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ISSUE #124
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Features

ArrowImmune to Reality
Why is the GOP so worried about telecom immunity?
Allan Uthman

ArrowHardballin' with Chris Matthews
An infuriating encounter
Ian Murphy

ArrowHormone Whore Moans
Doping in baseball? No shit, Mitchell
Paul Jones

ArrowChildren's Campaign
Young voters are heartbreakers
Tina Dupuy

ArrowThe First 100 Days
Our graphic projections for the three possible next presidents

ArrowRecession Recipes that won't Break the Bank
The bank can't foreclose on these subprime delights!

ArrowDeath, Taxes & Celebrity
Leeching on Lohan & Ledger
Steve Gordon

ArrowHillary or Cobra Commander?
A serious comparison
Erich Shulte

Women's History Month content!

ArrowThe BEAST Abridged Guide to Herstory
You've come a long way, cuntbag

ArrowStrengthen your Relationship in 10 Psychotic Steps
Obsess your way to romantic success!

ArrowThe BEAST Guide to Bulimia
Famine is in!

ArrowSpecial Women's Advertising Section
Products for the modern woman

ArrowA Brief Message from the Girls of Africa
A modest request

Departments

ArrowThe Beast Page 5
Democracy Usurpers

ArrowKino Kwikees: Movie Trailer Reviews

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The Bank Job

I’ve seen maybe 4 or 5 of his movies, and I’m pretty much sick of Jason Statham already. Oh sure, he’s pulled off what very few guys have been able to—he’s generally perceived as what the kids call “attractive”and he’s bald. That’s like balling Paris Hilton and not getting a case of panty-crickets—jerking off the impossible! But Statham also does commonly bad action movies that can only truly be appreciated when someone pulls out the wheelchair weed and plays them on the TV in your friend’s kitchen. “Under duress,”I believe the legal term is.

Every once in a while one of these cinematic Statham Brand air biscuits isn’t loud and doesn’t stink, not too much at least. The Bank Job looks like it just may fall into that category. In what looks like a British Ocean’s Eleven, allegedly based on a true story from ‘70s London, Statham heads up a crew hired to break into a bank to recover some incriminating evidence concerning the royal family and the embarrassment they’d hope to avoid. Said McGuffin is in a safety deposit box, and I’m guessing that anything else Statham and crew can get their hands on is their own as long as the pictures are recovered. Something like that, anyway.

Oh, and the crew is largely comprised of idiots, the slightly mannish-looking chick from Boston Legal is in it, and these turkeys steal from the wrong people. Some mob boss, maybe. But whoever put this trailer together scored it to “London Calling” by The Clash—a song so cool that if I heard it while my house burned to the ground, I wouldn’t feel too bad or mind at all for that matter. Another thing such a classic song as this might make me do is get pumped up and actually forget that I was watching a preview for the dopey cousin of Snatch, Layer Cake or Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. But instead I’ll watch Ocean’s Eleven (the remake of course) and listen to “London Calling.” On the TV in my friend’s kitchen. I know how to distract myself as well...

Next: Doomsday

More Kino reviews:

10,000 B.C.
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Run, Fatboy, Run
Stop-Loss



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