WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT JUST HER AND NICHOLAS CAGE WOULD SURVIVE?
Happy Feet holds at number one and remember the rule about stars doing family films: it’s either the indulgence of those on top or those desperate to stop a career slide. Here, it’s pretty much an indulgence because most haven’t hit that desperation point yet. Hugh Jackman, Nicole Kidman, Robin Williams, Elijah Wood, Brittney Murphy, Fat Joe, Hugo Weaving and Steve Irwin!?! I can’t believe I missed his name during the closing credits, when I actually saw his dedication! But it makes sense. But I also missed Chrissie Hynde! Damn. So off my game. For E.G. Daily, however, this was just another day at work. For those you of you who are old, you remember her best as Dottie from Pee Wee’s Big adventure. Me, I remember her as the slutty friend from Valley Girl who slept with Deborah Foreman’s asshole boyfriend. But that was the onscreen pinnacle. She was also Diane Lane’s assistant in Streets of Fire, did a song in Better off Dead and actually had a top ten hit from the Summer School soundtrack, but she’s been successfully paying the bills doing voice work for the last 20 years. In addition to dozens of smaller roles, she was Tommy from Rugrats, Buttercup in the Power Puff Girls and was Babe, which was also from director George Miller.
“IT’S THE WALLET THAT HAS BOND, JAMES MUTHAFUCKING BOND, ON IT”
Casino Royale holds at number two and the shocker is that this was directed by another Bond director, Martin Campbell, who did Pierce Brosnan’s debut in Goldeneye. Bond directors are notoriously known for only being able to do Bond films, meaning they’re just taskmen with no imagination. It was always shown whenever they tried to do anything else or even within the Bond films themselves, which were pedestrian at best as far as directing goes. With each incarnation the Broccoli family talked about revitalizing the franchise with “real” directors, but always remembered “real” directors don’t want to do the assembly line type of film they required and presto: John Glen (who started off as an editor and Second unit director on On Her Majesty’s Secret Service) is now directing, For Your Eyes Only, Octopussy, A View To A Kill, The Living Daylights and License To Kill. They are the only people in the world who would turn down Quentin Tarantino’s offer to direct a Bond film, which he was very vocal about.
BUT WHERE’S THE BEYONCE SONG WHICH WAS JUST LIKE HER FIRST SOLO SINGLE?
Déjà Vu opens at number three and this is yet another big screen science fiction/fantasy film that takes up two hours of your life when it would have been wrapped up on the old Outer Limits show in an hour (45 minutes after commercials). Time travel stories almost always are the same. Our hero is rarely the discoverer of the time travel himself, only brought into it by the scientists themselves. Then there’s some “Explain it to me like I’m an idiot” expository to tell even the dumbest member of the audience how it works, which is actually totally unnecessary for the average person and insulting to those hardcore science fiction fans who care. But the crux of the time travel plot is always the paradox. What happens if you try and change the past? This movie is no exception, which is not to say I didn’t enjoy it, but Déjà Vu is the perfect name for it. It’s similar to other science fiction movies, Denzel Washington recreates his Inside Man performance, there’s a bit of the film classic Laura and Paula Patton is going to start keeping Halle Berry awake at nights she resembles her so much in this film. Except that she doesn’t have Halle’s incredible body. But she’s not making us wait a decade to see, displaying hers onscreen in a gratuitous, though underlit shower scene (that’s actually pointed out in the movie as being gratuitous). To show you how far we’ve actually come from 9/11, not only are we making movies about it, but also we have no problem showing 500 people (including sailors and children) being blown to hell from a terrorist attack in the first five minutes of the movie. Make that ten minutes because schlockmeister supreme Tony Scott milks the boarding of the ferry with the servicemen and their families for every slow motion drop. There’s even a little girl who drops her doll. Oh, the humanity! Considering I think Ridley Scott one Scott too many, imagine how I feel about his talent-free brother. A ferry in New Orleans is blown up and ATF superagent Denzel Washington is brought it. I call him superagent because he apparently has no boss and does it all himself, from crime scene investigation (finding things that none of the other hundreds of investigators find) to the interrogations (which the FBI apparently have no interest in doing, so they just watch). Yes, suspension of disbelief is given in a story like this, but the other side of 9/11 is that the average moviegoer now knows that one guy doesn’t do all this. This is closer to Bruckheimer’s CSI series where the forensics people do the work of homicide detectives to the tune of millions of dollars a year for him. Because he’s the best, the FBI brings him into their super secret surveillance project, where he’s initially told it’s government satellites, but since he’s the best, he realizes they’re lying and that this device actually allows them to not only see through time (exactly four days) but actually interact with it. The key to capturing the bomber is through a woman he murdered before the bombing, so they watch her, which is how we get Laura thrown into the mix, where a man begins to fall in love with a murder victim. I said, I managed to enjoy it nonetheless, but it’s not new, not particularly inspired and Paula Patton’s nude scene is poorly lit. I can’t stress that enough.
