Gentle readers, once more I, as a service for you, will offer all the information you need to know about a film I have absolutely no information about. And this time, that movie is Crank.
Crank, far from being the hip retrorevision of the classic "Crankshaft" comic strip, is instead the story of a poisoned man who must continue to keep his adrenaline up or die. It's Speed: The One-Man Show, fresh off of Broadway and now featuring less Keanu and more dark, muddy shots of partially-obscured tits like you find in every R-rated feature.
It starts that balding guy from those English gangster movies. You know, the one who casually waves a gun around and shouts things? Yeah, him. Also in the film is Dwight Yoakam, fading country music star turned Eurofilm second-fiddle. I bet he gets to do something in this movie, because really, why bother getting Dwight Yoakam if he's not on screen long enough for someone to ask the person next to them, "Didn't he used to be a singer?"
Anyway, I'm sure you're wondering how our hero manages to keep his adrenaline up for two hours of theatre time, plus ten minutes of trailers and another good fifteen minutes of those commercials disguised as "sneak peeks" that you have to watch if you want to get there early and find a good seat. And that's a darn good question, Sparky.
From what I gather, Baldy wants to get revenge on his poisoners and say goodbye to his girlfriend before stopping to keel over. You can only assume that "saying goodbye" means having muddy, dark, obscured sex with said girlfriend before immediately leaping off her and jumping out a window, or going hunting with Dick Cheney. Gotta keep that heartrate up, you know.
I'd imagine you have to keep your action varied, so you don't get bored with constant mortal danger. So expect him to do plenty of non-sequitous, disjointed things like boarding a snake full of planes and then getting off and pulling the hoods off some disgruntled Klansmen (are there ay other type?) Anything to keep it mixed up. Maybe after that, he can clamp scorpions onto his nipples and try to march in the St. Patrick's Day parade sporting rainbow assless chaps. It's extreme, to the max0r!!111!eleventy
What I don't have to wonder is how a film like this ends. Either he croaks and we're deprived of a sequel (unless Ice Cube is available), or he finds out it was all a hoax and his pals have had a bloody good joke on him. And then he kills them in a barrage of gunfire.
Then again, we don't need an official sequel, since every movie he makes has him playing the same character. He can die in this one, and then come back as a balding, tersely-scripted English gangster with nothing to live for in his next movie. It can be a one-man remake of Benji, and he can take revenge on humanity before succumbing to rabies. And boink a supermodel in a dark, muddy, partially-obscured topless scene.
In conclusion, on my patented scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 15 being passing and 15.1 being gratuitous, I give this movie two and a half "whoa"'s, a pint of lager, and a cracked pair of Matrix sunglasses.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Can we fix it? With the proper building code, we can!
So we're watching Bob the Builder, and I realize that one of the little clay workers Bob hangs with (asides from Token Black Girl, Butch Lesbian, and Anthropomorphic Backhoe) is a scarecrow. Huh. That's freakin' weird.
Given that the whole plot of every episode revolves around Bob building something for free, and the scarecrow screwing things up accidentally before everything works out for the best, I'm trying to decode the hidden Marxist dogma that's surely embedded between every other frame of jerky stop-motion action. After all, it airs on PBS, home of hardcore socialist propaganda like Antiques Roadshow.
Bob represents the worker. Got it. Token Black Girl represents the idealism of the united, colorblind Workforce of the People. Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Butch Lesbian is there to exhibit gender equality. Cool. The backhoe can talk because this is a cartoon and if Orko from Masters of the Universe isn't available, someone has to be the comic relief.
The scarecrow? Um... Help me out, people. If I were Bob, merrily building away without charging for my services or obtaining proper building permits, and this thing with a carrot nose and a bag for a head came up and started getting all Jar-Jar on me, what would I do? First, I'd ask if he was union and if not, tell him this is a closed shop. But second, I would run like hell and not turn back, because when undead scarecrows with carrot noses appear at your construction site, it's a good bet you're building on an Indian burial ground and the thing wants your fucking entrails for lunch.
Given that the whole plot of every episode revolves around Bob building something for free, and the scarecrow screwing things up accidentally before everything works out for the best, I'm trying to decode the hidden Marxist dogma that's surely embedded between every other frame of jerky stop-motion action. After all, it airs on PBS, home of hardcore socialist propaganda like Antiques Roadshow.
Bob represents the worker. Got it. Token Black Girl represents the idealism of the united, colorblind Workforce of the People. Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Butch Lesbian is there to exhibit gender equality. Cool. The backhoe can talk because this is a cartoon and if Orko from Masters of the Universe isn't available, someone has to be the comic relief.
The scarecrow? Um... Help me out, people. If I were Bob, merrily building away without charging for my services or obtaining proper building permits, and this thing with a carrot nose and a bag for a head came up and started getting all Jar-Jar on me, what would I do? First, I'd ask if he was union and if not, tell him this is a closed shop. But second, I would run like hell and not turn back, because when undead scarecrows with carrot noses appear at your construction site, it's a good bet you're building on an Indian burial ground and the thing wants your fucking entrails for lunch.
