Gentle readers. Once again, I will offer my take on films you may or may not wish to see, based only on the knowledge I have gathered through osmosis. Or from watching the film's trailer. Because if you can't fill out a minute with the good parts, you probably have a hundred and seventy-nine and a half minutes of suck left over.
This time, I warn you away from Speed Racer, made by those Matrix guys. You know, the ones who we wish more and more, with each successive film since The Matrix Reloaded, that they'd never made a film after The Matrix.
Speed Racer is based on the 60's proto-anime cartoon of the same name, and is the tragic tale of a boy suffering from attention deficit disorder. Speed, named for the drug his mother was on throughout her pregnancy, wants to win something. I think it's a race. He's aided in this goal by just the people you want surrounding you so that others take you seriously- your parents (Dad likes to dress up like Mario), your girlfriend, your little brother, and an armed chimp.
Speed is driven to drive both by his desire to escape the movie, and also to avenge the mysterious death of his older brother, who supposedly died in a freak accident coincidental to the appearance of Racer X on the scene. Racer X looks like Speed's brother, talks like Speed's brother, and raced like Speed's brother. Except Racer X doesn't show up at family events like reunions and barbecues, so it obviously isn't him.
Threatening all that Speed holds dear (apparently dysfunctional families, primary colors, and chimpanzees) is Mr. Royalton, who wants to sign up Speed to either race for his Team of Evil or work in his whimsical candy factory. I'm unclear on this. Speed can't sell out, though, because he's a commie. Becoming a cog in the bourgeois capitalist machine of excess would be betraying the sweat and blood of his fellow human and chimp workers. Will Royalton accept his refusal without a plot point? Will Racer X save Speed, and then unmask himself and help out with the family yard sale? Will we all get massive seizures watching the bright lights and pretty colors?!
Another item of note is the production style. This is the type of film that doesn't need to brag about being in color. Not that many films do, these days. Instead, this is the type of movie that opts to brutally assault you and leave you for dead in an alley with color. And then pisses color on your corpse. It's like having your blood replaced with liquefied Skittles. If that's not an endorsement, then what is?
So, on my scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 88 being the number of times you're likely to have synapse misfires and hallucinate dead relatives while watching, and 12 being the highest age of someone who would enjoy this thing, I give Speed Racer a six-pack of Red Bull, a zany simian sidekick, and a healthy dose of Ritalin.
Showing posts with label completely useless movie previews. Show all posts
Showing posts with label completely useless movie previews. Show all posts
Friday, May 9, 2008
Friday, December 14, 2007
Completely Useless Movie Previews: Alvin and the Chipmunks
Gentle readers, it's that time once again, wherein I tell you everything I think I know about a film based on a glance at the trailer. And then you trust me completely, as you are wont to do. Because you're gullible like that.
Alvin and the Chipmunks is a heartwrenching story of three small rodents taken from their natural habitat and rendered in less-than-convincing computer animation. Alvin, Simon, and Theodore desperately want to spread a message of environmental awareness and the dangers of global warming, but instead are enslaved by the cruel and heartless David Seville. Hopped up on goofballs and chained to a microphone, their screams of anguish are digitally altered into classics such as "Christmas Don't Be Late" and "The Witch Doctor."
Seville, whose hobbies include deep-fat frying underperforming chipmunks as bite-size nuggets, is played by Jason Lee. Lee was booted from the remake of Fletch because studio execs didn't think he had the persona to carry a film on his own as lead. When people compare your charisma to Chevy Chase and decide unfavorably on your behalf, this is a message. That message is, it's time to talk to your agent about that dancing rodent flick.
Big questions are presented in this movie, many left up in the air. Will Dave get rabies? Will the chipmunks take home the Grammy? Will their droppings lead the health department to condemn Dave's home, or will the Chipmunk saga ultimately end in a small cardboard box buried beneath some cigarette butts and a whiskey bottle in the backyard? You'd think the writers would care enough about their characters to supply us with this vital information, and not leave us without closure. We, as an audience, demand to see the horrible, grisly fate that awaits this trio. Especially if an owl is involved.
Fans of the 80's cartoon maybe disappointed that the Chipettes are nowhere to be seen. These proto-furry heroines were lusted after by many a lad who wished their figures were anatomically correct. Does Hollywood today not care about the money in the pockets (among other things in the pockets) of horny teenage boys who crave anthropomorphic sex idols? Their appearance would have catapulted this movie to blockbuster status. Especially in Japan, where themed panties could have been sold in vending machines.
So. The Chipmunks. A cautionary tale of animal abuse, the cold uncaring world of contemporary top-40 radio, and the career of Jason Lee. On my voodoo-cursed scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 12 or so being the general level of tolerance I can muster for any Jason Lee film, I give this movie three deep-fried chipmunk nuggets, a pair of Chipette panties, and time served. Now let us completely forget this cultural phenomenon for another couple decades at least.
Alvin and the Chipmunks is a heartwrenching story of three small rodents taken from their natural habitat and rendered in less-than-convincing computer animation. Alvin, Simon, and Theodore desperately want to spread a message of environmental awareness and the dangers of global warming, but instead are enslaved by the cruel and heartless David Seville. Hopped up on goofballs and chained to a microphone, their screams of anguish are digitally altered into classics such as "Christmas Don't Be Late" and "The Witch Doctor."
Seville, whose hobbies include deep-fat frying underperforming chipmunks as bite-size nuggets, is played by Jason Lee. Lee was booted from the remake of Fletch because studio execs didn't think he had the persona to carry a film on his own as lead. When people compare your charisma to Chevy Chase and decide unfavorably on your behalf, this is a message. That message is, it's time to talk to your agent about that dancing rodent flick.
Big questions are presented in this movie, many left up in the air. Will Dave get rabies? Will the chipmunks take home the Grammy? Will their droppings lead the health department to condemn Dave's home, or will the Chipmunk saga ultimately end in a small cardboard box buried beneath some cigarette butts and a whiskey bottle in the backyard? You'd think the writers would care enough about their characters to supply us with this vital information, and not leave us without closure. We, as an audience, demand to see the horrible, grisly fate that awaits this trio. Especially if an owl is involved.