THERE’S LEVEL IN HELL WHERE ALL THEY SHOW ARE BAD CHRISTMAS MOVIES
Deck The Halls opens at number four, followed by Borat at number five and The Santa Clause at number six and if you ever wondered why they keep making these incredibly bad holiday films, just remember this is the third Santa Clause film. It was awful, but a license to print money. Likewise with Home Alone and the utterly unnecessary live action version of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. Basically, America gets the political leaders and holiday films it deserves.
I MEAN, IF HE CAN GET HALLE BERRY AN OSCAR, HE CAN GET ANYBODY ONE
Stranger Than Fiction is down to number seven and supporting in this are Queen Latifah and Maggie Gyllenhaal and I hope they used their paychecks to do something smart like invest in real estate. I’d hate to think they did this just for something that won’t help them out in the end. This was directed by Marc Forster, who did Finding Neverland and Monster’s Ball, so maybe everyone was smelling potential Oscar talk. But Emma Thompson has hers. The only reason she would want to be here is easy money and not having to carry the film.
THE TITLE IS A BIT TOO LITERAL
Flushed Away is down to number eight and given it cost $149M to make and has only made $57M, it’s gonna take mad DVD sales to help this turn a profit. One of the investors has already severed ties because he didn’t like the way it all turned out.
SELF-HATRED, YES, BUT TOTALLY JUSTIFIED
Bobby opens at number nine and despite being a liberal Democrat myself, other liberal Democrats annoy the shit out of me and this movie is one of the reasons why. This stinks of the deification of The Kennedys, which I thought had stopped in the 80’s when more of their dirty laundry was aired out, but apparently it wasn’t enough. Then again, this was written and directed by Emilio Estevez, whose father Martin Sheen is a hardcore leftist, so no truth could ever change his mind (Charlie is so far left he’s a conspiracy theorist who doesn’t believe terrorists took down the World Trade Center). But this is really isn’t about Robert Kennedy, but more about the people around him on the night he was assassinated. Sorry, but Emilio has never, ever displayed real talent for directing, much less the type of skill needed for an ensemble drama like this. No second of my life will ever be wasted finding out if I was wrong (but the reviews tell me I’m not). But he got everyone with a day off to be in it. Anthony Hopkins, Laurence Fishburne, Sharon Stone, Demi Moore, Ashton Kutcher, Elijah Wood (giving him two films in the top ten), Lindsay Lohan (who was obviously high on coke when she agreed to do this), Heather Graham, William Macy, Harry Belafonte (who went leftist crazy years ago), Helen Hunt and a host of others who all wanted to be part of the “important film.”
WITTY COMMENT TBA
Finally, The Fountain opens at number ten and at less than 1500 theaters this isn’t bad. This is Darren Aronofsky’s long awaited third film, which was announced years ago with Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett (who are ironically together in Babel). Remember the ugly beard Brad Pitt grew? Yes, it was for this. But then he dropped out, the film collapsed, Aronofsky ran away to China for awhile, but came back and gave it another shot with Hugh Jackman (giving him three films in the top ten this week). It’s only 90 minutes, so only sheer laziness (i.e., tired from a night of drinking) prevented me from seeing it. It’s science fiction, it’s Darren Aronofsky, I’ll see it eventually. What the hell. I sat through Déjà Vu didn’t I? Not to mention, his first feature, Pi was also science fiction and it was good, so I’ll take a chance---though this looks as silly as hell with a totally Outer Limits soft ending. The Twilight Zone was brutal and didn’t play, but The Outer Limits usually went for a humanistic happy ending.
I CONFESS: I HAD TO FORCE MYSELF TO WATCH KEVIN HILL
So déjà vu is in full effect because I didn’t get around to watching Taye Diggs’s new show, Daybreak, until after I’d seen Déjà Vu, so I went from watching one good looking Black cop trying to change the past to save a beautiful woman to watching another good looking Black cop trying to change the past to save a beautiful woman. In the case of Taye Diggs it’s more Groundhog Day with guns, as he keeps reliving the same day over and over again and unfortunately it’s the worse day of his life, where he’s framed for murder and his girlfriend gets murdered. And if you think Gray’s Anatomy and the unexpected stability of Men in Trees hasn’t made ABC the network for women, then know that each and every day begins with Taye Diggs shirtless. Yeah, I’m sure it’s just the way it was written, but if that’s what you like then know you will see it each and every episode (I loves me some Taye but if he’s going to make me feel bad about myself on a weekly basis that may change). The twist of the show is that while the day begins again, he suffers the effects of the days in real time. In other words, if he gets shot, when the day is relived, everything is back to normal, but he’s still shot. But everyday he learns something more about the conspiracy to frame him and I’m hooked. Taye Diggs aside, just as I managed to enjoy the schlocky Déjà Vu, I enjoy this. Though it also suffers from “Why doesn’t he just do this?” problem, but if he did the logical thing then this would be over in three episodes. It also has actors I like, such as Adam Baldwin, who is grateful with every passing day that he’s not related to the others. And Victoria Pratt, who was rocking her six-pack abs (she’s a former fitness model, which is pretty much a bodybuilder) on a incredibly stupid post-Xena show called Cleopatra 2525, a lame post-X-Men movie called Mutant X and a lame Hollywood series based on John Woo’s To Catch A Thief (produced by Woo himself). And for you X-Files fans, Skinner is also here. And no, I refuse to believe that Taye Diggs is hooking up with Ashley Simpson! She’s in Chicago, he was in the show and movie. They have a commonality and that’s the last I’ll hear of it!
