have this terrible image in my mind whenever I see an entire
movieĖor preview for that matterĖstarring Ryan Phillipe
or the star of Just Like Heaven, Reese Witherspoon.
Witherspoon incidentally, is Phillipeís wife if this helps
explain things. This pair of actors once showed some sparks
of promise many moons ago with some good old-fashioned horse
sense in film choices. Phillipe has done maybe two
good movies. He married and knocked up a co-star somewhere
along the lineĖshe was a Catholic and a shotgun wedding
held by her minister/NRA member daddy quickly ensued.
sunk his teeth into some snooze worthy pieces of crap such
as 54 and I Know What You Did Last Summer
before reeling in the lantern-jawed Southern Belle with
his seed and by using her religious values to his advantage
while they filmed Cruel Intentions. She had Pleasantville
and Election in the can before they married.
Since their marriage and the birth of their children, Phillipe
cavorts around in Armani suits with fauxhawks, aviator shades,
and with what could almost pass for a two week old beard.
And itís always at one of Witherspoonís movie premieres.
Witherspoonís bread and butter are the safe romantic
comedies. Sweet Home Alabama and both Legally
Blonde movies made decent money, but when she decided
to go with some shitty art house period pieces you knew
the world was going to hell, if you would ever really give
that much thought to the matter. All I know is if I see
them Iíll usually bolt. The worst career move these two
ever made was to get married. Itís like they de-inspire
brings us to another one of those safe romantic comedies
that delivers a big face, a little sugar, and a lot of sass.
Rotten to the core and filthy with sickly sweetness that
has been known to trigger epileptic seizures in albinos
and insurance salesmen. Thatís one strike against Just
Like Heaven, the new Reese Witherspoon movie where she
plays the ghost of a dead (or undead...?) healthcare
worker who doesnít know sheís dead. Then thereís the matter
of the couch potato widower whose apartment becomes haunted
by her. Another strike (if anything Iíve mentioned to this
point isnít enough) against Just Like Heaven is that
its title is derived from a Cure song. I never get asked
this question, but Iíll answer it anyway: that question
is, ďHey, Michael, what is your take on the Cure?Ē
admit Ė I was once enthralled by depressed men from the
UK who put on makeup and play some pretty mopey crap. But
thereís also some pretty cool stuff going on if you can
get past the screeching drag queen whose voice is unfortunate
to the point where catching crabs on prom night is almost
a kinder fate. Like any twentysomething guy with a volatile
level of self-importance matched by a level of anger over
nothing, but still sensitive enough to enjoy a good cry,
I bought into it. But as with any band I trend to slag,
I think Sloan put it best when they sang, ďItís not the
band I hate; itís the fans.Ē Come on, you know who Iím talking
about. The hipsters who would be gone in strong winds, the
heroin mullets, the trucker hats. I shit blood at the thought.
I think the only time Iím ever bothered by them is at shows.
Thereís always the guy wearing the shirt of the band playing
that night or some other band. Thereís the good-looking
hipster who just came for the ladies, the guy who has to
be the most hipster and probably spent more time getting
ready than most of the girls in the place. But letís not
forget the crazy over the hill metal dude who got into the
band through his crazy-as-a-shithouse-rat of a bleach blonde
old lady who heís been headbanging with for the last hour
and a half.
a reason I digress here. You see how this happens, right?
Shitty movies kill your brain. I think the only redeeming
quality about Just Like Heaven is that itís so forgettable
that this reviewer didnít remember the movie he was reviewing.
No shelf value whatsoever. This movieís pretty damn forgettable.
Okay, weíve got the likable guy and the matching likable
girl in a shitty romantic comedy with some witty
twist that all works out in the end. A steady diet of movies
like this and you may as well just start supplementing embalming
fluid into your diet. Another low point was seeing Napoleon
Dynamite (Jon Heder) mumble through another role. He may
be catching a bus to One Trick Pony Land soon. He kind of
lost the appeal for me when he decided to start looking
like Beck. But maybe things will turn around when Witherspoon
stars in the Johnny Cash biopic Walk the Line later
youíre in the doghouse, pissing part of your soul away by
seeing Just Like Heaven may get you out. But youíve
really got to ask yourself if itís worth it.