Fans of the 80's cartoon maybe disappointed that the Chipettes are nowhere to be seen. These proto-furry heroines were lusted after by many a lad who wished their figures were anatomically correct. Does Hollywood today not care about the money in the pockets (among other things in the pockets) of horny teenage boys who crave anthropomorphic sex idols? Their appearance would have catapulted this movie to blockbuster status. Especially in Japan, where themed panties could have been sold in vending machines.
So. The Chipmunks. A cautionary tale of animal abuse, the cold uncaring world of contemporary top-40 radio, and the career of Jason Lee. On my voodoo-cursed scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 12 or so being the general level of tolerance I can muster for any Jason Lee film, I give this movie three deep-fried chipmunk nuggets, a pair of Chipette panties, and time served. Now let us completely forget this cultural phenomenon for another couple decades at least.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Completely Useless Movie Previews: Beowulf
Once again, I'm here to fill you in about a movie you don't have to see, because I've seen the trailer. This time out, the film in question is Beowulf, and left me guarantee, it's a Beowulf Cluster of fun.
Much like 300, large portions of the movie have been digitally created. Except Beo (as the cool kids will surely call it) takes the added step of digitizing the actors. Sure, this brings them creepily close to the Uncanny Valley, wherein almost-human creations are so close to humanity that their faults become exaggerated to the point of eeriness. But ignore those dead eyes and read on. The man behind them is none other than Robert Zemeckis, whose animated Polar Express certainly didn't give any children deep-rooted psychological problems.
Unlike other retreads of the source material, this one is, oddly-enough, not set in a "techno-futile world." Rather, it's the dark ages, and the Danes are up against the monster Grendel, and his mother, Angelina Jolie, who is really taking this adoption thing way too far. Grendel is played by Crispin Glover, which is a bit much, since merely casting Crispin Glover makes your villain plenty scary right there. Grendel's mommy likes to prance around nude in gold paint and stripper heels, which don't seem to be the best choice for mortal combat, but hey, times were different in ye olden days.
Beowulf is a very manly hero. Well, as manly as you can be fighting a girl. You can tell he's manly, because he does manly things, like yelling his name repeatedly ("I... am... Beowulf!") just in case you forgot who he was, therefore reminding you of his Shatneresque manliness. You know, just in case you happen to have heard about this manly guy named Beowulf, and need your memory jogged indirectly when you realize it's this guy. (It's him. HE'S BEOWULF.)
Taking a cue from 300, many other things are screamed in an important manner as well. Historical records show that, in the past, screaming was more culturally acceptable than it is today. Evidence comes in the form of the original, screamed Gettysburg Address, delivered by a half-nude Abraham Lincoln.
So, is it worth watching? Duh! Did you read about the nekkid Angelina Jolie? Granted, it's a computer reproduction, but it's as close as we can get while she's still employed by the United Nations. Or until such time as naked screaming becomes fashionable again.
As a bonus, watching the movie exempts you from reading the poem in an English class. It's true! Clip this out and give it to your teacher as proof. Even reading this review is enough to cut you some slack with the poem, letting you just read the good parts about the disembowelings.
So, on my medieval scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 15 being "good" and 87 being one shy of 88, I give this film two mugs of mead, the slain body of our enemy, and a computer-generated sex scene between two copies of Angelina Jolie.
Much like 300, large portions of the movie have been digitally created. Except Beo (as the cool kids will surely call it) takes the added step of digitizing the actors. Sure, this brings them creepily close to the Uncanny Valley, wherein almost-human creations are so close to humanity that their faults become exaggerated to the point of eeriness. But ignore those dead eyes and read on. The man behind them is none other than Robert Zemeckis, whose animated Polar Express certainly didn't give any children deep-rooted psychological problems.
Unlike other retreads of the source material, this one is, oddly-enough, not set in a "techno-futile world." Rather, it's the dark ages, and the Danes are up against the monster Grendel, and his mother, Angelina Jolie, who is really taking this adoption thing way too far. Grendel is played by Crispin Glover, which is a bit much, since merely casting Crispin Glover makes your villain plenty scary right there. Grendel's mommy likes to prance around nude in gold paint and stripper heels, which don't seem to be the best choice for mortal combat, but hey, times were different in ye olden days.
Beowulf is a very manly hero. Well, as manly as you can be fighting a girl. You can tell he's manly, because he does manly things, like yelling his name repeatedly ("I... am... Beowulf!") just in case you forgot who he was, therefore reminding you of his Shatneresque manliness. You know, just in case you happen to have heard about this manly guy named Beowulf, and need your memory jogged indirectly when you realize it's this guy. (It's him. HE'S BEOWULF.)
Taking a cue from 300, many other things are screamed in an important manner as well. Historical records show that, in the past, screaming was more culturally acceptable than it is today. Evidence comes in the form of the original, screamed Gettysburg Address, delivered by a half-nude Abraham Lincoln.
So, is it worth watching? Duh! Did you read about the nekkid Angelina Jolie? Granted, it's a computer reproduction, but it's as close as we can get while she's still employed by the United Nations. Or until such time as naked screaming becomes fashionable again.
As a bonus, watching the movie exempts you from reading the poem in an English class. It's true! Clip this out and give it to your teacher as proof. Even reading this review is enough to cut you some slack with the poem, letting you just read the good parts about the disembowelings.
So, on my medieval scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 15 being "good" and 87 being one shy of 88, I give this film two mugs of mead, the slain body of our enemy, and a computer-generated sex scene between two copies of Angelina Jolie.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Completely Useless Movie Previews: Lions for Lambs
It has been far too long since I, your author, have granted you assistance in deciding whether a film is worthy of your attention and debit card. Fear not! As part of my vow to entertain you while television falters under the crushing duress of labor protests, I am redoubling my efforts to keep you amused. So, Lions for Lambs. As usual, I am only using the film's trailer to inform me about its contents. Until such time as I am invited to press screenings, suck it up and deal.
Lions for Lambs is not, as the title would imply, either a film version of Edward Hicks' Peaceable Kingdom paintings, nor is it about the diet of a safari party. Rather, it stars Tom Cruise as a guy in a suit, which only happens in every other Tom Cruise movie. He says Important Things(tm), and says them loudly. Sometimes he'll bang his fist. Other people in suits stare intently. He ain't gettin' away with those words!
Oh yawn. By now we're all sick of Tom Cruise. I couldn't even make it through the trailer. Tell you what, let's start over and review Fred Claus, okay?