CHASING AMY III: LEAVING LAS VEGAS
So apparently back when Chasing Amy and I were doing our pub crawls, we once drank until we literally ran out of money. While I don’t remember this, if the amount of alcohol consumed was accurate the reason why is obvious. Well, we’re hanging out again and did a minor bar hop on Friday night. It’s easier for her now, because not only does she live in the city, but her boyfriend lives near me and is apparently uninterested in developing an alcohol problem. We started at Rufus because it has a jukebox we could control, though I’d later regret it. She referred to it as a “real drinking bar” which is a kind way to say it’s not for people drinking for fun, but merely to keep themselves from drinking alone in their apartments (and what the hell is wrong with that!?!). Chasing Amy has changed a bit and for the better. She’s annoyingly actually better looking with age and has developed a nice little habit of just spitting out what she’s thinking. During our time out I was told, “This kinda depressing. Mainly because I associate you with depression” and “You picked this song? It’s so gay” then “Ugh. This one sucks too. What’s wrong with you?” And I can’t be sure but I could swear she also said my haircut makes me look like I have a small penis. We went from there to Fusion, but it was a little too collegiate which is the very thing she was getting away from in her own Murray Hill neighborhood so we ended up at the very hip little bar Surrogate Sister took me to. I managed to go without being insulted the entire time we were there so I imagine the booze finally kicked in. We were there until about 3:30 before going to a diner on 57th to eat. Ah, nothing like post-boozing meal. I had the much-needed grilled swiss while she, on the other hand, took her life in her hands with a shrimp salad sandwich. The next day she told me her low tolerance was a problem for her and she wanted to work on it, so apparently I’ve got a drinking buddy again. Hell, I was going to develop an alcohol problem anyway. Might as well have company. But I’m not sharing the Patron! She also has the goal of getting me drunk to the point were we can play together (she took up bass in the years we weren’t speaking). Unfortunately, they haven’t made that much booze in the history of man for me to play my guitar in front of others. I can count the number of people who’ve seen me do it on one hand and I’ve got something on each of them.
THANKS FOR GIVING ME FOOD
So I spent Thanksgiving with my family in The Bronx but this time I came prepared and left with no less than nine Tupperware containers of food. And if you want more indications on why I’m so damaged know that my cousin is thinking of moving down south (where her brother has already moved) and while she’d appreciate my grandchildren-starved mother babysitting for her, she’s worried that my parents are “too much in love” to watch the kids. See, my parents met at 13 and are still together 45 years later. Who does that!?! This is not normal and my sisters and I are all single because of it.
SADLY, HE WILL NOT BE BACK IN ISSUE 189
Artist Dave Cockrum died from diabetes and while you may not think that means anything to you, he was one of the men who revitalized The X-Men in the early 70’s, leading them the success they currently enjoy. He also was part of the revamp of Superboy & The Legion of Super-Heroes, which is also still successful and currently running on Saturday mornings. In fact, Cockrum originally designed Storm, Nightcrawler and Colossus for The Legion of Super-Heroes. It’s a sad day in geekdom.
11/20/06
THERE’S A REASON THE GREAT MUSICALS HAD GUYS IN TUXES
Happy Feet opens at number one and this is the only cute animal animated film that I’ve wanted to see and apparently I wasn’t alone. Now, everyone loves a penguin, so a movie about them was only a matter of time (hell, one of the best episodes of Futurama was their penguin episode). Perhaps the only cuter animal is the puffin and I’m mystified as to why they haven’t had their movie yet. The penguin also has many real life characteristics that make them endearing to humans, especially they way they mate and take care of their young. That you’d make a movie based on that was the simplest of logic. Of course some changes had to be made. The mating call is how they identity one another, but they are actually only monogamous on a yearly basis. But that’s no fun. What’s fun is the opening sequence where the all penguins try to find a mate by singing some of the biggest pop songs of the last fifty years to one another. And in a sheer pop fantasy, the Norma Jean penguin singing Prince’s “Kiss” finds her mate in the Elvis singing penguin named Memphis. However their child can’t sing. What he can do is dance. And in animated animal tradition, he meets his lifelong love pretty much moments after they’ve both been hatched (in an obvious Bambi nod, she actually names him Mumbles). He grows into a bit of an outcast, while she’s the most sought after girl. And don’t kid yourself that the subplot about the elder penguins thinking his dancing is an offense to their god and is what’s causing their famine isn’t a swipe at religion. It is. It’s subtle and Aaron Sorkin needs to be forced to watch this film to see that you can make a point without beating people over the head with it. Partially by accident and design, Mumbles finds himself with another penguin tribe who all seem to be Latin and while they sing too, they like his footwork and this is the first time Robin Williams has made me laugh in about twenty years. They wind up joining him in his quest to find the humans (called “aliens” here) whom he rightly believes are causing the famine. Throughout all this is a neverending series of songs with everything from The Shangri-Las’ “Leader of the Pack” to Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five’s “The Message.” Because I’m sadly more of a sucker than I care to admit, I loved when E.G. Daily (yeah, her; she’s made a very successful career doing voicework) and a children’s choir did the Beach Boys’ “In My Room.” And Brittney Murphy’s voice isn’t bad at all (I had her single with Paul Okenfold up here a few weeks ago) and she actually does a decent rendition of my beloved Earth, Wind & Fire’s “Boogie Wonderland” in both child and adult voices. The only thing the movie truly lacks is a good bad guy and while at least two are potentially introduced they are abandoned in favor of making man’s inhumanity to his fellow animals the real villain (and not even that given we obviously have a happy ending). And given the subject matter and that this is from Australian director, George Miller, it’s no shock that Steve Irwin actually gets a dedication at the end of the film.
