Lee’s new heist film/joint is a lot like a bank robbery in itself. Or at least
much like planning one. You’d need a good crew to begin with I suppose, and
with a crew like Denzel Washington, Jodie Foster and Clive Owen I’d imagine
there’s not much you couldn’t get done. But without a mastermind plotting
the caper you’re not going to get very far.
In theory it
should’ve all gone smoothly, but if you’ve seen even one robbery movie you’re
aware that every single variable has to be planned for. You’ve got to take
into account everything from the fat beat cop who gets his morning donuts
and coffee at the bakery across the street to the exact second that rush hour
traffic starts on the closest escape route and everything in between. This
is usually done with scenes where members of the crew wax poetic about what
they’re going to do with the money once the job is pulled as they’re parked
in an inconspicuous car on surveillance. Thankfully, Lee spares us this sentimental
Now I’m not talking
about the ultimate plot on the part of Owen and his gang of criminals robbing
the bank and baffling Washington’s detective to the point of calling in Foster’s…
you know, I can’t even think of what the hell her character was supposed to
be aside from someone with serious connections.
This is where
it starts going downhill, which is disappointing considering the talent involved.
There’s some serious shit about to happen and Lee throws vague characters,
bad math and Christopher Plummer as the evil old corporate baron that he will
undoubtedly play until the end of his days as his audience dwindles. All of
this is acceptable until you realize you’ve been taken for a rube. For essentially
the entire film, you’re wondering what the hell it’s all about.
And of course
when the payoff is finally delivered, it’s either going to be The Greatest
Thing Known To Man or the biggest steaming pile you ever caught whiff of.
There’s no in-betweens with this kind of gig. And what the pile better known
as The Inside Man smelled of was incoherent ideas passed off as genius.
A slight whiff of unfinished thoughts that would’ve been otherwise finished
if Lee was actually trying to say something instead of going for commercial
success and an excuse to work with Washington again.
Baby Jesus, it’s like they’re not even trying anymore! If you’ve seen The
Ring, you know all about a mysterious videotape being circulated around
that kills anyone who watches it. And if you’ve seen even one Nightmare on
Elm Street movie, you know all about kids who are being slaughtered by some
kiddie-killing maniac who hunts them in their dreams. So let’s scrape the
resin out of the bowl and put a new spin on things by introducing video games.
And to make things worse, let’s tack on a PG-13 rating.
You know the
drill: a bunch of malcontents on the edge of a teenage society all start playing
a video game where if you die in the game you die the same way in real life.
That concept didn’t scare me as much as the sight of Frankie Muniz’s face,
or when the teenager working in the projection booth cranked the sound up
at the insistence of a contract with the studio. It was as annoying than a
spoiled child of indulgent parents. Hahahahahahaha, Taylor! You’re soooooooo
funny the way you sneak up on me!
is the kind of movie that you’ll see with a clear conscience for one of two
1) You’re a teenager
who hasn’t hit that much-anticipated growth spurt and for the life of you
can’t fool the movie theater staff into thinking you’re in fact 17. Oh, and
mom’s not picking you up until 5:30 and nothing else you can get into is up.
2) You lost a
bet where the stakes were indeed high. You just thought you were so damn cool
and so damn smart and now look where it got you. You’re watching the Lizzie
McGuire of horror movies. Who’s laughing now!?
V for Vendetta
a really big problem with translating a story from a comic book to a film
or a movie. In all probability, you’re going to make a movie that not only
is awful, but likely piss off the source material’s main fanbase. But let’s
say you don’t blow it and you make something great—there’s a sequel that probably
Comic book movies—both
PG-13 and R-rated types—are about to meet their grave. The question to ask
is if we’ll be graciously spoon-fed our last delicious bites or if well have
a 55-gallon drum of cud crammed down our throats.
The reason I
mention the food is because when I saw V for Vendetta I had a taste
in my mouth the whole time. I hadn’t eaten in hours and drank a few glasses
of water, so it wasn’t a residual aftertaste from a dollar store menu. It
was more like bad food I’ve never really eaten. Well, not so much bad, but
just really… plain. Like a boiled hot dog or no-frills stuffing. Then I realized
what it was: This movie took place in England. I mean, this is a country that
considered The Spice Girls spicy. I’ll admit I always liked Baby Spice because
she looked like a baby female Yoda with just the right level of thickness,
but I definitely wouldn’t call her spicy. And I’m probably one of four or
five straight guys in existence who will admit to thinking that Sporty Spice’s
mother was worth meeting. Yeah, the tattoos were pretty gross, but I didn’t
mind the chiseled thing so much and she had that little chipmunk face. Plus
she could sing better than the rest of them.
Point is if you
dwell in their culture too much you’re going to need to up your vitamin C
intake. I dated an English exchange student in my youth. Hey man, I really
dug the accent, but after about two and a half months I felt like I hadn’t
seen the sun in years. Is rickets an STD? How about scurvy? I want to say
it is, but I’m not 100% sure.
Despite the fact
that V for Vendetta tells a story that could easily pass for The Ghost
of Christmas Future in our Real Life World of 2006, it mixes Orwellian, Dumas-derived
and Christ themes in a way that I’m assuming are supposed to make us all stand
up and yell “I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore.” And
I got the point of the movie too, so you can stop writing your nasty e-mail
now. I’m talking about how I was not only subjected to a bland British culture
(and this was after years of Big Brother censorship), but sat through a movie
that defeated the purpose if my coming to the theater in the first place:
TO GET AWAY FROM THIS NONSENSE!