Now. Fred Claus is the story of Santa's hedonistic brother. Of course, Fred is jealous of the attention Santa gets. I blame his parents. If they're creative enough to name one child "Santa," where do they get off dropping the Fred-bomb on the other? They could have called him "Dewdrop" or "Rambo" or "Darth Vader." Those are names that predestine someone!
The plot involves Fred needing to borrow money from brother Santa to pay off gambling debts. It's a touching, heartwarming story of what happens when elves don't pay up, and how eventually they can only wish that one among them was indeed a dentist. Now, I know nothing else about the film, but let me wildly speculate that somehow Santa winds up in trouble, and Fred saves the day, healing their relationship for all eternity. They they wrestle in a manly, heterosexual manner to seal their mutual respect, and crack open a six-pack.
It must be tough to live in the shadow of a more successful sibling. But we've mined this material before. If the writers were really creative, they'd make a sequel where Fred and Santa discover a long-lost third brother- Jesus? Lincoln? Macho Man Randy Savage?
As it stands, this movie looks like it lacks creativity. It's Elf knocked up by any other Vince Vaughn film, and left abandoned on the curbside, where it was bitten by a spider infected with Bad Santa.
Still, it's not Lions for Lambs! It's completely devoid of Tom Cruise! Due to this fact alone, I'm giving it, on my patented scale of 1 through 88 stars, seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying, and two-and-a-half golden rings. It's got moxie, pluck, and spunk, and someday, science willing, there'll be a cure for that.
And what the fuck is up with Christmas movies being released this early, without the benefit of a Halloween tie-in?!
Lions for Lambs is not, as the title would imply, either a film version of Edward Hicks' Peaceable Kingdom paintings, nor is it about the diet of a safari party. Rather, it stars Tom Cruise as a guy in a suit, which only happens in every other Tom Cruise movie. He says Important Things(tm), and says them loudly. Sometimes he'll bang his fist. Other people in suits stare intently. He ain't gettin' away with those words!
Oh yawn. By now we're all sick of Tom Cruise. I couldn't even make it through the trailer. Tell you what, let's start over and review Fred Claus, okay?
Now. Fred Claus is the story of Santa's hedonistic brother. Of course, Fred is jealous of the attention Santa gets. I blame his parents. If they're creative enough to name one child "Santa," where do they get off dropping the Fred-bomb on the other? They could have called him "Dewdrop" or "Rambo" or "Darth Vader." Those are names that predestine someone!
The plot involves Fred needing to borrow money from brother Santa to pay off gambling debts. It's a touching, heartwarming story of what happens when elves don't pay up, and how eventually they can only wish that one among them was indeed a dentist. Now, I know nothing else about the film, but let me wildly speculate that somehow Santa winds up in trouble, and Fred saves the day, healing their relationship for all eternity. They they wrestle in a manly, heterosexual manner to seal their mutual respect, and crack open a six-pack.
It must be tough to live in the shadow of a more successful sibling. But we've mined this material before. If the writers were really creative, they'd make a sequel where Fred and Santa discover a long-lost third brother- Jesus? Lincoln? Macho Man Randy Savage?
As it stands, this movie looks like it lacks creativity. It's Elf knocked up by any other Vince Vaughn film, and left abandoned on the curbside, where it was bitten by a spider infected with Bad Santa.
Still, it's not Lions for Lambs! It's completely devoid of Tom Cruise! Due to this fact alone, I'm giving it, on my patented scale of 1 through 88 stars, seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying, and two-and-a-half golden rings. It's got moxie, pluck, and spunk, and someday, science willing, there'll be a cure for that.
And what the fuck is up with Christmas movies being released this early, without the benefit of a Halloween tie-in?!
Friday, July 20, 2007
Completely Useless Movie Previews: Who's Your Caddy?
Friends, Romans, gentle readers. Lend me your ears, er, eyes, and I will speak sooth to you about the Megacomedy of the Century, one which will define movie hilarity for decades to come. And when its rebroadcast on HBO eventually travels deep enough into space for sentient life to observe it, they will fall upon their tentacle knees and weep, for they will deem us muchly advanced in comparison to their puny, techno-futile civilization.
I speak, of course, about reruns of Caddyshack. But let's also give a little look at Who's Your Caddy?, the most blatant unauthorized rip-off in the slob-golf genre since Caddyshack II: The Disemboweling. Once more, I shall use only the knowledge garnered from the film's trailer to tell you everything you need to know about it. It's like seeing it in person, only at the absolute bestest theater in the world- my head! Sit back, enjoy. Just don't spill your drink everywhere, it makes my eyes watery.
Very little is known about Who's Your Caddy?. It's a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, deep-fried in regret, with an embarrassment dipping-sauce. Antwan "Big Boi" Patton, a hip-hop star who wants the world to know he can wear big kids' pants now, plays C-Note, a hip-hop star who's comfortable about his potty-training. Jeffrey "I Can't Believe He's Employed" Jones plays the guy who you thought you'd seen the last of in his mug shot. Can this mismatched pair of ne'er-do-well gadabouts and raconteurs find love against the backdrop of a country club? No? Okay, can they film a cheap race comedy together? Really? Do they have to?
So anyway. C-Note wants to play golf. Whitey McCrackerpreppy and the stodgy country club elite don't want him to, fearing their home away from the Bahamas will be torn asunder under the pimped-out Humvees of C-Note and his crew. Will zaniness and wacky antics ensue? Can you hear Rodney Dangerfield rolling over in his grave? Seriously, he gets no respect.
Still, it's going to rock. You know why? Because the plant who posted a review over on the iMDB says so!
"People were laughing so hard you could barely hear the dialogue! There is one scene with Faizon (I won't spoil it for you) that had some people on the floor and some standing UP clapping and screaming with laughter. It was a HOOT! I'm going to see it again with all my friends on the 27th when it opens, it'll be even better with everything finished since in the test screening it wasn't complete. I'm telling you EVERYONE in that audience LOVED it! Some people were saying it was the best comedy they'd seen all year! Don't miss it if you love to laugh!"
