I have a plan to solve the energy crisis!
Okay, so Santa brings coal to children who are naughty, right? Okay, so we encourage all of the kids in the world to misbehave. Santa can't well give them toys, so he leaves lumps of coal in their stockings. We all know that Santa doesn't have mining operations, but rather has magic elves fabricate everything he dispenses. Thus, free coal! We take each lump of coal, put it together into a big stockpile, and voila! Enough to put a dent in the ever-growing energy void.
Yes, I know, my plan is, essentially, to steal Christmas. But I'd like to hear you come up with something more foolproof!
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?!
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Juice Isn't Loose Anymore
Ah, it feels like old times. Back in New England again, turning on the TV, and- what's this? Another OJ perp walk? It's just like 1995 again, only I have less hair!
Now I have to wonder who all will be back for the reunion tour. Kato is out, as I'm sure he's moved on to bigger and better things, and it would be a stretch to figure out how to involve him in the plot this time. Some of the Dream Team have died, so they'll either be replaced by lookalikes or CGI. Johnny Cochran, for instance, will be done by the same motion-capture guy who played Gollum in the Lord of the Rings films.
This time out, things will have to be slightly different, but still largely follow the same formula. Maybe next season, OJ can break back into prison, but this year let's not rock the boat too much. Episode II: Electric Boogaloo will instead involve boots that don't fit properly, a small green alien that only OJ can see and hear, and an American Idol-style competition to find the Next Big Judge Ito Dancer. Due to environmental considerations, the slow Bronco chase will now be performed in a Prius.
Thanks to the internet, this time out we can conduct live polling on IsOJGuilty.Com, watch streaming video on WatchOJFry.Com, and learn about the care and feeding of your own OJ on WhatOJsEat.com. You can friend OJ on MySpace and read his confessional "If I Did It" blog. Just be careful, he might try to kill you.
And so. It begins. Remember, we're just days into what promises to be months of speculation-fueled media frenzy. Savor it. If he goes away for thirty years, it's going to be an awfully long time before we're treated to another trial.
Now I have to wonder who all will be back for the reunion tour. Kato is out, as I'm sure he's moved on to bigger and better things, and it would be a stretch to figure out how to involve him in the plot this time. Some of the Dream Team have died, so they'll either be replaced by lookalikes or CGI. Johnny Cochran, for instance, will be done by the same motion-capture guy who played Gollum in the Lord of the Rings films.
This time out, things will have to be slightly different, but still largely follow the same formula. Maybe next season, OJ can break back into prison, but this year let's not rock the boat too much. Episode II: Electric Boogaloo will instead involve boots that don't fit properly, a small green alien that only OJ can see and hear, and an American Idol-style competition to find the Next Big Judge Ito Dancer. Due to environmental considerations, the slow Bronco chase will now be performed in a Prius.
Thanks to the internet, this time out we can conduct live polling on IsOJGuilty.Com, watch streaming video on WatchOJFry.Com, and learn about the care and feeding of your own OJ on WhatOJsEat.com. You can friend OJ on MySpace and read his confessional "If I Did It" blog. Just be careful, he might try to kill you.
And so. It begins. Remember, we're just days into what promises to be months of speculation-fueled media frenzy. Savor it. If he goes away for thirty years, it's going to be an awfully long time before we're treated to another trial.
Monday, September 10, 2007
New: Old Britney
Last night, Britney Spears attempted a comeback, performing on MTV's video awards, the name of which only serves to remind us of the days when MTV showed videos. *sniff* Excuse me, I'm getting a little verklempt...
Brit was widely panned for being out of shape, forgetting her own lyrics, having her hair weave come undone, being outperformed by her own backup dancers, and generally looking and acting as confused as we were.
But! BUT, I say! These critics simply don't get it. See, Britney could have gone out and done a rehash of her stage career as it existed through the end of 2003. A "Young Britney" moment, full of faux-lesbian makeout sessions, horny writhing across the stage, and competent vocals. But that would be living in the past. Been there, done that!