Completely Useless Movie Previews: Snakes on a Plane
Our ongoing series of Completely Useless Movie Previews continues, with a look at the much-anticipated Snakes on a Plane. For a change, this preview (like all the others, based on the trailer alone) will be no more or less accurate than anyone else's, because the film was not screened for critics. Eat that, Ebert!
So. Snakes on a Plane. I wish I could tell you waht it's about. It's all rather vague. There's a plane, and Samuel L. Jackson is aboard. He plays Samuel L. Jackson, foul-mouthed actor full of rage and vengeance, probably over getting the gay purple lightsaber in Attack of the Clones. Sam has a problem. There may or may not be snakes on his airplane, and whatever the case, he most likely didn't get anything more than a little bag of four or five pretzels to eat on his trans-oceanic flight. That would piss me off, too.
Are the snakes flying the plane? Hard to say, but I for one welcome our new jet-piloting reptilian overlords. Do the snakes accumulate frequent-flier miles? Maybe, but they can't use them on weekends or holidays, that's for damn sure! Anyway, there's snakes, and they're on the plane, because you can bring venomous snakes in your carry-on, but not your iPod or a Slurpee. Sam apparently has some sort of problem with this, and poses the question, "Whither the snakes?"
Maybe the snakes will get off in St. Louis, having only boarded to make a transfer en route to Cincinnati. Maybe if Sam had only offered them a flower, like those Hare Krishnas you see hanging out at the airport in 70's airplane films, all of the violence could be avoided.
Yes, there is violence. Or it looks that way, at least. Sam versus the pilot? The stewardess versus the guy with the oversized bag? The pretzels versus the peanuts? Everyone versus the tiny pillows and overpriced headsets? And why is the airline-edit of Cheaper by the Dozen playing on the seatback video system?! You may as well challenge the passengers to mortal (k/c)ombat!
So. Will Snakes on a Plane be a hit? And more importantly, will it spawn Snakes on a Plane 2: Snakes on a Boat: Cruise Control? Let's ask my Magic 8-Ball, which has a 10% accuracy rate. And it says... "Ask again later."
Well! I guess we'll just have to wait and see. But you're not reading this because you want to wait. Oh no, you overanxious, hyperactive early-climaxers. You want answers now! Right or wrong! And so, on a scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 15 being passing and 16 being questionable, I give this film two turntables and a microphone. Because who wouldn't want that? Okay, maybe the movie really wanted a pony. But I'm not made of ponies, especially since I gave up pony meat.
So. Snakes on a Plane. I wish I could tell you waht it's about. It's all rather vague. There's a plane, and Samuel L. Jackson is aboard. He plays Samuel L. Jackson, foul-mouthed actor full of rage and vengeance, probably over getting the gay purple lightsaber in Attack of the Clones. Sam has a problem. There may or may not be snakes on his airplane, and whatever the case, he most likely didn't get anything more than a little bag of four or five pretzels to eat on his trans-oceanic flight. That would piss me off, too.
Are the snakes flying the plane? Hard to say, but I for one welcome our new jet-piloting reptilian overlords. Do the snakes accumulate frequent-flier miles? Maybe, but they can't use them on weekends or holidays, that's for damn sure! Anyway, there's snakes, and they're on the plane, because you can bring venomous snakes in your carry-on, but not your iPod or a Slurpee. Sam apparently has some sort of problem with this, and poses the question, "Whither the snakes?"
Maybe the snakes will get off in St. Louis, having only boarded to make a transfer en route to Cincinnati. Maybe if Sam had only offered them a flower, like those Hare Krishnas you see hanging out at the airport in 70's airplane films, all of the violence could be avoided.
Yes, there is violence. Or it looks that way, at least. Sam versus the pilot? The stewardess versus the guy with the oversized bag? The pretzels versus the peanuts? Everyone versus the tiny pillows and overpriced headsets? And why is the airline-edit of Cheaper by the Dozen playing on the seatback video system?! You may as well challenge the passengers to mortal (k/c)ombat!
So. Will Snakes on a Plane be a hit? And more importantly, will it spawn Snakes on a Plane 2: Snakes on a Boat: Cruise Control? Let's ask my Magic 8-Ball, which has a 10% accuracy rate. And it says... "Ask again later."
Well! I guess we'll just have to wait and see. But you're not reading this because you want to wait. Oh no, you overanxious, hyperactive early-climaxers. You want answers now! Right or wrong! And so, on a scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 15 being passing and 16 being questionable, I give this film two turntables and a microphone. Because who wouldn't want that? Okay, maybe the movie really wanted a pony. But I'm not made of ponies, especially since I gave up pony meat.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
We Be Jammin!