Since I've only seen the trailer, and thisproducer average fan has seen the entire film, who am I to argue? I defer to his superior knowledge of the movie and its potential HOOT-iness, and will go out on a limb and say that EVERYONE will LOVE it. That elderly man standing outside, who's muttering about the rampant profanity? He loved it. That social organization shaking its head in disgust at race relations being set back twenty years? It made them cream their shorts. The desperate pleadings of Chevy Chase not to ruin his last remaining legacy? All an act. Trust me, Who's Your Caddy? will make you stop and really, really think about who the real caddy is in your life. And that maybe you should buy him or her some flowers and a nice steak. And for God's sake, shave. Didn't your mother teach you anything?
So, with all of that in mind, I have no choice but to give Who's Your Caddy? 88 stars on my scale of 1 to 88 stars, along with a small patch of astroturf and a pair of those ugly plaid pants that people think it's okay to wear when they're golfing. (It isn't.) You'll laugh, you'll cry, and you'll wonder why this version doesn't have Bill Murray wrestling a gopher. Or maybe it does? And the gopher speaks jive and wears bling? Go see it and let me know.
I speak, of course, about reruns of Caddyshack. But let's also give a little look at Who's Your Caddy?, the most blatant unauthorized rip-off in the slob-golf genre since Caddyshack II: The Disemboweling. Once more, I shall use only the knowledge garnered from the film's trailer to tell you everything you need to know about it. It's like seeing it in person, only at the absolute bestest theater in the world- my head! Sit back, enjoy. Just don't spill your drink everywhere, it makes my eyes watery.
Very little is known about Who's Your Caddy?. It's a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, deep-fried in regret, with an embarrassment dipping-sauce. Antwan "Big Boi" Patton, a hip-hop star who wants the world to know he can wear big kids' pants now, plays C-Note, a hip-hop star who's comfortable about his potty-training. Jeffrey "I Can't Believe He's Employed" Jones plays the guy who you thought you'd seen the last of in his mug shot. Can this mismatched pair of ne'er-do-well gadabouts and raconteurs find love against the backdrop of a country club? No? Okay, can they film a cheap race comedy together? Really? Do they have to?
So anyway. C-Note wants to play golf. Whitey McCrackerpreppy and the stodgy country club elite don't want him to, fearing their home away from the Bahamas will be torn asunder under the pimped-out Humvees of C-Note and his crew. Will zaniness and wacky antics ensue? Can you hear Rodney Dangerfield rolling over in his grave? Seriously, he gets no respect.
Still, it's going to rock. You know why? Because the plant who posted a review over on the iMDB says so!
"People were laughing so hard you could barely hear the dialogue! There is one scene with Faizon (I won't spoil it for you) that had some people on the floor and some standing UP clapping and screaming with laughter. It was a HOOT! I'm going to see it again with all my friends on the 27th when it opens, it'll be even better with everything finished since in the test screening it wasn't complete. I'm telling you EVERYONE in that audience LOVED it! Some people were saying it was the best comedy they'd seen all year! Don't miss it if you love to laugh!"
Since I've only seen the trailer, and this
So, with all of that in mind, I have no choice but to give Who's Your Caddy? 88 stars on my scale of 1 to 88 stars, along with a small patch of astroturf and a pair of those ugly plaid pants that people think it's okay to wear when they're golfing. (It isn't.) You'll laugh, you'll cry, and you'll wonder why this version doesn't have Bill Murray wrestling a gopher. Or maybe it does? And the gopher speaks jive and wears bling? Go see it and let me know.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Completely Usless Movie Previews: Harry Potter and the Lord of the Dance
Once again, for your infotainment, I present a hard-hitting review of a film I've yet to (and most likely, won't) see, based upon the knowledge garnered only from commercials and trailers. Rumor has it that a new Harry Potter film is coming up, and gosh darn it, you should know about it!
Harry Potter and the Chamber of the Order of the Half-Blood Sandwiches or something places now thirty-seven year old Harry in what must be his twentieth year at Hogwart's, a school that should really ask its PR department about a renaming initiative. Harry faces off against his old foe Bat-Boy, who you may remember from The Weekly World News. Bat Boy is really miffed that infant Harry and his parents sabotaged his previous attempts at world domination, and now he's back for vengeance. And this time, it's for profit!
It's no secret Harry has to live through the movie. For one, most of you read the book when it came out years ago, and already know. Also, there are two books after the one that inspired this film, and if Harry's going to be in the movies inspired by those films, then he'd best survive! But maybe there's a twist. Nobody's done anything with the idea of clones, replicants, or having the hero rebuilt as an evil cyborg, have they? Oh. Damn. Well, I'm sure they could think of something...
Anyway. I'm going to let you in on a big secret. See, this particular book/movie/merchandising scheme is crucial to the series, as a pivotal event happens here that changes how you'll think of what's transpired so far, and what is to come. If you don't want the movie spoiled for you, turn away now, scroll down, and then continue reading.
Harry finds out is parents were huge MASH fans, and named him after actor Harry Morgan, and his character, Col. Sherman Potter!
THERE. You can psychically know now to stop scrolling and pick up reading again.
What else happens? I hear Harry gets his nude on and sleeps with a horse. This isn't just idle gossip, I've seen pictures to back it up! Hermione finally offs herself after severe teasing over the name "Hermione." The One Ring is finally returned to Crack of Doom. Draco and Harry have hot, hot fanfic action, making creative use of their wands. The Ministry of Magic tries to take over the school. Snape inexplicably goes around acting like Alan Rickman.
Make no bones about it, Harry Potter and the Temple of the Attack of the Prisoner of the Romancing of the Stone will have plenty of stupid made-up words, animals that turn into other things, vibrating broomsticks, and obscure plot points pulled out of J.R. Rowling's ass. Most of this you can expect to be stolen and included in any sequel to Eragon, so if you miss it here, fear not. And why wouldn't you miss it, when I've so cleverly laid out everything that will transpire in the film?
So. On my enchanted scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 1 being a muggle and 65 or higher being worthy of a scraggly grey beard, I give Harry Potter and the Goblet of Deathly Sorcerers Strikes Back a "Can Miss" and nine and 3/4 owl droppings.
Harry Potter and the Chamber of the Order of the Half-Blood Sandwiches or something places now thirty-seven year old Harry in what must be his twentieth year at Hogwart's, a school that should really ask its PR department about a renaming initiative. Harry faces off against his old foe Bat-Boy, who you may remember from The Weekly World News. Bat Boy is really miffed that infant Harry and his parents sabotaged his previous attempts at world domination, and now he's back for vengeance. And this time, it's for profit!