BLONDE, JAMES BLONDE
Opening at number two is the latest Bond, Casino Royale and yes it is good and so is he. But I knew he would be after seeing him just ooze “cool” in Layer Cake. He almost makes you forget how short he is when compared to the other Bonds (Brosnan says he’s 6’3” which means he’s probably 6’1”). Having seen him in person at the Tribeca Film Festival where they showed Layer Cake, he’s about 5’10 at best and maybe not even that. This is based on the very first Bond book, which I read but don’t remember a thing about. It begins with a twist on the usual prelude, where Bond has a sometimes totally unrelated adventure. Here, it’s how he got his 007 status with two assassinations, one brutal and one clean, both in Black & White. And for the first time, the view of Bond through the gun barrel that’s opened every Bond film is actually part of the story. But brace yourselves, there are a few gadgets, but nothing you couldn’t get yourself and no Q (which stands for Quartermaster and is apparently based more on reality than we knew) and no Moneypenny (though there is a small joke using her name). They also go out of their way to make Bond a bit grittier with his action scenes. He causes just as much damage as always, but unlike Pierce Brosnan who tore through the streets of Moscow in a tank without a hair out of place or undoing his tie, Daniel Craig is dirty and bleeding from pretty much every encounter in this. And while he’s nowhere near the prettiest Bond (he’s actually only better looking than Lazenby), he’s damn sure got the best body. Sean was beefcake too, but not sculpted like this. And you see it constantly, especially during the nude torture sequence. But this works because Eva Green’s beauty is non-conventional itself, so to have someone traditionally pretty next to him would only remind you of his own deficiencies. This is also a return to the more plebian Bond. While Roger Moore, Timothy Dalton and Pierce Brosnan were all seriously patrician, Connery and Craig bring a Bond who may have been educated at Oxford, but comes from the rougher side of the street. He also as the Bond ruthlessness that Connery never truly lost, that Roger Moore eventually let slide and that Dalton and Brosnan never really had. The movie is a bit too long at 144 minutes, but it rarely ever drags and it ends very nicely (with two things you thought they’d forgotten). Now, Connery was a grittier Bond for two movies: Dr. No and From Russia With Love (ironically, Goldfinger was the beginning of the end of that). Even Roger Moore was semi-tough for Live and Let Die and Man With The Golden Gun (remember him coldly slapping Maude Adams around for information?). Let’s see how far they get this time before they just hit cruise control.
AH, YA HAD IT COMING
Borat is down to number three and while I still dislike him, I have no sympathy for the people suing him. It’s what you get for wanting to be in a movie! Even the people in Romania. Give how the sequence shot there looks like a hellhole, how could you for one moment not know it was a comedy or think it was a documentary? And don’t get me started on the fat, frat boy who’s just embarrassing himself and his family even more by pursuing this. Especially since his own Myspace page shows him to be the boozing redneck he claims he isn’t.
BESIDES, IT’S A COMEDY NAME
The Santa Claus 3 is down to number four and lo, how Martin Short as fallen. Sigh. I only hope he was well-paid. I always respected him because he never wanted dramatic respect. Even at his 80’s height he flat out said you’d never see him trying to get serious. Given how annoying Jim Carrey is when does it, don’t you appreciate Martin Short more now too? Even when he’s whoring himself out with crap like this?
OF THE ALL THE PEOPLE NOT TO BE SEEN ON A REGULAR BASIS
Flushed Away is down to number five given Hugh Jackman not just two films in the top ten, but two animated films, as he’s the voice of Memphis in Happy Feet.
YET ANOTHER EXCUSE TO TALK ABOUT A FAVORED B-LIST STAR AND SHOW A PICTURE
Stranger Than Fiction is down to number six and there’s another movie by this title with Todd Field, before he became an Oscar-nominated writer/director with In the Bedroom and probably again with Little Children. Also in it is my beloved Dina Meyer. It’s a bit of a black comedy about friends who try to help one of their number cover up an apparent murder. As always, things begin to go wrong and the body count increases and by the end of the movie only one of the group is left standing. Not great, but watching the last twenty minutes on cable at two in the morning (back when I could afford premium channels) didn’t bore me to death. In fact, you can find a Dina Meyer movie at two in morning on cable almost any night, be it this, Federal Protection (yet another post-Tarantino crime story, but actually better than most), Johnny Mnemonic, Starship Troopers, Bats, and yes, Wild Things III. She’s also perhaps the only person besides the killer to be in all three Saw films. Oh, she’s from Queens and destined one day to play Debra Messing’s slutty sister in a TV movie (and a helluva lot better than Geena Davis did).