Is the word "jammin'" back? There's a commercial (one of those for the Philly cream cheese where you're not supposed to be creeped out by the fact that the hot chick angels in it are in fact dead- probably from heroin overdoses or something) where one clumsy angel drops her jelly-covered bagel onto another angel's cheese-covered bagel. Like peanut butter combined with chocolate, an unholy fornication results. The angel is probably banished from heaven later, but we don't see this. Instead, we cut to a narrator informing us that new "Jammin' Swirls" are now available.
Yes, the mixing of jelly and cream cheese in one convenient plastic bowl is enough to merit the adjective jammin'.
The only other time I've heard "jammin'" in popular usage is in the musical works of Bob Marley.
Marley: Hey, mon! You got commercial distribution in my traditional reggae!
Music Exec: Hey! You got traditional reggae in my commercial distribution!
Marley: Jammin'!
Yes, the mixing of jelly and cream cheese in one convenient plastic bowl is enough to merit the adjective jammin'.
The only other time I've heard "jammin'" in popular usage is in the musical works of Bob Marley.
Marley: Hey, mon! You got commercial distribution in my traditional reggae!
Music Exec: Hey! You got traditional reggae in my commercial distribution!
Marley: Jammin'!
Sunday, August 6, 2006
Completely Useless Movie Previews: World Trade Center
Once again, it's time for a Completely Useless Movie Preview. This time, I'll give you valuable information and an outside peek at World Trade Center.
This is a movie about some sort of disaster. I haven't really read any of the publicity materials, but it seems like maybe it could be about an earthquake, a volcano, an alien invasion, or Godzilla. The real point is, the World Trade Center is in danger, and only cops with bad Brooklyn accents and molester mustaches can help.
Enter Nicolas Cage, conveniently wearing an officer's hat so he doesn't have to wear a toupee. As a molestached New York cop, he leads a team of police who are very skilled in walking shoulder-first, in a 75-degree sideways sort of manner, into action.
This movie seems to have a lot of scenes of cops walking with their shoulders jutting out ahead of them, because this is a Very Brave Walk. Whether this walk will stand up to Godzilla, I can't say, having not seen the movie and having no intention to. If it is indeed about Godzilla, the only words I have to say are, "too soon." But there they are, walking sideways into the danger zone, their short, peach-fuzzy mustaches flapping ever-so-slightly in the Danger Breeze, which is a dramatic wind that comes from anything dangerous in movies. Sharks, killer bees, tornadoes- these are all sources of Danger Breeze. So the Gozdilla thing is just a guess- after all, he probably emits Danger Breeze, too.
We can only assume that one of the characters will die. This will add Meaning and Purpose, and allow the character to come back from the dead in any sequels. It'll probably be the enthusiastic Latin cop, and he'll appear magically in the shower in the next movie (World Trade Center II: Tokyo Drift) and reveal that it was all a dream. Then Godzilla will kill him for real. Because Godzilla is a fucking ironic son of a bitch like that.
Without seeing anything more than TV commercials, I give this film, on a scale of 1 to 88 stars, a final score of Disqualified, because those mustaches are really, really annoying. And so are all these damn 9/11 movies that keep rearing their ugly heads.
This is a movie about some sort of disaster. I haven't really read any of the publicity materials, but it seems like maybe it could be about an earthquake, a volcano, an alien invasion, or Godzilla. The real point is, the World Trade Center is in danger, and only cops with bad Brooklyn accents and molester mustaches can help.
Enter Nicolas Cage, conveniently wearing an officer's hat so he doesn't have to wear a toupee. As a molestached New York cop, he leads a team of police who are very skilled in walking shoulder-first, in a 75-degree sideways sort of manner, into action.
This movie seems to have a lot of scenes of cops walking with their shoulders jutting out ahead of them, because this is a Very Brave Walk. Whether this walk will stand up to Godzilla, I can't say, having not seen the movie and having no intention to. If it is indeed about Godzilla, the only words I have to say are, "too soon." But there they are, walking sideways into the danger zone, their short, peach-fuzzy mustaches flapping ever-so-slightly in the Danger Breeze, which is a dramatic wind that comes from anything dangerous in movies. Sharks, killer bees, tornadoes- these are all sources of Danger Breeze. So the Gozdilla thing is just a guess- after all, he probably emits Danger Breeze, too.
We can only assume that one of the characters will die. This will add Meaning and Purpose, and allow the character to come back from the dead in any sequels. It'll probably be the enthusiastic Latin cop, and he'll appear magically in the shower in the next movie (World Trade Center II: Tokyo Drift) and reveal that it was all a dream. Then Godzilla will kill him for real. Because Godzilla is a fucking ironic son of a bitch like that.
Without seeing anything more than TV commercials, I give this film, on a scale of 1 to 88 stars, a final score of Disqualified, because those mustaches are really, really annoying. And so are all these damn 9/11 movies that keep rearing their ugly heads.
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