It's no secret Harry has to live through the movie. For one, most of you read the book when it came out years ago, and already know. Also, there are two books after the one that inspired this film, and if Harry's going to be in the movies inspired by those films, then he'd best survive! But maybe there's a twist. Nobody's done anything with the idea of clones, replicants, or having the hero rebuilt as an evil cyborg, have they? Oh. Damn. Well, I'm sure they could think of something...
Anyway. I'm going to let you in on a big secret. See, this particular book/movie/merchandising scheme is crucial to the series, as a pivotal event happens here that changes how you'll think of what's transpired so far, and what is to come. If you don't want the movie spoiled for you, turn away now, scroll down, and then continue reading.
Harry finds out is parents were huge MASH fans, and named him after actor Harry Morgan, and his character, Col. Sherman Potter!
THERE. You can psychically know now to stop scrolling and pick up reading again.
What else happens? I hear Harry gets his nude on and sleeps with a horse. This isn't just idle gossip, I've seen pictures to back it up! Hermione finally offs herself after severe teasing over the name "Hermione." The One Ring is finally returned to Crack of Doom. Draco and Harry have hot, hot fanfic action, making creative use of their wands. The Ministry of Magic tries to take over the school. Snape inexplicably goes around acting like Alan Rickman.
Make no bones about it, Harry Potter and the Temple of the Attack of the Prisoner of the Romancing of the Stone will have plenty of stupid made-up words, animals that turn into other things, vibrating broomsticks, and obscure plot points pulled out of J.R. Rowling's ass. Most of this you can expect to be stolen and included in any sequel to Eragon, so if you miss it here, fear not. And why wouldn't you miss it, when I've so cleverly laid out everything that will transpire in the film?
So. On my enchanted scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 1 being a muggle and 65 or higher being worthy of a scraggly grey beard, I give Harry Potter and the Goblet of Deathly Sorcerers Strikes Back a "Can Miss" and nine and 3/4 owl droppings.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Completely Useless Movie Previews: Pirates of the Caribbean 3
It is time once again, gentle readers, for me to take you into the future, to experience a movie that I know nothing about asides from what I have witnessed in trailers. And I shall dub this experience "Completely Useless Movie Previews" as I always do, and you shall enjoy it, as you always do.
And so. On to Pirates of the Caribbean 3: The Search for Spock. As you may recall from not watching the last installment, famed pirate Jack Sparrow, tired of the graveyard shift at Long John Silver's, has found himself swallowed up by an enormous special-effect and sent to Davy Jones' Locker, where he reminisces with the former Monkee about how much of an ass Mike Nesmith was, and whether the movie Head still offers relevant commentary on society today. Meanwhile, the dude that done what got killed back in Episode I is now alive, eating apples, and hanging out with hot voodoo priestesses. You know. The guy with the hat. He said, "Arr" a lot.
This time out, we find Jack living in his own personal hell, the desert. As a soon-to-be-former desert dweller myself, I can sympathize. Jack has passed beyond the end of the world, which apparently not only involves being eaten by a giant octopus, but also getting flushed down a large toilet drain (maybe after coming out of the other end of the octopus?). Back in the real world of make-believe, Jack's boytoy love-elf Will Turner and his breastless sweetheart Natalie Portman, er, Padme Amadala, er, Keira Knightley are in hot pursuit, meaning that they are hot for each other while in pursuit. Pursuing them all is Squid-Face, rejected Dick Tracy villain, who blatantly appeals to the tentacle-fetish Cthulhu crowd that Hollywood and advertisers clamor for. Executives of the mega-conglomerate British East India Company (makers of rich chocolate Ovaltine) also appear as part of their sponsorship deal.
So, you may ask me. What happens? Well, the trailers aren't too clear on that. Apparently they enter an Archie-inspired costume contest and dress up like Genghis Khan. They attend a Pirates of the Caribbean convention. They say, "Arr" a lot. Oh, and they finally engage in a battle royale in which a hundred zillion CGI-created pirates enter, and only three or four that have top billing emerge from. Over the course of the film, everyone gets killed two or three times each, only to come back like Aeon Flux did on the very next page. (I hear that, if you watch it in reverse, everyone still dies and comes back, except that it happens in reverse.)
So, you may again ask me. Is it worth sitting through three hours and spending $20 on malted choco-balls now that we know what's going to happen? No. No it isn't. But that won't stop you. This film, you see, is Critic-Proof(tm). Meaning that Jerry Bruckheimer spent a lot of money to spray it down with preservative chemicals that cause stains like Gene Shalit's spittle and vitriol to wash right off with a simple application of a firehose. You will go, you will like it, and you will not kick my seat or talk over the dialogue. Understand?
On my Critic-Proof(tm) and UV-resistant scale of 1 to 88 Basho the Sumo Wrestlers (cast in quality designer resin for display in the home, garden, or World's End), I give this movie six of Keira Knightley's abdominal muscles, some self-tanning spray, and a bag of chips.
Yes, all that, and a bag of chips.
And so. On to Pirates of the Caribbean 3: The Search for Spock. As you may recall from not watching the last installment, famed pirate Jack Sparrow, tired of the graveyard shift at Long John Silver's, has found himself swallowed up by an enormous special-effect and sent to Davy Jones' Locker, where he reminisces with the former Monkee about how much of an ass Mike Nesmith was, and whether the movie Head still offers relevant commentary on society today. Meanwhile, the dude that done what got killed back in Episode I is now alive, eating apples, and hanging out with hot voodoo priestesses. You know. The guy with the hat. He said, "Arr" a lot.
This time out, we find Jack living in his own personal hell, the desert. As a soon-to-be-former desert dweller myself, I can sympathize. Jack has passed beyond the end of the world, which apparently not only involves being eaten by a giant octopus, but also getting flushed down a large toilet drain (maybe after coming out of the other end of the octopus?). Back in the real world of make-believe, Jack's boytoy love-elf Will Turner and his breastless sweetheart Natalie Portman, er, Padme Amadala, er, Keira Knightley are in hot pursuit, meaning that they are hot for each other while in pursuit. Pursuing them all is Squid-Face, rejected Dick Tracy villain, who blatantly appeals to the tentacle-fetish Cthulhu crowd that Hollywood and advertisers clamor for. Executives of the mega-conglomerate British East India Company (makers of rich chocolate Ovaltine) also appear as part of their sponsorship deal.