MIGHT SEE, WON’T SEE, SEEN
Babel is down to number seven followed by Saw III (tell me who’s in it kids) and The Departed, down to number nine.
STUPIDITY IS ALWAYS SCARY
Opening at ten strangely almost two weeks after Halloween is After Dark’s Horror Festival: 8 Films To Die For. I’m sorry, but how fucking stupid are you not to schedule this for Halloween!?! In fact having read the descriptions of all eight films, they were idiots not to release one a week in the months preceding Halloween. They could have pocketed a little loot before the DVD release---which is probably tomorrow.
AYE, LADS. POUR ME A WEE DRINK AND I’LL SING YOU A SONG
My beloved Damien Rice finally released a follow-up to his amazing “O” album, entitled “9”. If you don’t know him, fucking learn. The man is the definition of the troubadour. If you ever wanted to sit and a room in the dark, drink whiskey and cry about love but needed the right music, this is your guy. I don’t even like whiskey (in fact, I hate all the brown liquors that smell like smoke) and he makes me want to drink it. In fact, on almost every song he sounds like he just had a few drinks and is about to break down in tears at any moment. Seriously, seriously Irish. Is it as good as the first? Nope. Not even close. It’s got a few moments and you can still get drunk to it in the dark and be sad and angry about love (especially on “Rootless Tree” where the chorus is “Fuck you! Fuck you!”). It’s like they say: you’ve got your whole life to write your first album and nine months to write your second, so understand why there are so many one-hit wonders and why people who can even semi-consistently make good music are so fucking amazing and why The Beatles who consistently put out some of the greatest music ever for almost a decade are the greatest ever. He supposedly dated Renee Zellweger for a bit and I was hoping she might rip his heart out and give us another equally great album, but alas she did not.
A LITTLE OF BOTH
Maybe I’m just too old to be there any more, but I find it a bit unsettling that the sex shop that opened on St. Mark’s across from the comic book store (in the place of the Sounds annex) never seems to have any men in it. Whenever I walk by it, I only see women. I suppose that also speaks to the character of St. Marks, but I’m going to stick with being old.
I’M JUST TOO LAZY TO BE DIRTY
Speaking of being old, I turned 40 over the last couple of weeks and before you start sending emails, if I wanted to hear from you, I’d have told you. I don’t remember any of your fucking birthdays, so I don’t expect to be bothered on mine. Besides, the pressure to do something on your 40th is like the pressure to do something on New Year’s Eve. It inevitably disappoints. But I’m actually somewhat grateful to be finally aging into the attitude I’ve had since my 20’s. Being cranky and embittered at 24 is looked upon with suspicion, but being cranky and embittered at 40 is perfectly understood. And I hate this “It’s the new 30” bullshit. I even heard one of my baby sister’s friends tell her that “30 is the new 20” as she turned 30 over the summer. 40 is fucking 40 and I’ve earned the right not to change my clothing for trends and to be dismissive of all young people and the things they like. I’m also entitled to full-blown weirdness, so the doors I was going to build on my bookcase to hide the Superman figures (and the Robin action figures and the Wonder Woman action figures and the Captain America action figures)? Not gonna happen! Oh, and fighting the potbelly? Over and done. I haven’t been the gym in weeks and it’s looking unlikely I’ll go back. I just do what I used to do: pay the fee and live with the comfort that I technically “belong to a gym” like everyone else.
AND IF AGING WASN’T BAD ENOUGH
So I’ve accepted the position permanently at the real estate agency. The upside is, more money and benefits. The downside is, it’s not really enough money and I’m going to spend most of it on booze to drown my sorrows at being in this horrible position at my age. Yes, I’m going to drag out forty at every single opportunity to justify my crappy attitude and why Patron is no longer a drinking luxury but a requirement.
OH, MY DAUGHTER’S NAME IS ELEKTRA
So, while talking to my parents it was finally confirmed that I did in fact get my middle name after Lt. Gerard on the original Fugitive TV series, which is why my dad’s old friends always called me “lieutenant.” My first name, however, comes from my great uncle, my grandmother’s favorite brother who was killed over a woman or gambling, though some would say the former equals the latter (the family says gambling; the street said a woman). Gee thanks. Shouldn’t there be some rule about not naming your kids after tragic figures, real or fictional? I mean it’s like naming your son Oedipus or Icarus. You’re just asking for trouble. And if we find out the woman had red hair I might as well just walk out into traffic right now and spare myself the suffering.
11/13/06
GUESS WHAT!?! THE JOKE’S ON YOU!
