yourself like that/In front of me") because all he wants from her sex (“I kissed your mouth and back/That’s all I need”). The reason being she’s simply not complex enough for him (“What I really need/Is what makes me bleed/But like a new disease/You’re still too young to treat”). Her response is essentially a repetition of his words, but with the inflection that he not treat her like a child or regard her affections as something silly because they can mean more than he knows (“Don’t drag my love around/Volcanoes melt you down”). But the opening to “Cannonball” (a song about trying to let yourself fall in love) is a one of my favorite lines ever, “Still a little bit of your taste/In my mouth…” Goddamn! Who thinks of shit like that!?! Damn! Between him and John Mayer no liberal arts majoring female is safe and if you want them, you’d better have their albums in your collection for when you break out the cheap wine and light a few candles.
I NEVR SAW SOUND OF MUSIC, SO HE’S JUST A DEMI GOD TO ME
Finding Neverland is down to number nine and the gods are dropping in here and there all over films. Popping in for the third time this year is Julie Christie. First, she shows up as Brad Pitt’s mother, the sea nymph, Nerid (though never named) in Troy. Next, she’s in the last Harry Potter movie, Harry Potter and Hey, That Girl’s Turning Into A Hottie, and now she’s here as Radha Mitchell’s mother. Lynn Redgrave showed recently as well, in a five minute sequence in Kinsey. And maybe if he weren’t such an obvious whore, Anthony Hopkins’s appearance in Alexander, closing out the top ten at number ten would constitute it. Though Christopher Plummer’s appearance here as Aristotle does come close. But he’s more of a demi-god.
“HE’S LEAVING/ON THAT MIDNIGHT TRAIN TO GEORGIA…”
So, there’s a minor crisis going on in geektown right now. I am no longer “A Man of Leisure.” It seems the government gravy train has come to an end a few weeks before I expected it to. Being an English Major, it was impossible for me to calculate that six months is actually June through November, not June through December (which is seven months). And am I the only person who didn’t know that there were no longer three-month extensions? Hell, I actually got 12 months of unemployment the last time I was down, but that was 12 years ago. The last time the government gave you extensions was 2002. Apparently, giving benefits is essentially admitting the economy sucks, so the government can’t do that while claiming it’s getting better. Honestly, I really didn’t think I’d be unemployed this long. I was actually so certain I’d have a job by October that I started looking over the summer to buy myself a nice, dangerous, mid-life crisis toy for my birthday in November. But, alas, it was not to be. Now I’m scrambling to do what I thought I could ease into at the beginning of January: temping. What’s worse is that I need it now, so I’ve got to stay here and hope to find work when it’s at its best. Yes, that means for the first time in my life, I will not be home for Christmas (I have yet to tell my mom). Needless to say, my initial reaction to my dire predicament was the usual one and within 24 hours I was five pounds lighter, but without vomiting this time! More than that, this despair led to me contemplating the unthinkable: exodus. Yes, even before my brother suggested it, a retreat had crossed my mind. It’s been 20 years. I’ve definitely lasted more than most, but all good things must come to an end, right? It was suggested that I go home, work, save money, then come back, but honestly, who leaves at 38 and comes back? With my luck I’d meet some girl I longed for in high school (whose standards have sunk along with her breasts) and be a married father within a year, annoying my friends by constantly talking about New York. I mentioned this to a few other people and the reactions fell along two lines according to age. 35 And Older: “Well, maybe you should.” 