Exorcism of Emily Rose
when I see a trailer for a horror movie, one of the first
things I look for is the rating. Generally speaking, horror
movies with R ratings are scarier (or grosser) than those
with PG-13 ratings. Point being, PG-13 horror movies are
generally horror movies disguising themselves as music videos.
With the case of The Exorcism of Emily Rose, it is
neither of these things. Itís got no music video to it and
itís definitely not a horror movie.
a mishmash of cheesy moments and rotten dialogue tossed
into a bucket of lard/courtroom drama that you canít really
ever get into because someone drinks six high balls before
he gets to the office at nine. Laura Linney aside, the movieís
tragic in ways that blaze trails for whole new cinematic
lows. Movies that take place primarily in courtrooms have
a tendency to constipate me. Seriously, I have to sneak
prune juice into movie theaters just to keep regular. See
three movies like this in one day and Iíll shit blood after
not being able to crap for a week. You donít like hearing
about it? I DONíT LIKE HAVING IT HAPPEN!!!
actually found my purpose in life. Reviewing movies canít
be the only thing Iím good for. I typed my name into a search
engine and there are a lot of Michael Gildeas out in the
world. Some of them are in lofty positions and some of them
must have some damn good connections. Then it hit me...
must be controlled or destroyed. Plain and simple.
the past few weeks, Iíve made sure that there are no other
Michael Gildeas in the state of Pennsylvania. And there
never will be. Iíve financially crippled more than a half
dozen in the outskirts of Philadelphia. They took their
own lives and the rest were homeless. No one will miss them.
now Iíve reached a crux in my operation. Iíve been met with
nothing but resistance in my conquest and now Iím debating
taking all of them out. If the Gildeas with nothing to lose
donít respect me and wonít submit, how are the Gildeas with
clout and power going to take to being bested and made into
workhorses who watch with forced delight as their wives
are made their masterís love slaves? So Iím taking it out
a whole new door. Theyíre all going down.
you can imagine, I could use some help. Wiping out subordinates
can actually wear you out both physically and spiritually.
I guess what Iím looking for is a Buddhist monk as a mentor.
Just someone who lives piously and can teach discipline.
I want the army conditioning without the adrenaline addiction.
Cuts down on the craziness. I could also really use someone
who can teach me how to be an artist with a sniper rifle.
Maybe a bow and arrow too. Katana. Yeah katana too. And
I need be able to effectively use a pair of nickel-plated
Itís so hard to care sometimes. Or pretend to for that matter.
a good a time as any for an actual movie recommendation.
This time around, I strongly suggest that you get
your hands on a copy of Akira Kurosawaís Rashamon.
Itís in Japanese, thereís subtitles, deal with it. A crazy-as-shit-
bandit (Toshiro Mifune) kills a feudal lord and rapes his
wife. Or does he? The storyís told for multiple points of
view, so take some Dramamine if you have trouble following
storylines. If you watch movies like The Usual Suspects
and Memento, youíll see where they came from.
Now put down the paper and go check it out.
what better way to laugh off all of the killing in the world
by making a witty commentary/satire of it? Great day in
the morning! I canít stand it! Iím dying from uproarious
laughter! So yeah, itís some pretty dull shit.
of War is the story of a Ukranian arms dealer who never
quite really comes off as Ukrainian when played by Nicolas
Cage. You get a chunk of the story told in a greatest hits
fashion telling his story. So while we the audience are
sucked in by the whole this-couldíve-really-happened aspect
of the story, thereís an annoyingly pesky Interpol (relax
hipsters!) agent who probably wouldnít be anywhere nearly
annoying if he wasnít played by Ethan Hawke. You know, because
he always has to be so intense. Hereís an actor who learned
everything he knows about being an actor from writing terrible
poetry, a steady diet of angst, and watching all the Dana
Ashbrook-centered episodes of Twin Peaks. Not to mention
being a writer. You knowĖto get all that angst out!