Borat holds at number one and it will be a cold day in hell before I see this. I never watched the Ali G show so I’m sure as hell not going to see this. I simply have no tolerance for this type of “let’s go fuck with people” type of humor even if they do deserve it. It’s why I never really cared for Punk’d, the non-Jon Stewart parts of The Daily Show or even Candid Camera back in the 70’s. The idea that you would set out to prompt someone to make an ass of themselves when they are simply living their lives bothers me. Aside from personally not wanting to be fucked with, it stinks to me of a an elitist perspective that they’ve got some right to do it. Yes, I know that’s rather humorless of me and if anyone has it coming it’s a bunch of drunk frat boys whose deaths would cause the percentage of date rapes and assaults on minority students to drop dramatically, but in my opinion these people are so stupid you don’t have to trick them. They’d embarrass themselves equally on 60 Minutes, much less in some sort of scam where they don’t know they’re being set up. Besides, I’m forever biased by the fact that Madonna pretty much introduced this guy to America in her “Music” video and that alone makes me reject him.
SOMETIMES EVIL MUST BE FOUGHT WITH ANOTHER TYPE OF EVIL
The Santa Clause 3 holds at number two and while I refuse to see Borat, I must give it credit for keeping this abomination out of the top spot for two straight weeks. Sadly, it will have no effect on its long-term earning ability. This will be a license to print money until the end of the holiday season. Once again Tim Allen proves that evil never really dies.
CALL ME CRAZY, BUT I LIKE MY DRAWING PRETTY
Flushed Away holds at number three and let me be the heretic who says I never really liked Wallace & Gromit. I never found it even remotely funny or charming and quite frankly I found the animation style flat out creepy. So even though this is CGI and not Claymation, I still find it unappealing and ultimately uninteresting, because more than your average film, the looks pretty much determines all for animated films. And remember our rule about there only being two types of stars that do animated films: those securely at the top and indulging themselves and those desperate to stop a career slide. This is mostly indulgence with Hugh Jackman, Kate Winslet, Jean Reno and the always-welcome Bill Nighy, but for Jackman it’s a bit of a need as he’s never had a successful film outside of X-Men. He’s got kids so I can’t blame him for his “take the money and run” big budget films, but he needs to have a George Clooney type of conversation with his accountant (who was told after Batman & Robin he never need work again if he didn’t want to and then started down the quality path). Though working with Darren Aronnosky is a suggestion he’s already done just that.
YOU’D SEE ALSO SEE ROSEBUD BURNING
Stranger Than Fiction opens at number one and I still don’t like Will Ferrell in a lead role, so I haven’t worked up the motivation to see this, though I still might given it’s more of an ensemble piece with people I do like, specifically Maggie Gyllenhaal and Emma Thompson. But the movie is slightly ruined by the trailer that pretty much shows you that he contacts Emma Thompson. What the fuck? Where’s the dramatic suspense when you know he can call her and say “Don’t kill me”? I mean, what’s the point in seeing the movie now? Goddamned marketing department. You realize if they could, those fuckers would probably put the scene where Darth Vader reveals he’s Luke’s dad in the trailer.
CHICKS IS NOT JUST CRAZY, BUT SCARY TOO
Saw III is down to number five and isn’t this movie the reason for the new “snuff” horror film movement? I don’t do the scary and I sure as hell don’t do the sadistic scary and what’s even scarier is that the women going to see this stuff weren’t dragged there by their boyfriends; they wanted to be there according to a New York Times article a few weeks ago. This frightens me as much as the women who like rough porn (I don’t care if it’s consensual and super hot; you’re supposed to condemn it for misogyny and that’s all I’ll hear of it). Apparently this hasn’t escaped the producers of this particular film series as the second film introduced a female apprentice for the bad guy and now she does a lot of his dirty work for him. Obviously she can’t be the main villain, because then you’d lose your male horror-going audience. Sorry, but nothing is more terrifying than castration anxiety, which was why the original Alien was so disturbing. Think about it. It all starts when the guy peers into “the egg” for which he’s then “impregnated.” Then there’s the ship called “mother” and the evil android that spews “milk” for blood. There’s a seriously creepy subtext going on there that was pretty much abandoned by every director after that because if they’d expanded on it, nothing with a Y chromosome would have been in the audience. And if you think about it, the idea of the female evil harvesting people for impregnation is so scary that the very male Predators become defacto good guys for fighting them, which is where the series is now as Aliens vs. Predator.
NOT THAT EXCESSIVE NUDITY IS EVER A BAD THING. EVER.
Babel jumps into the top ten at number six and it’s gonna take a few Oscar nominations to get me into this and maybe not even that. I just don’t have it in me for a depressing film about how separated we all are as a race. Not to mention it strikes me as somewhat of an idiot plot, meaning the moment any one character stops acting like an idiot and a rational, thinking person, it stops dead. Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett play a couple on vacationing in Morocco when she is accidentally shot by two kids. Supposedly this causes an international incident while he struggles to get her care. Sorry, but isn’t Morocco like a serious tourist spot and aren’t they on a tourist bus when she’s shot? Unless the bus is shot, they simply drive her back to a doctor. Boom. End of movie. But then you can’t lecture everyone on how we all need to communicate so I’m sure there’s some reason why she’s got to wind up in some hovel with no medical attention in the middle of the desert. And I’m nothing but curious as to how this involves a Japanese guy and his teenage daughter resulting in her full-frontal nudity as a part of the storyline. Not to hammer this too much, but do you think if he had a teenage son, showing his dick onscreen would be an integral part of the storytelling? No, me neither.