34 And Below: “No, don’t give up!” See, the old people know how tired I am, while the kids haven’t had hope beaten out of them yet. Former Wild Child, currently in exile in Atlanta, didn’t even pretend not to want me to join her and commiserate. Well, for the immediate future it’s all about gettin’ that paper, which is why HBO is now gone off my cable and the last movie I’ll see for awhile will be fucking Blade: Trinity (unless someone takes me, hint, hint, because no new movies means no new top ten). In addition, I’m sending my resume to temp agencies and I’ve applied for jobs at FedEx and UPS (I have good legs, so I can work those shorts), so I can be like every other Black man in the world and deliver shit. And if these don’t work out, porn. I’ve already picked out my name: Bill E. Goat. I also have 23 auctions on eBay right now. Correction. I had 23 auctions. Five have ended already. In talking to my brother, I realized I had literally a duffle bag filled with action figures in my closet that I used to keep in my office. I checked out eBay and apparently they’re selling. Even more surprising is the cult that’s arisen behind the great Iron Giant. Apparently, all the toys are now collector’s items, which is why I sold one 4-inch toy for $9 and one 7-inch toy for EIGHTY FUCKING DOLLARS! In less than thirty minutes to boot! The Batman Beyond figure is already up to $25 and will probably go out around $30. Also, believe it or not, you can still unload VHS, especially if it’s not yet on DVD. It hurts a little, but if I really want to see it, I can still go rent it. And yes, a lot of porn is going out the door (12 DVD’s including Where the Boys Aren’t 10-13) along with my Lord of the Rings Extended editions (which I never watched). Sigh. What’s happening to me? I mean, what kind of man am I without toys, porn or fantasy movies filling my room? Oh. Oh, yeah. Still, I’ll go home with my tail between my legs before I sell my Superman figures, so one day you may open this page and read, “I was driving to work on I-85 when this fucking redneck cut me off…”
APPARENTLY THERE’S A QUOTA FOR 2004
So death is determined to get a little more before the end of the year. James Brown has prostate cancer. Jerry Orbach has it too. Mary of Peter, Paul & Mary has leukemia, Elizabeth Taylor has congestive heart failure and wants to get laid before she dies and Marianne Faithfull just canceled a tour because she collapses with a seizure. And did you know the voice of Deputy Dawg died too? Damn. And on the geek front, comics writer Bob Haney, the man behind the Teen Titans of the 60’s and early 70’s (where Robin, Wonder Girl and Aqualad could be found saying things like “Groovy! Dig it!” and “Out of sight”) died at the age of 78. But that dude from Pantera? Holy shit! With a name like "Dime Bag" and a history in metal, this is not how he's supposed to go. Just remember, kids, fan is short for "fanatic."
12/6/04
“Bitches, man.”
--- Lil’ Luke from Say Anything
COMIC BOOK ENEMY NUMBER 3…RIGHT
BEHIND SCHUMACHER AND BURTON
National Treasure holds at
number one and this is bad news for me because it re-establishes Nicholas
Cage as a box office force in action films. The first time around it got
his ugly, horse-faced ass cast as Superman in that mercifully aborted
version. Now, he’s supposed to play Johnny Blaze in a big screen adaptation
of Ghost Rider (a Marvel comic book from the 70’s about a daredevil motorcyclist
who gets tricked into giving up his soul to the devil, is saved by his
girlfriend, but is still cursed to transform into flaming skeleton at
sunset). Now, he may not be too ugly to play Johnny Blaze, but he’s definitely
too fucking old (and yes, my pet peeve is alive and well with the 12-years-his-junior
Diane Kruger playing his love interest in this current movie)! And to
make matters worse, the talentless fuck behind Daredevil would be writing
and directing it.
AS IF YOU DIDN’T HATE THE
HOLIDAYS ENOUGH
Christmas With The Kranks
actually rises a notch to number two and The Polar Express actually rises
a notch to number three and if this isn’t proof of just how odious the
holidays can be, then I don’t know what is. People are only seeing this
crap BECAUSE IT’S CHRISTMAS! And it’s not even near fucking Christmas!
We’re only a week in! Goddamn, I hate this kind of shit! It’s only going
to get worse to boot. By the time it’s all said and done, these two crap
fests may actually make a little money, guaranteeing more of them. Somewhere
Ben Affleck is screaming, “Why couldn’t you release my fucking movie
later!?! Why!?!”
SUPPORT QUALITY…WHEN IT’S
CONVENIENT
Down to number four and superior
to everything else on this list is The Incredibles. Justifiably, it’s
been in the top ten the longest and has made more money. Sometimes the
good guys do win, but it’s very rare. When I go home for the holidays,
I’m going to take advantage of matinees (one of the sacrifices I’ve made
for Manhattan living) and see it again.
