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If you were one of us suckers who saw The Simpsons Movie, you saw Homer in the opening calling the audience idiots for watching something in a theater when they could watch it at home for free. The irony was I watched it neither in a theater nor after paying money to do so. But in upsetting the natural order, karma decided to run rampant and stick something else on a screen that I can easily access on TV at home: The war on terror.
Movies and real life are like church and state. Assholes and elbows. Sharon Stone and The Light of Day. Larry the Cable Guy and a consistent supply of oxygen to him. Things that donít go together! When these things meet, it throws off the natural order or balance of things and generally does nothing except piss me off and cause irrelevant discomfort until they go away.
So riddle me thisówhy would I pay to bury my head in the sand when I can stick it up my own ass? Because thereís a distinct possibility that Jennifer Garner, Jamie Foxx and Jason Bateman are going to get killed in this. The only thing that kept Daredevil from legally being declared a war crime was the fact that Garnerís pointy and otherwise boring skull was done in. But still, what about The Kingdom could possibly lure me to a theater after a heat wave will likely have passed?
Another clusterfuck of a terrorist attack lures a special FBI team to the Middle East. And of course theyíre met by resistance from the locals, and they donít know who to trust, andóIím going to go douse myself in gasoline and pray I didnít soak the matches now. Bye!
The Brave One
Iím guessing the title of the new Jodie Foster and Terrence Howard movie would be in reference to its audience if it were plural. But since its singular it sounds like crap already.
Foster plays a woman whose husband or gay best friend or whatever is murdered when the pair is attacked. She recovers and inadvertently becomes a vigilante when someone tries the same shit again. Her hoodie and her butchy haircut should tell these clowns she means business. The trailer also looks like sheís going after whoever looks like theyíve got it coming.
The Brave One also seems to make an attempt at making the audience think by turning a 2-hour movie into an ethics class. 1) Is Foster justified in her action if itís self-defense? What if no immediate threat is posed? 2) In utilizing the methods shown in the trailer would you say sheís under or overdoing it? Do you feel the right amount of force is being used? 3) What would you do? 4) At what point is Foster becoming the very thing she is trying to stop? 5) If someone nabbed your dog, would you shoot them as Foster is seen doing in this trailer? 6) What are your feelings concerning her hairstyle? Discuss.
Assignment for next issue: Watch the trailer for The Brave One and pick either the odd or even numbered questions. Send them to firstname.lastname@example.org for extra credit or for only my or your amusement.
3:10 to Yuma
A friend of a friend gets uncontrollably horny whenever she watches the movie Becket with Richard Burton and Peter OíToole. She doesnít have any particularly strong feelings toward either actor or any other cast member for that matter. Itís like with meówhenever I see a Russell Crowe movie after LA Confidential, I almost instantly fall asleep.
The same generally holds true for remakes in my case. And thatís what weíve got here. 3:10 to Yuma is a remake of the 1957 movie of the same name with Glenn Ford and Van Heflin, with Crowe and Christian Bale starring in the respective roles.
Crowe is the captured head of a sadistic gang of outlaws. Bale is an idealistic schmuck rancher who thinks heís doing the right thing by taking Croweís character in. In the meantime, Croweís gang is killing a path to their bossís freedom, with Bale and his idiot son clearly stand right in the middle of. Oh, and head games along the way.†
Itís directed by James Mangold, whoís given us some great movies like Walk the Line, Identity, and Cop Land. But, aside from some decent cinematography and what Iím sure will be yet another great performance from Bale, I really donít care. I mean, Iíve already seen High Noon, you know? Itís one thing to catch it on Turner Classic in the middle of the night, but Iím not putting forth an effort.
Shoot ĎEm Up
One of the many things I liked most about Sin City was Clive Owenís character, Dwight McCarthy. He was basically Gallahad who protected distressed damsels with pistols instead of a sword in a film noir comic book world. And he had a cool leather trench coat.