A SERIES OF BUDDY COMEDIES PERHAPS
The Departed is down to number seven and despite it crossing the $100M mark, it cost $90M so a profit is very, very far off. But it remains the funniest film I’ve seen all year and they need to make Mark Walberg and Alec Baldwin into a comedy team.
“ASHES TO ASHES/FUNK TO FUNKY/WE KNOW MAJOR TOM’S A JUNKIE…”
The Prestige is down to number nine and Michael Caine remains the hardest working man in show business. Remember in the 80’s when he was in every other freaking movie? And he was old then! But time has finally taken its toll on David Bowie, who appears here as a very creepy Nikola Tessla, engaged in a private war with Thomas Edison. After being thin and beautiful for far too long, he’s finally showing that puffiness that effects men after they hit their fifties. Granted, he hung on to it longer than almost anyone, but apparently only Sean Connery will remain handsome until he dies.
AND I LIKED KINGDOM OF HEAVEN
Finally, A Good Year opens to scathing reviews at number ten and who the hell thought Ridley Scott could make a movie like this? It’s about a person. It’s a totally character driven story and character is the last thing he’s about. And yes, Thelma and Louise is the exception that proves the rule on that. What makes it truly sad is that this is the oldest story in the book: the narcissist who discovers himself. Hell, I’d like to call Richard Gere, the absolute fucking master of that character, and do it again to show him how to do it right. It’s so fucking easy! You take someone who has everything on the outside in their perfect urban life, drop them in a rustic setting against their will, throw in an initially antagonistic love interest, colorful characters, a seasonal celebration, some childhood memories and a third act conflict of heart versus money and you’ve got a movie! Which has been called Baby Boom, Sween Home Alabama, Doc Hollywood and the show Northern Exposure to name but a few. How can you fuck this up!?! Well, first you hire a director who can’t spell “character” much less create one, that’s how.
THE PRINCESS DIED
Out of the top ten, is The Queen, the story of the week after Princess Diana’s death when the Queen of England was neither seen nor heard from, much to the anger of the English people and consternation of brand spanking new Prime Minister, Tony Blair. Utterly fictional, though intermingled with actual TV news footage from the time, this is proof that less is more as it clocks in at just over 90 minutes. I look forward to it kicking awards ass later in the year against all those other bloated Oscar beggars. Helen Mirren is good in everything she does (including Morgana Le Fay in Excalibur) and this is no exception, as she disappears into the character of the Queen and never comes out in the imagined study of the royals dealing with a changed Britain that doesn’t want as much steely resolve as previous generations. But the movie is just as much about Tony Blair dealing with them to his own political advantage and is actually the second film about him with the same actor (given the first two are about his rise, how much you want to bet there’s going to be a third about his fall due to the Iraq war). People mock the royals mercilessly and to a certain extent they bring it on themselves, but the film also shows them deserving of some sympathy for their place in life and the one character/person who invites both sympathy and resentment more than The Queen is Prince Charles, a middle-aged man still both figuratively and literally under his mother’s thumb. The actor ironically doesn’t look like Prince Charles, but from the back you’d swear it was him, so he conveys him through his body. You feel badly for him as he all but grovels to get a private jet to bring Diana’s body back, but as the same time you want to scream, “Grow a freaking spine!” And let me add to my English blasphemy this week to point out something that’s pretty freaking obvious on the big screen: Diana was not that pretty. Granted, most of the English are not (you sure as hell ain’t gonna find one in this movie), but maybe that’s why she was so much “the people’s princess.” You’d never mistake her for Liz Hurley or Kate Beckinsale and sometimes she kinda looked like a man. And a bit of hilarity comes when they show footage from her funeral filled with celebrities---and you see Tom Cruise. Sorry, but after watching 90 minutes of actual royalty struggle like hell to keep their private matters private because they believe that’s what defines dignity, to see those we’ve chosen as royalty who specialize in letting their asses hang out is nothing less than a tremendous joke. I’ve no doubt it was utterly intended.