FOR ONE, HE DOESN’T HAVE
THE DRAMATIC PAUSE DOWN
The SpongeBob SquarePants
Movie is down to number five and appropriately making an appearance in
this movie is David Hasselhoff. Is he the new William Shatner? Like Shatner,
he has no illusions about the source of his success and is totally willing
to go in with the jokes on Baywatch and his popularity in German (one
of the best jokes in Dodgeball). The difference being, if you can rein
him in, William Shatner can actually be a half-decent actor, whereas nothing,
nothing on this earth can make David Hasselhoff into an actor.
ALL DIRTY TALK, NO DIRTY
ACTION
Opening at number six, despite
only being in under 500 theaters, is Closer, the adaptation of the English
play starring Jude Law, Natalie Portman, Clive Owen and Julia Roberts.
Yeah, one of these things is not like the others. Curse Cate Blanchett
and her lack of birth control, because she originally had the Julia Roberts
role. Sadly, that really wouldn’t have made this film much better because
it remains too much a play and not enough a movie. Listen to me now: not
every play could or should be made into a film. Theater is very different
from film and one of those difference is that theater is not physically
real. A walk down a street, or a porch on a house is still just a set
on a stage, but in a film Natalie Portman and Jude Law are actually walking
down a London street, so their characters and their dialogue now require
a dimension they didn’t have or need before. And things describe in a
play that can’t be shown for obvious reasons now need to be shown to support
the type of illusion needed for film (there’s plenty of talk about sex
onscreen, but you don’t see a second of it). Not to mention the speech
of plays is, for lack of a better word, theatrical. The artificiality
of the environment allows for hyper-realized dialogue, which just doesn’t
work onscreen. Overwhelming articulate characters who can exquisitely
describe their every emotion just seems odd and there’s a lot of oddness
in this film, because it’s all they do. Letting the playwright adapt his
own play was definitely a mistake. Jude Law and Natalie Portman play a
couple that begins to disintegrate the moment he meets Julia Roberts.
Clive Owen, ironically, gets drawn in when Jude Law pretends to be Julia
Roberts on a sex chat website and causes Owen to meet her by arranging
a rendezvous at place he knows she likes to frequent. They then become
a couple that refers to Jude Law as “Cupid.” They later marry, but in
one of the film’s many time jumps, we learn Julia Roberts and Jude Law
have been having an affair for a year. This sets off the dark side of
Clive Owen’s character, who pretty much takes revenge on every single
member of the cast in three scenes that show him at his best (acting redemption
after King Arthur). The first time he demands Julia Roberts tell him of
her coupling with Jude Law in painful detail, including location, positions,
orgasms and even tastes (it seems Jude Law’s semen tastes like Clive Owen’s,
only sweeter, but we all pretty much knew that already, right?). The second
time is after another time jump wherein the now broken-hearted Clive Owen
and Natalie Portman meet in a strip club where she’s working and he demands
some connection with her because they’re both suffering from the same
people. But cool your jets, fanboys, about the nudity. Director Mike Nichols
decided to eliminate all of Portman’s nude scenes (which were full frontal).
Console yourselves with the g-string she’s wearing. I, myself, am grateful.
As I’ve said before, she looks a little too much like my Arizona Problem
for me. Ironically, the cruelest of the Clive Owen revenge scenes is his
most restrained and occurs when he finally meets the Jude Law character
who instigated all the trouble. More irony? Clive Owen originated the
Jude Law character onstage. At one point in the film, Natalie Portman
describes a photo as “sad people photographed beautifully” which pretty
much sums up this entire film. With the exception of Natalie Portman’s
character, they seem to be addicted to pain and misery, casting off any
semblance of happiness at the slightest excuse. One line from the trailer,
“Love disappoints me,” doesn’t appear in the film but it seems to sum
up the feelings of most of the characters. This is two emotionally bleak
Jude Law films I’ve seen in the space of a month, both set in fall and
winter and I don’t need another. It’s getting to the point where I just
see the man’s face and want to put on a sweater and avoid human contact.
WE HATE THEM PRETTY MUTHAFUCKAS
Alexander is down to number
seven and also in this is pretty boy Jared Leto as the lover of Alexander.