Clive Owen decided to do it again, this time with over the top action, way more guns, seemingly elaborate action sequences and a smoking-hot Monica Belucci. Paul Giamatti shows up as his usually creepy self, this time a hit man. Everyone belts out well-delivered yet terrible dialogue that would normally make eyes roll or entire bodies cringe. In the preview, Giamatti answers phone calls from his apparently nagging wife as heís in the middle of unspeakable acts. And Clive Owenís doing all this to save a baby for crissakes! And according to the trailer, heís dangerous! Wonk, wonkÖ
Because of the considerable testosterone overload from the trailer you donít care. And why the hell should you? Owen fires probably more than three times his body weight in ammunition in two clips alone. He also gets into a gun fight in mid-air after jumping out of a plane! Let me repeat: He also gets into a gun fight in mid-air after jumping out of a plane. He buys bullets with food stamps! He effortlessly picks up a machine gun off the road during a high speed car chase with a black van full of automatic weapon-toting nondescript bad guys shooting at him! He makes impossible shots with a clever and briefly-mentioned plot device! And Motley Crue plays during the trailer!
Iíd like to think itís Belucci in all her Italian, voluptuous and ridiculous beauty that gave me that diamond cutter of a boner, but I donít really care at this point. Iím going and thatís all there is to itÖ
The Brothers Solomon
When I saw the preview for The Brothers Solomon I thought I was in Bizarro World for a minute. I mean after all, isnít the shitty SNL skit supposed to precede the shitty movie based on the characters?
Weíve got a typical pair of idiot man-child brothers. Theyíre socially awkward in every way. Their dad ends up in a coma, and in an effort to give him something to live for, they try to get some chick pregnant. Pam from The Office turns down Will Arnett and I think Will Forteís problem is that heís Will Forte. So they find a surrogate mother and her boyfriend, or pimp. These trailers donít give you a lot to go on.
In the plus column, Bob Odenkirk from Mr. Show is directing and Letís Go To Prison was actually pretty damn funny. At the same time watching 2 minutes of Arnett and Forte was a lot like what I imagine having half a dozen Adam Sandler clones try and run a train on you would be like.
Okay, I fucking hate Fucking Stifler. I hate Fucking Stifler to the point where I wonít even address the pointy-faced dick weasel by his real name. He looks like he sniffs his own deuces every time he takes a crap and then posts a picture on ratemypoo.com. He reminds me of the lowest kind of used car salesman and if he didnít work out and chow the right kind of box, heíd likely be selling used Kias to junior prostitutes and people with bad credit.
That being said, Mr Woodcock looks hilarious. I know the titleís redundant, but that doesnít mean itís not funny. The word cock is in it and itís not a porno for crying out loud. For a plot weíve got Fucking Stifler as a self-help guru/douchebag who worked past a painful and humiliating childhood at the hands of his gym teacherÖMr. Woodcock!!!
So now heís not a fat little kid anymore and when visiting his mom he discovers that Mumsie is getting The Woodcock. So to rescue his mom from the clutches of The Cock all kinds of 95% humor-free candy-ass dogshit ensues (the other 5% comes from SNLís Amy Poehler as Fucking Stiflerís cantankerous assistant/publisher/what-have-you.)
Billy Bob (what kind of world do we live in where a 52 year-old man goes by Billy Bob? I donít mind him, but pick one or the other already! Billy or Bob. Billy Thornton sounds reasonable. And so does Bob Thornton. Or William. Or William Robert Thornton, but that's getting a bit pompous. Does being as rich as he is mean not having to give up your redneck sensibilities or that you donít have to apologize for being a douchebag? Probably.) Thornton rehashes the funny asshole part thatís got him a pube away from being forever typecast. Itís getting to the point where if youíve seen Bad Santa and heís doing another comedy, you can save your money. And Susan Sarandon plays either a dirty car port rug, a huge piece of silly putty or Fucking Stiflerís mom. I couldn't really make the distinction.
