Just Like Heaven

I have this terrible image in my mind whenever I see an entire movie–or preview for that matter–starring Ryan Phillipe or the star of Just Like Heaven, Reese Witherspoon. Witherspoon incidentally, is Phillipe’s 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 line–she 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 it’s always at one of Witherspoon’s movie premieres. Witherspoon’s 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 I’ll usually bolt. The worst career move these two ever made was to get married. It’s 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. That’s one strike against Just Like Heaven, the new Reese Witherspoon movie where she plays the ghost of a dead (or undead...?) healthcare worker who doesn’t know she’s dead. Then there’s the matter of the couch potato widower whose apartment becomes haunted by her. Another strike (if anything I’ve mentioned to this point isn’t enough) against Just Like Heaven is that its title is derived from a Cure song. I never get asked this question, but I’ll answer it anyway: that question is, “Hey, Michael, what is your take on the Cure?”

I’ll admit – I was once enthralled by depressed men from the UK who put on makeup and play some pretty mopey crap. But there’s 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, “It’s not the band I hate; it’s the fans.” Come on, you know who I’m 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 I’m ever bothered by them is at shows. There’s always the guy wearing the shirt of the band playing that night or some other band. There’s 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 let’s 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 he’s been headbanging with for the last hour and a half.

There’s 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 it’s so forgettable that this reviewer didn’t remember the movie he was reviewing. No shelf value whatsoever. This movie’s pretty damn forgettable. Okay, we’ve 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 you’re in the doghouse, pissing part of your soul away by seeing Just Like Heaven may get you out. But you’ve really got to ask yourself if it’s 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. It’s got no music video to it and it’s definitely not a horror movie.

It’s a mishmash of cheesy moments and rotten dialogue tossed into a bucket of lard/courtroom drama that you can’t really ever get into because someone drinks six high balls before he gets to the office at nine. Laura Linney aside, the movie’s 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 I’ll shit blood after not being able to crap for a week. You don’t like hearing about it? I DON’T LIKE HAVING IT HAPPEN!!!

I’ve actually found my purpose in life. Reviewing movies can’t be the only thing I’m 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, I’ve made sure that there are no other Michael Gildeas in the state of Pennsylvania. And there never will be. I’ve 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 I’ve reached a crux in my operation. I’ve been met with nothing but resistance in my conquest and now I’m debating taking all of them out. If the Gildeas with nothing to lose don’t respect me and won’t 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 master’s love slaves? So I’m taking it out a whole new door. They’re 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 I’m 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. It’s so hard to care sometimes. Or pretend to for that matter.

Now’s 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 Kurosawa’s Rashamon. It’s in Japanese, there’s subtitles, deal with it. A crazy-as-shit- bandit (Toshiro Mifune) kills a feudal lord and rapes his wife. Or does he? The story’s 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, you’ll 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 can’t stand it! I’m dying from uproarious laughter! So yeah, it’s 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-could’ve-really-happened aspect of the story, there’s an annoyingly pesky Interpol (relax hipsters!) agent who probably wouldn’t be anywhere nearly annoying if he wasn’t played by Ethan Hawke. You know, because he always has to be so intense. Here’s 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 know–to 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, let’s throw Valley Girl in there for posterity.

I’ve recently been blessed with digital cable and I’ve got a new perspective as to how to rate movies. It’s more of a new category than anything, but there’s now the I’d watch it if there’s nothing else on and I’d set the DVR to record it and if I don’t 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 wasn’t a factor, I’d 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 don’t get the pizza-flavored Combos. I got a bad batch...

How much does the guy spend a month on comics? $300? That’s madness! Madness, I tell you. And he doesn’t even like half of them? I don’t see the point of... He says he’s a collector? Oh, that’s rich. That’s really rich. That makes all the difference! I don’t see the point of buying something you don’t even like, especially if you don’t even need it. Jesus! Well all of those X-Men t-shirts are the red flag that there’s 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

I’m writing two movie reviews together because I don’t know what I can say about Cry Wolf that I can’t say about Venom and vice versa. They’re 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 it’s not already dead. The problem with horror movies is that people go and see them–no 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 standpoint–especially 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 couldn’t give a good god damn about making another great horror film. This swine doesn’t 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 it’s not some rotten movie where we get to see a pair of tits or two before some humping teenagers get killed then it’s an American remake of a Japanese horror movie. (And it’s never as good. You know that, right?) And it’s 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. I’ve 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 wouldn’t get it back. They have to learn somehow. But that would be expensive. Maybe if I strike it rich. And if I don’t, I’ll use mace.

But I’ve found over the years that you just have to let people realize for themselves that they’re 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. Don’t worry; it’ll happen when the time is right. There’s just no difference. You can’t 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, can’t you? Let those poor bastards do what they have to you and you do what you’ve got to.

Okay. I had a point here somewhere. You reinstall your OS and we’ll see how you feel, huh? Oh, speaking of which–I want to throw a shout out to Slick Rick for the assist on the reformat the other night. (We’ll get ‘em next time rascal!) I also want to give props to Steve for getting this maroon of a shitbox running again. You’d not be reading this if it wasn’t for you. Also, I want to tell anyone who’s feeling a little down on themselves to hit any Country Style Buffett. You’ll walk out feeling sexy because you couldn’t bring yourself to eat anything and you now realize that it can be a whole lot worse. When you’re having your sexy party, think of me. Imagine me sitting in the chair in the corner thinking, “Oooh. This is a sexy party. Sexy indeed.”