This pretentious fuck annoys me more with every passing day. For someone
who so eschews the crap of Hollywood, all the thin, blonde pussy it sends
his way seems to be okay. Mr. Full Of Shit is now dating Scarlet Johansson.
He’s 31, she’s only 19, and you’d think such a deep individual wouldn’t
have much to say to someone so young, but I’m sure they have lots of intense
conversations over just how pretty he is, how great his band is and how
she’s prettier than Cameron Diaz (which isn’t hard to do).
LIES, LIES, LIES
Finding Neverland holds at
number eight, followed by Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason at number
nine and finally Ray closes out the top ten at number ten, and speaking
of the inaccuracies of Finding Neverland, while they address Ray Charles’
womanizing and illegitimate child, it turns out that he had no less than
nine of them and there’s no excuse for that. Sorry, but if you can play
a freaking grand piano blind, then you can surely put on a rubber. I can’t
play my guitar worth shit, but even I can find my dick in the dark and
put a condom on it. And how many does it take before you learn!?! Damn,
you’d think after number five he might have at least thought about it,
but no, four more came. Needless to say, his long-suffering wife did finally
divorce him (it only took one bastard child to make Smokey Robinson’s
wife take off, but Gwen Stefani apparently needs more), another fact left
out of the film.
CROUCHING DRAMA, HIDDEN PATHOS
Houser of the Flying Daggers
opens only in New York and LA and this comes from the director of Hero
and Raise The Red Lantern, so you know you’re going to have two things:
pretty pictures and tortured people and he does not disappoint. But by
the same token, you know there are going to be nap time moments and yeah,
that happens too. Sorry, but even though the actors do cram truckload
of emotions into every wordless glare, this is almost two hours of wordless
glares and it begins to wear on you. Zhang Ziyi---who the director insists
he’s not sleeping with and no one in Asia or America believes him---stars
as a blind dancer in a brothel who turns out to be part of a secret rebel
society called The Flying Daggers. A local cop (pretty boy Takeshi Kaneshiro)
pretends to be a rouge who breaks her out so she can lead him and the
army to The Flying Daggers. Things get complicated when a general takes
over the plan deciding it would be more convincing if the soldiers chasing
them were actually trying to kill them, so the cop is forced to kill his
own men to survive. To make matters worse, he, of course, falls in love
with her and she with him, but a few more twists make sure this is the
worst possible thing that could happen to either one of them. While technically
an action film, you can tell it’s only so the director can sucker you
into sitting through his real film about choosing love over all other
things---like Hero was actually a movie about choosing the needs of the
many over the needs of the few disguised as an action film to make you
sit through that. He realized maybe more people would have seen his other
incredibly depressing films if, occasionally, someone went flying through
the air with a sword.
PARIS OR MATT LEBLANC? HMMM,
WHAT TO CHOOSE?
So in the last few weeks
The New York Times has not only done an article on one of my favorite
actresses, Maggie Cheung, but even had the infamous Shu Qi on the cover
of the Arts & Leisure section alongside the woman’s whose career she might
have had, Zhan Ziyi. Remember? Shu Qi’s agent pulled her out of Crouching
Tiger, Hidden Dragon, and the role went to Zhang Ziyi, who now works with
the biggest directors in Asia and is about to crossover with Memoirs of
a Geisha (along with Gong Li). The article was more about the glamour
in Asian films as a result of extreme censorship because it takes the
place of sex and how they may lose it the way Hollywood did when censorship
was laxed. Sorry, but give me honest sex over glamour anytime. It would
be great if they could still have both, but I’ll take a beautiful woman
nude over a beautiful woman covered in silks any day. Besides, the secret
behind Gong Li’s success has more to do with her breast size than her
beauty, so don’t tell me the line to see those isn’t the longest in China.