No, instead she chose the more daring route- jumping straight to the "Old Elvis" stage of her career at the ripe age of 25! She even chose to kick it off in Las Vegas, where a similarly paunchy, drugged-out King twilighted his career trying to keep his breath while belting out "In the Ghetto" in gaudy sequins. And look! Britney has gaudy sequins too! Let's make a chart, for comparison's sake.
Brit was widely panned for being out of shape, forgetting her own lyrics, having her hair weave come undone, being outperformed by her own backup dancers, and generally looking and acting as confused as we were.
But! BUT, I say! These critics simply don't get it. See, Britney could have gone out and done a rehash of her stage career as it existed through the end of 2003. A "Young Britney" moment, full of faux-lesbian makeout sessions, horny writhing across the stage, and competent vocals. But that would be living in the past. Been there, done that!
No, instead she chose the more daring route- jumping straight to the "Old Elvis" stage of her career at the ripe age of 25! She even chose to kick it off in Las Vegas, where a similarly paunchy, drugged-out King twilighted his career trying to keep his breath while belting out "In the Ghetto" in gaudy sequins. And look! Britney has gaudy sequins too! Let's make a chart, for comparison's sake.
- Flabby belly? Check! (Although Elvis didn't expose his.)
- Dazed and confused look of incomprehension? Check! (Yes Brit, we know it's called "Music Television", even if their schedule is entirely My Super Sweet 16 reruns.)
- Unkempt appearance? Check! (Although Elvis' hair was real.)
- Slumping over from exhaustion, and having to be hoisted around by helpers? (Wait, even Elvis didn't need that...)
- Driven from venue in tears by Sarah Silverman's mocking? (Elvis never let Don Rickles follow him on stage.)
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Yo Gabba Gabba, or, The Party in My Tummy
Hey! Want to be scared? Sure, we all do! And it doesn't take a viewing of the Halloween remake to do it. Why, you can be frightened out of your wits in the comfort of your own home, and bring the kids along for the ride!
Somehow, Biz Markie (he's got what you ne-EEd) was allowed to have a career again. Only this time, he's appearing on children's television. He makes several appearances on Yo Gabba Gabba!, a freakish hybrid of Godzilla, Power Rangers and the Mr. Men books, conceived by the Aquabats.
The setup is this. DJ Lance Rock (think Mr. Rogers in a tracksuit, only more condescending, like he's dealing with the retarded) plays with and feeds his living action figures in a giant cut-out diorama. The figures come to life in the form of people in rubber monster suits, and the camera zooms into the diorama and shows them close-up, taking orders from the good DJ. They stomp around, dance, and shoot each other with lasers. Their costumes are particularly disturbing, with one appearing as a big, nubbed, rounded red cylinder that looks like a dancing dildo. Segments are broken up with retro 80's video game graphics set to hyperactive Japanese anime music. Sometimes Mark Mothersbaugh of Devo shows up to teach the monsters how to draw.
But to describe the show with words does injustice to the sheer terror that will envelop you as you watch this. Some clips are much more disturbing than others. Do you have a party in your tummy?
So. In about twenty years, we can expect the pharmaceutical industry to make record profits, as an entire generation tries to block out the damage incurred during their fragile, warped youth.
Somehow, Biz Markie (he's got what you ne-EEd) was allowed to have a career again. Only this time, he's appearing on children's television. He makes several appearances on Yo Gabba Gabba!, a freakish hybrid of Godzilla, Power Rangers and the Mr. Men books, conceived by the Aquabats.
The setup is this. DJ Lance Rock (think Mr. Rogers in a tracksuit, only more condescending, like he's dealing with the retarded) plays with and feeds his living action figures in a giant cut-out diorama. The figures come to life in the form of people in rubber monster suits, and the camera zooms into the diorama and shows them close-up, taking orders from the good DJ. They stomp around, dance, and shoot each other with lasers. Their costumes are particularly disturbing, with one appearing as a big, nubbed, rounded red cylinder that looks like a dancing dildo. Segments are broken up with retro 80's video game graphics set to hyperactive Japanese anime music. Sometimes Mark Mothersbaugh of Devo shows up to teach the monsters how to draw.