Resident Evil: Extinction
To which I say, ďMilla Jovovich isnít that hot.Ē So based on the Mummy-ness of this trailer, Iím guessing there was some kind of cliffhanger ending that went down in Resident Evil 2 because Las Vegas looked pretty fucked up. I couldnít say because I didnít care enough to bother seeing it, contrary to what I may have written previously.
Yeah, yeah. Zombies. Milla Jovovich dressed like a desert-dwelling survivalist whore. Guns, lots of guns. Action, lots and lots of action. A few surprises. And I couldnít be less interested if someone woke me up at 8 in the morning to watch this.
The Game Plan
How do you make it stop?
This oneís worse than watching Avril Lavigne sing about stealing someoneís boyfriend on SNL. Letís stick Harvey Keitel in a Gatorade commercial while weíre at it.
I havenít been interested in wrestling for almost 20 years, but I would have loved to see Stone Cold Steve Austin show up in the trailer for this Rock movie and beat his ass stupid. The Rock actually used to be cool. He was funny, likable, ridiculous. And his favorite movie is Itís a Wonderful Life (trueócries every time he sees it), so how bad can he be?
Then he shows up as some jag off overpaid pro football player whoís got it all. Including a daughter he never knew about! Oh boy, I wonder if his life is going to get turned upside-down! I wonder if sheís got a dog that eats everything and if sheís going to eventually ask why he didnít find her before! Howís a commitment-phobic bachelor† going to take to having his wings clipped! And all the girl stuff heís going to have to do now! Eeek!
All I know is itís got the Disney name on it. I picture Dwayne (as Iím sure he now goes by) sipping tea with his pinkie finger out with Vin Diesel and Ice Cube as they all talk about their investment portfolios and the contents of their wine cellars. Maybe The Rock will start wearing a scarf and take up pipe smoking.
Good Luck Chuck
Every once in a while Iím presented with a choice when seeing a movie. I get the carrot of an incredible looking woman in a movie at the price of having to witness not only a grade-A douchebag with her, but he usually gets to dry hump or at the very least make out with her.
And thatís the case with Good Luck Chuck. Itís about a (Iím guessing) supposedly likable guy who has some kind of curse put upon him so that every woman he dates, sleeps with, or gets a stinky pinkie from falls in love with the next guy they see. Or date. Or something. The trailer was a little vague here. This superstitious rumor about him gets spread to the point where he sees more ass than a toilet seat.
So naturally he eventually falls for a super cute marine biologist and doesnít want to pass her off to some other choad. Sounds kind of interesting in an Iíve been huffing paint all weekend kind of way, if for nothing else than to see how this curse thing pans out. Oh, and weíve got Jessica Alba getting her skirt ripped off by a car door and there was a crotch close-up with penguin panties.
Ohh, ooh! Tell me more, tell me more!
Dane Cookís in it! (Iím not going to take the time to describe the sound of a needle slowly yet violently scraping off the top of a record or chronicle the sounds of carnage coming from two glass trucks moving at incredibly breakneck speeds toward each other only to simultaneously reach some kind of painful orgasm of hate whose only respite comes from the bone-shattering depression brought on through the buckling and cringing that will undoubtedly leave you in a fetal position and cursing the day you were born--try to picture that.) Dane Cook is the top 40 radio of comedy. Heís that song you didnít mind and may have even liked the first 4 or 5 times you heard it. Kind of catchy, put you in a reasonably nice mood and hell, you may have even have bought it.
Then those 6th, 7th 8000th times come and if you have to look at his greasy male skank head one more time youíre going to fucking murder something. If you have to watch him act like a frat boyís coked out older brother and spaz out wearing a piss-stained pair of jeans and something a 19-year-old who works at American Eagle would wear, something's going down. And for fuckís sake if you have to listen to him regurgitate the same fucking material oneÖ moreÖ time you swear youíre going to open fire from a rooftop. A cashew off the tip of your penis, Dane. Thatís so priceless, dude. On that note Iím no longer interested in talking about this movie, so this is where I leave you. And no, Iím not going to get into the fat best friend who gives bad advice. Call your own fat best friend who gives bad advice if you want the play by play on that one.
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