The Maggie Cheung article was about her career and her increasing expatriate
life in Europe. Considering you don’t get to be a star in China without
screwing your director, there’s no great mystery as to why she’s heading
that way. Believe it or not, Hollywood probably has the least prevalent
casting couch out of all the world’s film industries. I’m not saying it’s
not going on, but it’s not as bad here as it is in other places. They
question why she’s not a bigger star. I know it’s a kiss-ass piece, but
are they kidding? You can’t be a worldwide film superstar without America,
and the biggest Asian Female star in America right now is freaking Lucy
Liu and her next appearance is going to be on fucking Joey. Remember Bai
Ling? Yeah, her next stop is Playboy. That’s how well her career is going.
I’m sure she’s seriously wishing she hadn’t done Red Corner now. Besides,
Maggie keeps turning down the very roles that could make her a star. She
turned down both Tomorrow Never Dies and X-Men 2. She’s an “artiste.”
Somewhere her agent is crying.
RETURN OF THE MACK
So, I left the house a few
times. First, Around The Way Girl gets me out last Sunday night (when
I should be writing this) to the very annoying bar, Scruffy Duffy’s on
8th. Mostly tourists and sports fans, neither of which I like. With her
was her roommate and a barfly by the name of “Dave.” Dave wasn’t a bad
guy and had a little of the bad boy charm going for him (well, as bad
as you can get in a leather jacket from The Gap). He was an actor because
he couldn’t figure out what else to do with his life and felt that being
an actor allowed him to be many different things. Yeah, I had trouble
keeping a straight face when he said that. At one point, Around The Way
Girl’s roommate expressed dismay at a group of English girls he’d tried
to talk to, dismissing them as “unfriendly.” Much to his chagrin and Around
The Way Girl’s Amusement, Dave just pushed right up on them with no trouble
at all. I tried to console the roommate by telling him that an English
girl doesn’t want some neat and clean guy on vacation in America. She
wants a guy like Dave she can tell her friends about when she gets back.
It didn’t help much, especially when Around The Way Girl just could not
laughing in his face about it. When we were finally leaving, Dave went
all out with his mack on her. She later wondered why I didn’t help and
I had to explain that it’s part of The Code not to interfere with another
man’s mack (unless you want the girl yourself) because you wouldn’t want
him doing it to you. Later that week she was accepted into Columbia Business
School, which required a celebratory drink, so we wound up at Zanzibar,
which makes a decent mojito. While there we were audience to another macking
failure, this time by a brutha with his White girl. Her crossed legs and
crossed arms pretty much guaranteed he wasn’t getting anywhere that night
and it was easy to tell why. Let me put is this way, if you’re trying
to get a girl relaxed in a bar TAKE OFF YOUR FUCKING COAT! Leaving
the coat on essentially says, "The sooner you say 'Yes,' the sooner
we can get out of here." It was easy to see he was just doing his
regular routine and she was having none of it. Around The Way Girl suggested
an intervention, but again, The Code prohibits this unless he’s “ya boy”
(as in “holla atcha boy” when he’s failing and you can help). Finally,
Around The Way Girl pulled the hat trick when she got me to Beauty Bar
downtown on E 14th. Believe it or not, it only happened because I was
already out on no less than a Saturday night. Why? Well, a friend of mine
was having a birthday at a bar called Pressure, which sits above Bowlmoor
Lanes. I only went because I confused this with his cancer fundraiser.
In any case, I couldn’t find him and was satisfied with at least making
an effort, so I decided to go home. In the elevator on the way to the
street, I got a call from Around The Way Girl who was at Beauty Bar with
her roommates because one of their girlfriend’s was having a birthday.
One of her other roommate’s a very funny tall guy who looks a little like
Josh Hartnett. The Tall Guy has a never-ending series of funny life experiences,
not the least of which is just recently scamming his way out of the U.S.
Army, despite the presence of a war. He became my bestest friend ever
when he actually quoted a line from Bruce Lee’s Game of Death (“You
lose, Carl Miller!”). In any case it was The Tall Guy’s girlfriend,
The Little Mermaid, who was having the birthday and actually it was she
who told Around The Way girl to call me because she apparently finds me
amusing. Actually, it’s kind of fun being around a group of people who
are all smart and share the same sense of humor. The quips between us
tend to fly fast and furious and it’s been awhile since I’ve done that.