NOT THAT IT’S ANY OF YOUR BUSINESS
My baby sister had cervical cancer. That’s where I’ve been for two weeks, home with my family. Now before everyone rushes to send me an emails with links to cancer websites or condolences, know that she’s okay. If you want to send something, send money, as I didn’t have any income for two fucking weeks. The surgery went fine. It was aggressive, but apparently had not spread so she actually kept her ovaries though had to otherwise undergo a radical hysterectomy. She can still have genetic children, but someone else will have to carry them---that someone else being my other sister, who was duly informed of her future. The only hiccup was actually post-surgery when the hospital chose to ignore that my sister was allergic to codeine and gave her a codeine-based painkiller. When complained about side effects, she was given benedryll---which she also turned out to be allergic to. Yeah, it was a laugh a minute. I was also put in the odd position of peacemaker, since she quickly got into fights with everyone in my family but me. See, no matter what you may think of me, know that I was, as they say “raised right” meaning you don’t raise your voice to your parents. Sure you’re just 24 hours out of surgery where a good portion of your reproductive system has been taken out and you’re on a painkiller you’re allergic to. You still don’t get to snap at your parents and had it not been for the presence of someone outside the family in the room, in my mother’s words “She would have gotten cussed out.” Now do you believe me when I say that I’m southern? We brought her home four days after the surgery where I began the duty of taking care of my sister that extended my visit for a week. You know those stories you hear about people taking care of loved ones for years? Look at them like they were on the beach at Iwo Jima because these people have done something incredible. Relatively speaking, my sister’s surgery was not that bad and her recovery was swift; she was better literally every day. This is why I can’t imagine the strength it takes to deal with someone whom you know is either not going to get better or is dying. But this is what you do for family. It’s why I was once again on first hand term with my sister’s urinary habits, something I hadn’t been since I was ten years old and changing her diapers. We spent the days and nights watching TV and movies. My sister has unfortunately picked some of my geek habits and in addition to watching Heroes, she requested comic books about strong women. Sigh. She also had a steady stream of friends who all seem to adore her, suggesting that unlike myself, she sees the charm we all inherited from our father as a blessing and not the curse that I do (for me it’s like the curse of the werewolf; it comes out against my will making me into a smoozy monster). One in particular was the Would Be Son-In-Law, who was her ex-boyfriend that she stole from a stripper. Mom and dad love him. Aside from a self-employed professional photographer with a perfect credit rating, he’s a southern boy from North Carolina who discussed barbequing and how 99% of the pig can be eaten with my family. Unlike the comments about my romantic choices, the fact he’s White seemed to go without mention. As far as I’m concerned, she owes me big time for paving the way (though I’m sure the desperation for grandchildren would probably allow an Al-Queda member a warm reception so long as he was willing to breed). To most of her friends I was a myth, as they’ve known her for 15 years and never seen me. This was just a sad reminder that my baby sister essentially grew up without me around. I left for NYU when I was 17 and she was 7 and this was the longest I’ve been at home since college. One day, I’m drunk off my ass at my college graduation and handing off my bottle of cheap champagne to my 11-year-old sister (who grinned delightedly at me for it) and the next thing I know, I’m at her graduation from University of Georgia. Now she has her MBA in accounting and makes more money than anyone in our immediate family. It was…interesting being home again for so long. The city has seriously changed. I still can’t live there again, but not for the same reasons. Now it’s simply my unwillingness to drive (and NYC’s saturation of incredibly beautiful women that roam the streets as free eye candy). While home I damaged three cars in five seconds. Yes, while parking the car in our driveway I hit the gas instead of the brake and hit the BMW with the Volvo, which then hit another Volvo behind it. Since it was right after I brought my sister home from the hospital, my dad said it was simply the stress finally hitting me. I think it’s the simple fact I’m just not meant to drive any more. He wanted me to have drink, but I remain uncomfortable drinking around my parents. Though I did eat like a pig and without walking I was quickly even fatter than when I left. The only mitigating factor was my dad’s own eating habits (I see now where my man breasts come from). Should you ever have the opportunity to meet my dad, make sure you eat beforehand. My dad has a dog’s response to food. If you’re eating it, he wants to eat it too. If you hear the words, “What’s that?” it’s already too late. Just hand over your burger/chicken/salad/muffin/taco/beer. It’s all over but the shouting.
WINNING IN SPITE OF OURSELVES
Since I was away longer than I anticipated, I didn’t get to vote, which really bothers me. Yes, the Democrats returned to power without me, but let’s not act like it was some huge accomplishment. It’s not an offensive touchdown, or even a forced fumble. It’s more like the quarterback simply dropping the ball and then picking it up and running it in. And given how Kerry screwed up at the end, it’s like fumbling it on the way to the goal line and some other guy falling on it in the end zone. Sigh. I swear the motto of the Democratic Party should be “Ready to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Any time any place.”
“SOMETHING LIKE THIS ONLY HAPPENS TO DUMB GIRLS…”
I know this sounds strange, but I feel sorry for Britney Spears the same way I feel sorry for Jessica Simpson. They’re just young, dumb girls who will forever be a mark for gold-digging pretty boys. They aren’t say, Madonna stupid, who insists on sharing her idiocy with the world and in an aggressive arrogant manner. Or Tara Reid stupid, which makes you think sterilizing certain people might be a good idea. They’re just dumb in a benign manner. And you gotta feel sorry for Christina Aguilera. She releases a double album, her first new work in years and gets less media attention than K-Fed. Now you understand why she felt the need to get that ugly boob job.
DEATH BEGINS HER END-OF-THE-YEAR SHOPPING SPREE
In one week Death took Ed Bradley, Jack Palance and Gerald Levert. And before that she took Sandy West, the drummer for the Runaways and because I couldn’t choose between the music, we now have music on the opening page again. What’s most sad about these are Gerald Levert and Sandy West, as they were both young enough to be buried by their parents. As you may know, Gerald Levert’s father is in the O’Jays and out of all the people he’s seen die early in his career, the last person he thought would be his own son. Also, back in the day, “Casanova” was my favorite jam. And then there’s poor Adrienne Shelly. Murdered by some teenage dirtbag because she complained about the noise. Well, despite all the complaints about the “Disney-fication” of New York we maintain our rep as the most dangerous city in the world. Go to the wrong bar, complain to the wrong person and you may get killed. Lovely. This one I will not forgive Death for.