Buffalo BEAST - Buffalo's New Best Fiend
 

Sept 21 - Oct 5, 2005
Issue #84

  ..Buffalo's Best Fiend
   
Poopaganda
Why is it OK for the press to lie?
Allan Uthman

Banana Republicans
3rd World, US-style
Shawn Ewald

Drowning Reality
Truth not a Major Factor in New Orleans
Kit Smith
Of Pandas & Morons
Truth vs. Myth in PA
Jeff Dean
Star Wars
The Sequel & the Reality
Bob Fitrakis

APOCALYPTIC FUNPAGE!
Play the Blame Game!
Match the Stupid Quote!
Roberts Confirmation Maze

The BEAST BLOG
Buffalo in Briefs
The Sports Blotter
The Week in Sports Crime
Matt Taibbi
Wide Right
Bills Football
Ronnie Roscoe
Kino Korner: Movies
Michael Gildea
Page 3
Separated at Birth?
Beast-O-Scopes
[sic] - Letters
 Cover Page

COMIX:
Idiot Box
Perry Bible Fellowship
Bob the Angry Flower

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Just Like Heaven

I 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.

Phillipe 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 each other.

Which 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

Iíll 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.

Thereís 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 this fall.

If 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.

The Exorcism of Emily Rose

Usually 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.

Itís 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!!!

Iíve 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...

They must be controlled or destroyed. Plain and simple.

In 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.

So 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.

As 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 .45's.

Sorry. Itís so hard to care sometimes. Or pretend to for that matter.

Nowís 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.

Lord of War

And 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.

Lord 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!

Lord 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.

Iíve 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...

How 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...

Cry Wolf

Venom

Iím 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 one.

I 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.

And 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.

So 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.

But 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.

Okay. 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

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