In any case, just as we were about to leave that bar, the roommate who’d
been blown off at Scruffy Duffy’s earlier that week, was at the end of
a very forward proposal from an attractive girl (as she walked by she
just reached out and ran her fingers through his hair). It was after he
followed after them that we decided to leave, so our departure was somewhat
hampered by not being able to find his coat to give it to him. When I
was telling him about all this, I learned that the Forward Girl who’d
touched him had actually done it for her equally attractive girlfriend.
Yes, even women have wingmen and at this point I became his self-appointed
wingman because I wanted to meet the Forward Girl, because I’d noticed
her when she first entered the bar. I kept talking to the short-haired
brunette while he found his coat and said goodbye to the others (wingman
duty) and I have to say I was very impressed when she identified Peter
Brown’s “Do Ya Wanna Get Funky With Me” being played by the DJ. In any
case, they started talking again (and actually kissing) and I was finally
able to meet her wingman, Forward Girl, who was a Buffy-loving, Jewish,
future forensic scientist doing grad work at John Jay and working at recording
studio. I thought the mutual Buffy love would be enough to see me through
(even though I abandoned Buffy for Superman when Smallville started),
but there was nothing there and when her girlfriend continued to point
out guys to her while we were talking, I knew it was time for me to go.
Now, even though this failure was still a definite sight better than the
Great Food Emporium Meltdown (I just couldn’t riff on Alzheimer’s’), I’d
still rather stay home. They’re running new Justice League cartoons again
and that’s my true love. Not to mention I’ve been spending a lot on drinks
this week for an unemployed man. I simply can’t afford to go out and have
cable and we know who wins that battle.
HOW TO BREAK A GEEK’S HEART
So, Bridget Fonda is pregnant
with that ugly bastard’s baby. Sigh. Didn’t I tell you this was going
to happen. Right after that car accident she realized she was 40, single
and childless. Almost immediately afterwards she married Danny Elfman
and will now give birth to his fugly spawn. This is so wrong. At the very
least she should have gotten someone good looking.
JUNGLE FEVER SWEEPS A TERRORFIED
NATION PART II
A year ago, someone was sending
racist hate mail to famous Black men threatening to shoot, burn and castrate
them if they didn’t stop sleeping with White women. Some came from Pennsylvania,
but most came from Ohio, which is not the least bit surprising if you
know anything about that fucking place (they actually established legislation
to prevent immigrants from settling there at the turn of the century).
What was oddly funny about it was that they were signed “Angry White Woman”
which sounds more like jealousy to me than anything. Guarantee you she’s
got more interracial porn than O.J. Well, it seems she’s up and running
again, because now Taye Diggs and his wife, Idina Menzel, are getting
them and yes, one did come from Ohio, one from Pennsylvania and one from
New York. Apparently the letter go on and on about their marriage, calling
each a sellout to their race, but how White is someone named Idina Menzel?
That’s one of the Blackest names I’ve ever heard of. In any case, they’ve
been married about two years now, so you gotta think the only reason it
got noticed was because he’s now got his own show on the UPN and she won
a Tony (the letters were sent to the Gershwin Theater). Again, the letters
threaten to burn and castrate, because apparently that’s the only way
to kill that Big Black dick. Even if you cut it off, it’s still going
to run free seeking Blondes, unless burned. And you might bring along
some silver bullets and a cross just in case. I know this is serious,
but having grown up in freaking Georgia my first instinct is to laugh
at these people. This is a threat from someone who learned two years late
that The Wicked Witch of the West is married to a brutha. I’m sorry, but
how seriously can you take someone this fucking stupid? This means she/he
is most likely one of those tourists who only saw the fucking play because
it won an Tony this year because they’re one of these sheep who follow
awards shows. Besides, you’re not a minority star until you get racist
hate mail. Only now does Taye Diggs know that he’s truly made it.
THE BEST IS BACK
Finally, one of my favorite
TV shows of the last year, Significant Others, started a new season practically
unnoticed this weekend and even had a fucking marathon that I missed on
Saturday. With the possible exception of Arrested Development, this may
be the funniest fucking show on television. Needless to say, I doubt if
90% even knows it exists. You fuckers are too busy watching The World
According to Jim and CSI: Des Moines.