So, you may ask me. What happens? Well, the trailers aren't too clear on that. Apparently they enter an Archie-inspired costume contest and dress up like Genghis Khan. They attend a Pirates of the Caribbean convention. They say, "Arr" a lot. Oh, and they finally engage in a battle royale in which a hundred zillion CGI-created pirates enter, and only three or four that have top billing emerge from. Over the course of the film, everyone gets killed two or three times each, only to come back like Aeon Flux did on the very next page. (I hear that, if you watch it in reverse, everyone still dies and comes back, except that it happens in reverse.)
So, you may again ask me. Is it worth sitting through three hours and spending $20 on malted choco-balls now that we know what's going to happen? No. No it isn't. But that won't stop you. This film, you see, is Critic-Proof(tm). Meaning that Jerry Bruckheimer spent a lot of money to spray it down with preservative chemicals that cause stains like Gene Shalit's spittle and vitriol to wash right off with a simple application of a firehose. You will go, you will like it, and you will not kick my seat or talk over the dialogue. Understand?
On my Critic-Proof(tm) and UV-resistant scale of 1 to 88 Basho the Sumo Wrestlers (cast in quality designer resin for display in the home, garden, or World's End), I give this movie six of Keira Knightley's abdominal muscles, some self-tanning spray, and a bag of chips.
Yes, all that, and a bag of chips.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Completely Useless Movie Previews: 300
Thinking of going to go see 300? Gentle readers, once again I'll spare you the need, by reviewing a film I haven't seen based solely on the content of the trailers.
300 is the story of the first X-Games, held in Sparta, Greece a couple thousand years ago with single one event: Mortal Kombat! Painstaking attention to historical accuracy has wrought a film that cannot be questioned at all. Everything you see on screen is how it happened in real life, from freaky masks to hovering Matrix-style kung-fu attack moves to ancient Greeks actually having sex with their wives, and certainly not prepubescent boys. To question the authenticity of this film is to question history itself.
Our protagonist? Well, his name isn't mentioned in the trailer, so let's call him Steve. Steve and 299 other Spartans are trying to fend off an attack by the Persians, who eventually decided to call themselves Iranians. So we can probably guess they're the bad guys. Rarely do you see Iranian heroes in our popular culture. Just look at Heroes. Any Iranians there? No? See!
Steve gets to do cool things like watch deformed lesbians make out, run around shirtless, and shove people into bottomless wells, which you'll find all over Greece even to this day. The other 299 guys? They don't matter. Actually, Steve matters very little, because I gather he (and his 299 understudies) gets killed by the Persio-Iranians. How could these 299 Brawny Towel mascots be wiped out by a bunch of dudes who obviously devote most of their time to smithing elaborate bronze fetish gear? Did I mention there are like a trillion Persians? Well, there are. Take my word for it, I paused the trailer and counted them. One trillion and seven.
The film is shot in a hazy sort of Sky Captain/Sin City style that doesn't give away the fact that it was all blue-screened one bit. I, for one, truly believed they had sent Steve and his 299 life partners back in time to defend Sparta, a city so comfy that to this day our best accommodations are described as "Spartan". But no, it's all done with computers. Real, sweaty Greek soldiers couldn't stand there for long hours reciting their lines, they'd be too busy sneaking off for butt sex.
On my trademark-registered scale of 1 to 88 stars, I give 300 299 stars and one Steve. I can do this because it's my scale and I can do what I want, just like the filmmaker did what he wanted to in his own movie and altered the highly-effective phalanx military maneuver to "look cooler".
300 is the story of the first X-Games, held in Sparta, Greece a couple thousand years ago with single one event: Mortal Kombat! Painstaking attention to historical accuracy has wrought a film that cannot be questioned at all. Everything you see on screen is how it happened in real life, from freaky masks to hovering Matrix-style kung-fu attack moves to ancient Greeks actually having sex with their wives, and certainly not prepubescent boys. To question the authenticity of this film is to question history itself.
Our protagonist? Well, his name isn't mentioned in the trailer, so let's call him Steve. Steve and 299 other Spartans are trying to fend off an attack by the Persians, who eventually decided to call themselves Iranians. So we can probably guess they're the bad guys. Rarely do you see Iranian heroes in our popular culture. Just look at Heroes. Any Iranians there? No? See!
Steve gets to do cool things like watch deformed lesbians make out, run around shirtless, and shove people into bottomless wells, which you'll find all over Greece even to this day. The other 299 guys? They don't matter. Actually, Steve matters very little, because I gather he (and his 299 understudies) gets killed by the Persio-Iranians. How could these 299 Brawny Towel mascots be wiped out by a bunch of dudes who obviously devote most of their time to smithing elaborate bronze fetish gear? Did I mention there are like a trillion Persians? Well, there are. Take my word for it, I paused the trailer and counted them. One trillion and seven.
The film is shot in a hazy sort of Sky Captain/Sin City style that doesn't give away the fact that it was all blue-screened one bit. I, for one, truly believed they had sent Steve and his 299 life partners back in time to defend Sparta, a city so comfy that to this day our best accommodations are described as "Spartan". But no, it's all done with computers. Real, sweaty Greek soldiers couldn't stand there for long hours reciting their lines, they'd be too busy sneaking off for butt sex.
On my trademark-registered scale of 1 to 88 stars, I give 300 299 stars and one Steve. I can do this because it's my scale and I can do what I want, just like the filmmaker did what he wanted to in his own movie and altered the highly-effective phalanx military maneuver to "look cooler".
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Completely Useless Movie Previews: Ghost Rider
I have heard your outcry, and decided to give you more of what you want. Heading into this all important blockbuster spring "would-never-succeed-in-the-summer" movie dumping time, you need to know what movies are worth seeing, based on the random guesses of someone totally unfamiliar with the films.
I give you Ghost Rider.
Ghost Rider is apparently the older brother of Speed Racer. By day, he's Nicolas Cage, who is really Nicolas Coppola, but I digress. Ghost Rider, you would think, would be preordained by the name his mother gave him to become some sort of friendly ghost like Casper. Instead his toupee catches fire every night and he rides really fast on a motorcycle in an effort to put out the flames. From what I can tell, this has little effect. Maybe he should keep a fire extinguisher handy, or see a doctor about that?