of War is basically one of those movies that you see
and you think to yourself that if nothing else, the casting
was good. Nicolas Cage pulls it off at points, but he makes
you want to watch Raising Arizona and Adaptation
again more than anything. What the hell, letís throw Valley
Girl in there for posterity.
recently been blessed with digital cable and Iíve got a
new perspective as to how to rate movies. Itís more of a
new category than anything, but thereís now the Iíd watch
it if thereís nothing else on and Iíd set the DVR
to record it and if I donít watch it in a week, fuck it...
categories. If I had the whole thing to do over again
and reviewing this movie for this publication wasnít a factor,
Iíd probably go the DVR route. The less energy you invest
into everything that needs to happen in order for you to
see this movie, the better. But donít get the pizza-flavored
Combos. I got a bad batch...
much does the guy spend a month on comics? $300? Thatís
madness! Madness, I tell you. And he doesnít even like half
of them? I donít see the point of... He says heís a collector?
Oh, thatís rich. Thatís really rich. That makes all the
difference! I donít see the point of buying something you
donít even like, especially if you donít even need it. Jesus!
Well all of those X-Men t-shirts are the red flag that thereís
no chick in the picture. He can go two and a half weeks
without wearing the same one? Wait, this is only wearing
X-Men shirts, right? That is some sorry shit, man. SORRY...!!!
At least Napoleon Dynamite had an excuse. He was in Idaho...
writing two movie reviews together because I donít know
what I can say about Cry Wolf that I canít say about
Venom and vice versa. Theyíre both terrible movies
and the only distinction I can make between these two movies
is that Venom was five minutes shorter. And believe
me, that five minutes made a big difference. Big
know some people that actually exist in the world that will
never believe that the modern horror movie is in serious
trouble if itís not already dead. The problem with horror
movies is that people go and see themĖno matter how bad
they are or how bad they look. So with the pretty much guaranteed
success that the prospect of a horror movie offers, mainly
from a financial standpointĖespecially to some ham-fisted
So Cal douchebag who looks like a prime candidate for wage
garnishment or a civil service position guaranteed through
nepotism, and couldnít give a good god damn about making
another great horror film. This swine doesnít care about
Evil Dead. Texas Chainsaw Massacre is just another
component in a not so clever catch phrase he uses during
pitch meetings. This turd thinks Wes Craven is the old guitar
player for Limp Bizkit. Before it was all one word.
if itís not some rotten movie where we get to see a pair
of tits or two before some humping teenagers get killed
then itís an American remake of a Japanese horror movie.
(And itís never as good. You know that, right?) And itís
almost always about a single woman and her weird child.
what do we do about it? What can we do to stop this? Honestly,
nothing. Iíve toyed with the idea of locking the doors to
the theater that shows these movies and have some kind of
high-powered security force rush the crowd and shoot them
with red paintballs until they left. In the interest of
being fair, I would refund their money. But if we have to
shoot them again, they wouldnít get it back. They have to
learn somehow. But that would be expensive. Maybe if I strike
it rich. And if I donít, Iíll use mace.
Iíve found over the years that you just have to let people
realize for themselves that theyíre acting like assholes.
Whether they see every terrible horror movie or they continue
to stay in an abusive relationship, they just have to figure
it out for themselves. Donít worry; itíll happen when the
time is right. Thereís just no difference. You canít help
these poor souls until they want to help themselves. But
you know better! Oh yes you do. You can spot a good one
from a bad one, canít you? Let those poor bastards do what
they have to you and you do what youíve got to.
I had a point here somewhere. You reinstall your OS and
weíll see how you feel, huh? Oh, speaking of whichĖI want
to throw a shout out to Slick Rick for the assist on the
reformat the other night. (Weíll get Ďem next time rascal!)
I also want to give props to Steve for getting this maroon
of a shitbox running again. Youíd not be reading this if
it wasnít for you. Also, I want to tell anyone whoís feeling
a little down on themselves to hit any Country Style Buffett.
Youíll walk out feeling sexy because you couldnít bring
yourself to eat anything and you now realize that it can
be a whole lot worse. When youíre having your sexy party,
think of me. Imagine me sitting in the chair in the corner
thinking, ďOooh. This is a sexy party. Sexy indeed.Ē