I got cable for
the first time in about five years maybe six months ago and I catch more CNN
lately. I accept the fact that I alone, or even us collectively are essentially
powerless to fight, let alone stop what is happening in our world. But I do
not accept going to a temporary escape pod and have this madness stare me
in the face.
Many years ago
during my first bid in retail hell I was on the can one day and a co-worker
bothered me for something that required me to cut my time on the throne as
King of Twosieville short and do something that if he had a little common
sense could’ve pulled off on his own. And while I realize that others have
it off way worse, I considered that a violation of not only my basic human
rights but the basic rules of common courtesy and decency.
That’s how I
felt watching V for Vendetta. Oh, it wasn’t all bad. The sparse fight
scenes weren’t bad and Natalie Portman was pretty hot with a shaved head and
an on-again-off-again British accent. She was like Sinead O’Connor, just not
as drunk and ornery. Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! And I know you’re not going to believe
this, but the word “terrorist” was actually used in this movie. That’s like
hearing a Stones song in a movie—which by the way V for Vendetta has.
This flick was
supposed to come out about six months ago right after the London bombings
last fall. They held off on its release because they wanted to let the wounds
heal. I’d ask what about us but if they held off on this movie’s release for
every tragic thing that happened in this world, it wouldn’t be seen until
our highly advanced descendants opened some kind of time capsule.
V for Vendetta
is based on a comic book/graphic novel by Alan Moore, who also wrote From
Hell and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. He’s disowned the
film versions of all three of his stories. I haven’t read any of the books
and have seen both movies, so I can’t say what the hell he’s talking about.
If there’s nothing else up and you really want to go to the movies then go
I was watching She’s the Man, I had just begun the downward spiral
to a complete and total physical collapse. I was completely aware of everything
that was happening around me, but powerless to do anything it. But that’s
an absolute necessity when you watch a movie like She’s the Man.
The big thing
about this movie is that it’s a loose, modernized adaptation of Shakespeare’s
cross-dressing classic, “Twelfth Night.” Slather that one in honey, bread
it with crumbs of whatever the kids are into these days and stick it in a
pressure cooker. Remove the clever dialogue and most of the plot, and tack
on a few soccer games. My body was shot and my mind was soon to follow.
I tried to suspend
disbelief and remind myself who this movie was geared for--teenagers who just
don’t give a shit and don’t remember this same movie from the ‘80s. Go to
the mall with their friend from the same neighborhood and eat in the food
court before whatever crappy movie opens that weekend—long as its rated PG-13.
So what makes
this movie the garden variety Shakespeare adaptation is that you’re looking
at Amanda Bynes and her big apple head the whole time. Her cheeks are like
perfectly round ass cheeks trying to take over her face, which can be oddly
attractive on a female, but when she starts cross-dressing it’s a nightmare.
“Androgynous” will be one of the words used to describe Bynes when see her
on the inevitable “I Love the ‘00s” VH-1 series. So instead of seeing Amanda
Bynes, WB princess, you see a very convincing portrayal of a gay boy.
About a half
hour into She’s the Man, I became so overtired that I couldn’t even
black out. It was like in A Clockwork Orange when Malcolm McDowell
was strapped into the chair with his eyes clamped open. It was like night
terrors. If you’re lucky you’ve only got to endure that horror show for maybe
thirty seconds or so. For me it was 105 minutes and I didn’t even have Ludwig
Von to keep me company.
Cable Guy: Health Inspector
know and have known people who have traveled down South. I’m talking Deep
South here, not Florida, the old folk’s home of America. There are people
living south of the Mason-Dixon who are still pissed off they lost the Civil
War. I mean they hold a genuine, bona fide grudge because their ancestors
got their asses handed to them almost a century and a half ago.
If you’ve heard
some of the yarns spun, you’ll know damn well that these people have been
plotting ever since slavery was abolished to kick some Yankee ass and get
some payback. And contrary to popular belief, Southerners aren’t as stupid
as their redneck stereotypes would portray them to be. If they can fashion
together some cheap corn liquor, they can certainly take the country back.
If you don’t believe me, look at a map from the last presidential election
and look who’s in office right now. I know it’s very exhausting, but I hate
to say it’s going to get a hell of a lot worse before it gets any better.
me? Then take yourself a gander at a true nightmare come true. “Blue Collar
Comedy” (almost certainly originally titled “White Trash Comedy”) alum Larry
the Cable Guy has his own movie. I can picture Robert E.Lee and Stonewall
Jackson looking down and mumbling under their breath, “good, good, excellent”
as they twiddle their fingers with glee as this douche bag straight out of
Dante’s Inferno stands as an abominable testament to the end of The
American Way of Life as We Know it and everything wrong with it.
The way he shows
off his flabby guns and talks. It makes me sterile just thinking about it.
This cretinous hillbilly is too big to stop right now and as a result you
get a better part of an hour and a half of dick, ass crack, fart, trailer
trash, cat shit and otherwise repugnant jokes. Admittedly that’s for the most
part all well and good, just not when it comes from a redneck troglodyte who
requires in his audience a crystal meth addiction, an IQ beneath 72 and a
permanent residence in a trailer park to understand or appreciate his…novelty.
If you like Larry
the Cable Guy, then you’re going to think you’ve died and gone to heaven when
watching Health Inspector. If the cheap corn liquor hasn’t completely robbed
you of the required amount of brain cells needed to stop you from wasting
your money and 90 minutes of life while they collectively call you back to
the light, you should save your money.