One clip I saw had Ghost going to a strip-mall accountant to do his taxes. Oh wait, that was a commercial? Man, Ghost is already slumming, and his movie hasn't even come out yet! That's not a good sign. He should really be aiming for those Target ads with the spinning red and white things. Those are classy.
Anyway, Ghost rides around on his bike, his head on fire and the bike itself emitting noxious fumes that would probably bar it from being licensed in California. So the movie doesn't take place in California. Good to know. There are lots of trees around. Does Ghost find excitement and intrigue in Michigan? Who knows? Do you want to pay $11 to find out? Good for you!
I just made a typo and called him "Gjost". I think I'll stick with that spelling. It makes him sound Icelandic, like Bjork. Or Gjost could be his visiting cousin from Scandinavia, and they can have zany Perfect Strangers-style misadventures when Gjost comes to visit. They can be identical cousins and try to trick Ghost's parents into reuniting! Hey, Nicolas! I have a sequel idea for you. Yes, your wig can be even more stupid-looking the second time around. Does Donald Trump have a patent on his hairstyle?
I'm sure Ghost has some sort of archnemesis he must face, but since he or she doesn't appear in any of the commercials, I'm not familiar with them. He probably has to face down a state trooper for a littering fine, or apologize to a little girl after he runs over her puppy on the way to Taco Bell. There's another crossover ad campaign, as Ghost reimburses her for her loss with a three-taco meal deal (crunchy). It could be that talking chihuahua they used to have. They never explained where he went. Was he deported?
On my Mexican-assembled sliding scale of 1 through 88 stars, I give Ghost Rider a three-taco meal deal (crunchy), an extra packet of hot sauce, and a mega-size Mountain Dew to help quench those flames. Pull around to the second window, Mr. Rider, and try not to ignite the speaker box. Timmy just got that thing working again.
I give you Ghost Rider.
Ghost Rider is apparently the older brother of Speed Racer. By day, he's Nicolas Cage, who is really Nicolas Coppola, but I digress. Ghost Rider, you would think, would be preordained by the name his mother gave him to become some sort of friendly ghost like Casper. Instead his toupee catches fire every night and he rides really fast on a motorcycle in an effort to put out the flames. From what I can tell, this has little effect. Maybe he should keep a fire extinguisher handy, or see a doctor about that?
One clip I saw had Ghost going to a strip-mall accountant to do his taxes. Oh wait, that was a commercial? Man, Ghost is already slumming, and his movie hasn't even come out yet! That's not a good sign. He should really be aiming for those Target ads with the spinning red and white things. Those are classy.
Anyway, Ghost rides around on his bike, his head on fire and the bike itself emitting noxious fumes that would probably bar it from being licensed in California. So the movie doesn't take place in California. Good to know. There are lots of trees around. Does Ghost find excitement and intrigue in Michigan? Who knows? Do you want to pay $11 to find out? Good for you!
I just made a typo and called him "Gjost". I think I'll stick with that spelling. It makes him sound Icelandic, like Bjork. Or Gjost could be his visiting cousin from Scandinavia, and they can have zany Perfect Strangers-style misadventures when Gjost comes to visit. They can be identical cousins and try to trick Ghost's parents into reuniting! Hey, Nicolas! I have a sequel idea for you. Yes, your wig can be even more stupid-looking the second time around. Does Donald Trump have a patent on his hairstyle?
I'm sure Ghost has some sort of archnemesis he must face, but since he or she doesn't appear in any of the commercials, I'm not familiar with them. He probably has to face down a state trooper for a littering fine, or apologize to a little girl after he runs over her puppy on the way to Taco Bell. There's another crossover ad campaign, as Ghost reimburses her for her loss with a three-taco meal deal (crunchy). It could be that talking chihuahua they used to have. They never explained where he went. Was he deported?
On my Mexican-assembled sliding scale of 1 through 88 stars, I give Ghost Rider a three-taco meal deal (crunchy), an extra packet of hot sauce, and a mega-size Mountain Dew to help quench those flames. Pull around to the second window, Mr. Rider, and try not to ignite the speaker box. Timmy just got that thing working again.
Friday, February 9, 2007
Completely Useless Movie Previews: Hannibal Rising
Gentle readers, it has been too long since I indulged your need for a completely useless movie preview, based only on the knowledge garnered from a cursory viewing of a movie's trailer. Well, here you go. Don't ever say I don't do anything for you.
Hannibal Rising, from what I gather, is a delightful family film about a young Lithuanian orphan and his struggles to keep his family together during the dark days of World War II. Finally, a film with real family values! Hannibal struggles against all odds to protect his young sister, and later moves to France and takes care of his adoptive Japanese aunt.
This may or may not be a musical. Lots of old-timey movies about children during World War II are musicals. If so, expect excellent production values as a clone of Anthony Hopkins engages in a dance-off aboard the Good Ship Lollipop with Shirley Temple and a couple of the lesser Von Trapp kids.
Anyway, with only the trailer to go by, I've been able to tell that one of the problems facing young Hannibal (or "Hanny", as I'm sure he's called by his school chums) is proper diet. I've seen a lot of Afterschool Specials, and something gives me a hunch that Hanny is dealing with an eating disorder.
It must be a hard-knock life to have to deal with foreign occupation, caring for a younger sibling, and finding good, nutritious food in a war zone, but since the character comes back in several other films, (Silence of the Lambs, for instance, a whimsical fairy tale about sheep learning to use their indoor voices) we know he'll make it through somehow. Never you worry for Hanny, he's good people.
A lot of reviewers, in reviews I haven't read, seem pretty taken aback by the movie. I don't know what their complaints are about, since I haven't seen it and therefore am fully qualified to pass judgment. Maybe they just can't stomach an old-fashioned tale of family togetherness. Maybe the anti-Iraq peaceniks are just offended by any depiction of war, even when it is being fought by the Greatest Generation against the forces of darkness. Hannibal is the exemplar of those brave men and women who saved the world from evil, and for all I care, he could disembowel and feast upon the innards of those who have wronged him, and that still wouldn't taint his good spirit and pure demeanor. But that's crazy talk!
On my patent-pending scale of 1 to 88 stars, with the absolute values of -1 being the minimum and -88 being the maximum, I give Hannibal Rising a nice plate of fava beans (a wartime staple) and the tasty giblets of those who would speak ill against him and the values he represents. We would all do so well as to be as brave as young Hanny.