But to describe the show with words does injustice to the sheer terror that will envelop you as you watch this. Some clips are much more disturbing than others. Do you have a party in your tummy?
So. In about twenty years, we can expect the pharmaceutical industry to make record profits, as an entire generation tries to block out the damage incurred during their fragile, warped youth.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Road House 2, or, Why I'm an Atheist
Jenn tivoed Road House 2, which was airing on Spike at 2 in the afternoon today. You know a film is bad when you can't even convince Patrick Swayze to come back in a cameo. This is a straight-to-video fiasco of epic proportions. We tried to tackle it sober (Jenn is now fixing that situation...) and, as she mentioned in her post, we've managed to survive Battlefield Earth in its entirety. We only made it through about half an hour of RH2 before deleting it and popping in the original as a palette cleanser.
How bad is it? It's like aliens, completely ignorant of our culture, somehow got their hands on the original movie and decided they would communicate back to us using a similar, but entirely foreign duplication of the film. These aliens concentrated very hard on recreating every scene exactly, often using the same dialogue line for line, but missed the part about making it somewhat watchable. No more than thirty seconds can pass before a character knowingly spouts a familiar phrase, then looks at the camera and all but winks. Tee hee! We're in on it!
A loving god wouldn't allow such an affront to a classic of cinema. The original Road House looks like Citizen Kane in comparison. The classic RH had Ben Gazzara as a drunken, pink-bathrobed criminal mastermind. The sequel gives us Jake Busey (Gary was busy, but the Busey brand of insanity is well-known) sporting a Flock of Seagulls haircut and bling. The original had Jeff Healey as a blind guitar savant in the house band. The sequel gives us a soundalike band with a dancing midget. The original gave us Patrick Swayze as single-named philosopher-turned-bouncer Dalton, who had a man-sized mullet. The sequel gives us his mulletless son Nate, a DEA agent-turned-bouncer, who reveals his dad's first name was "Jack". That's like finding out Darth Vader is really just Steve, from Accounting.
Why, oh why?! If it was absolutely necessary to continue Dalton's saga, could it have maybe been done by technically competent people, who know how to place words together to form sentences? Who can frame a shot by placing the actors in front of the camera? Who would beat the living crap out of anyone who tried to pass this abomination off as being in any way linked to the cherished 1989 classic?
Excuse me, I have something in my eye.
How bad is it? It's like aliens, completely ignorant of our culture, somehow got their hands on the original movie and decided they would communicate back to us using a similar, but entirely foreign duplication of the film. These aliens concentrated very hard on recreating every scene exactly, often using the same dialogue line for line, but missed the part about making it somewhat watchable. No more than thirty seconds can pass before a character knowingly spouts a familiar phrase, then looks at the camera and all but winks. Tee hee! We're in on it!
A loving god wouldn't allow such an affront to a classic of cinema. The original Road House looks like Citizen Kane in comparison. The classic RH had Ben Gazzara as a drunken, pink-bathrobed criminal mastermind. The sequel gives us Jake Busey (Gary was busy, but the Busey brand of insanity is well-known) sporting a Flock of Seagulls haircut and bling. The original had Jeff Healey as a blind guitar savant in the house band. The sequel gives us a soundalike band with a dancing midget. The original gave us Patrick Swayze as single-named philosopher-turned-bouncer Dalton, who had a man-sized mullet. The sequel gives us his mulletless son Nate, a DEA agent-turned-bouncer, who reveals his dad's first name was "Jack". That's like finding out Darth Vader is really just Steve, from Accounting.
Why, oh why?! If it was absolutely necessary to continue Dalton's saga, could it have maybe been done by technically competent people, who know how to place words together to form sentences? Who can frame a shot by placing the actors in front of the camera? Who would beat the living crap out of anyone who tried to pass this abomination off as being in any way linked to the cherished 1989 classic?
Excuse me, I have something in my eye.
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