Hannibal Rising, from what I gather, is a delightful family film about a young Lithuanian orphan and his struggles to keep his family together during the dark days of World War II. Finally, a film with real family values! Hannibal struggles against all odds to protect his young sister, and later moves to France and takes care of his adoptive Japanese aunt.
This may or may not be a musical. Lots of old-timey movies about children during World War II are musicals. If so, expect excellent production values as a clone of Anthony Hopkins engages in a dance-off aboard the Good Ship Lollipop with Shirley Temple and a couple of the lesser Von Trapp kids.
Anyway, with only the trailer to go by, I've been able to tell that one of the problems facing young Hannibal (or "Hanny", as I'm sure he's called by his school chums) is proper diet. I've seen a lot of Afterschool Specials, and something gives me a hunch that Hanny is dealing with an eating disorder.
It must be a hard-knock life to have to deal with foreign occupation, caring for a younger sibling, and finding good, nutritious food in a war zone, but since the character comes back in several other films, (Silence of the Lambs, for instance, a whimsical fairy tale about sheep learning to use their indoor voices) we know he'll make it through somehow. Never you worry for Hanny, he's good people.
A lot of reviewers, in reviews I haven't read, seem pretty taken aback by the movie. I don't know what their complaints are about, since I haven't seen it and therefore am fully qualified to pass judgment. Maybe they just can't stomach an old-fashioned tale of family togetherness. Maybe the anti-Iraq peaceniks are just offended by any depiction of war, even when it is being fought by the Greatest Generation against the forces of darkness. Hannibal is the exemplar of those brave men and women who saved the world from evil, and for all I care, he could disembowel and feast upon the innards of those who have wronged him, and that still wouldn't taint his good spirit and pure demeanor. But that's crazy talk!
On my patent-pending scale of 1 to 88 stars, with the absolute values of -1 being the minimum and -88 being the maximum, I give Hannibal Rising a nice plate of fava beans (a wartime staple) and the tasty giblets of those who would speak ill against him and the values he represents. We would all do so well as to be as brave as young Hanny.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Completely Useless Movie Previews: Crank
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.
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 16, 2006
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 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.
Wednesday, July 5, 2006
Completely Useless Movie Previews: Pirates of the Caribbean 2
And now it's time to introduce an exciting new feature here on Improper Pronoun. I'm going to call it, "Completely Useless Movie Previews," and it will involve informing you, gentle readers, about upcoming movies based on my knowing absolutely nothing about them. The value you derive from them will be zilch.
You're welcome.
Our first preview is Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man's Chest, which I'll assume features the stars of the first Pirates movie. Or not, don't take that for granted. Gary Coleman could be the hero for all I know, and if you go to see it that's a risk you face. It may or may not also be a cartoon. Do you remember that cartoon Disney did a few years ago about pirates in space? No, me neither. I doubt this one involves space. They're smart enough not to do that again.
I'm going to go out on a limb and say that if you don't like pirates, you shouldn't see this movie. Although they're not really specific about the type of pirates, are they? They could be software pirates, or butt pirates. So if you're into warez and gay anal sex, then by all means, check it out, because this could be right up your alley. And I'd hate for you to miss out just on my saying not to.
Anyway, the plot. There's a dead man, and he has a chest. A chest of booty? Gay anal booty? Or a chest of money? Maybe he has man-boobs. At any rate, there's a chest, and the pirates want it. I think. I mean, why would they put it in a pirate movie if the pirates are just going to spend the whole film avoiding it, like that crazy aunt locked in the attic that no one mentions because then they'd have to acknowledge the odd silence and foul odor coming from up there for the past three weeks? I guess it could be Keira Knightley's chest, but she doesn't have much of one. Now abs, she's got those in spades. But I digress.
Word has it that they're already filming another sequel. Pirates of the Caribbean 3: Tokyo Drift, or something. Much of the above also applies to it, except that there will be different villains and probably a different plot. About continental drift? Likely. But don't hold it against me if it isn't. Maybe it's about Keira Knightley's chest. You can hold that against me.
All in all, on a sliding scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 15 being passing, I give PotC2:DMC two cups of pudding, a piece of lint, and a 1980 Carl Yastrzemski baseball card in excellent-mint condition. Should you go see it, I can guarantee one thing: You'll be seeing a movie. On that, you can bet.
Unless the power goes out, or you die on the way there.
You're welcome.
Our first preview is Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man's Chest, which I'll assume features the stars of the first Pirates movie. Or not, don't take that for granted. Gary Coleman could be the hero for all I know, and if you go to see it that's a risk you face. It may or may not also be a cartoon. Do you remember that cartoon Disney did a few years ago about pirates in space? No, me neither. I doubt this one involves space. They're smart enough not to do that again.
I'm going to go out on a limb and say that if you don't like pirates, you shouldn't see this movie. Although they're not really specific about the type of pirates, are they? They could be software pirates, or butt pirates. So if you're into warez and gay anal sex, then by all means, check it out, because this could be right up your alley. And I'd hate for you to miss out just on my saying not to.
Anyway, the plot. There's a dead man, and he has a chest. A chest of booty? Gay anal booty? Or a chest of money? Maybe he has man-boobs. At any rate, there's a chest, and the pirates want it. I think. I mean, why would they put it in a pirate movie if the pirates are just going to spend the whole film avoiding it, like that crazy aunt locked in the attic that no one mentions because then they'd have to acknowledge the odd silence and foul odor coming from up there for the past three weeks? I guess it could be Keira Knightley's chest, but she doesn't have much of one. Now abs, she's got those in spades. But I digress.
Word has it that they're already filming another sequel. Pirates of the Caribbean 3: Tokyo Drift, or something. Much of the above also applies to it, except that there will be different villains and probably a different plot. About continental drift? Likely. But don't hold it against me if it isn't. Maybe it's about Keira Knightley's chest. You can hold that against me.
All in all, on a sliding scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 15 being passing, I give PotC2:DMC two cups of pudding, a piece of lint, and a 1980 Carl Yastrzemski baseball card in excellent-mint condition. Should you go see it, I can guarantee one thing: You'll be seeing a movie. On that, you can bet.
Unless the power goes out, or you die on the way there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
