Sorry, just had to get that off my chest right upfront. Nothing personal to the heirs of the late Dave Thomas, but despite the fact that Budweiser hails the nameless “Mr. Boneless Buffalo Wing Inventor” as one of their Real Men of Genius, the truth is that these things are a lie. Boneless “wings” contain breast meat. Only someone who has never eaten a whole chicken before could possibly mistake that for wing meat. They’re even more deceptive than the places that have “wings” on the menu but then only serve you drumettes, leaving out the essential lower part of the wing (which is better) and the tip, which can occasionally contain a tiny bit of crunchy goodness worth nibbling.
But how good can movie theater chicken be? Let’s begin by saying I’ve had much worse at more “legitimate” eateries.
These tenders are breaded, fried, and frozen; then re-heated in AMC’s ovens, which are not unlike Subway’s toaster ovens. This results in them being served piping hot, and occasionally garnished with unidentified bits of blackened burning. Sound gross? Nahh, it adds character. Makes it feel genuinely oven-fresh, in a weird way.
Is Russell Brand an ironic pretentious jackass, or a genuine one? Articles like the recent Rolling Stone cover story cast some doubt on the issue…but on the other hand, the ensuing confusion arguably makes him more believable as an obnoxious rock celebrity who has not only ruined his own life, but also sucks the lives around him into his circle of self-destruction.
Romantic farces depend on conflict. Get a duo that can bicker amusingly rather than irritatingly, throw them into a sticky situation, and you’ve got the makings of classic screwball. The only screwball here, however, seems to be director Robert Luketic (whose Legally Blonde looks like an all-time classic by comparison), a filmmaker who takes almost an hour to disrupt this happy couple’s idyllic life with a dose of attempted murder.
Oh yeah. Four words no-one ever thought to put together before: CHILI CHEESE FRIES BURRITO. For those of you who just hate the Atkins diet, and every other diet.
It’s the skinniest damn burrito I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure. When you order a hot dog and a burrito, generically speaking, and two wrapped things show up on your tray, any educated guesser would assume the fatter one is the burrito. Nope. This is barely a burrito; it’s like a soft taquito on steroids.
The “Ruthless Aggression” style of wrestling figure is now seven years old. Mattel, which acquired the WWE license when it expired for Jakks, has since flooded stores with more accurate and detailed figures. At one point, Jakks could roll out any old thing, and fans would be all, “hey new figures, whatevs.” But they just unveiled the prototypes for the new “Legends of the Ring” line, which will feature classic TNA and NWA wrestlers, and man, these things are pathetic.
In-the-know fans are aware that there was some talk of Warrior being a WWE Hall of Fame inductee this year. Warrior says he turned down the offer due to Vince McMahon’s refusal to apologize for the “Self Destruction of the Ultimate Warrior” DVD, noting that either the DVD or the Hall of Fame offer must be a joke, as the two are mutually exclusive — either Ultimate Warrior is hall-of-fame worthy, or a self-destructive loser, but not both.
This prompted Ted DiBiase, who ultimately was the main inductee, to comment that Warrior didn’t deserve to be in the Hall of Fame. Rarely at a loss for words, the Ultimate One has fired back with a new online commentary that takes particular aim at DiBiase’s newfound role as a minister.
Gyllenhaal plays Dastan, and we know he’s called Dastan, because characters specifically refer to him by name onscreen every two minutes or so. (Perhaps “Dastan” is ancient Persian for “Denny.”) Just like Disney’s Aladdin, he’s a street urchin who becomes a prince, though the process for Dastan is a whole lot quicker…the King likes seeing a little kid stand up to one of his guards, and instantly adopts him, in the manner that monarchs tend to do. This despite the fact that the king already has two sons, Tus (Richard Coyle) and Garsiv (Toby Kebbell). All of them have English accents for consistency.
And the newest Jean-Pierre Jeunet whimsy, MICMACS:
What we have here is a very fun movie to look at, and that is in no way meant to damn with faint praise. Jeunet, like his obvious antecedent Terry Gilliam, is good at making stuff that’s cool, and that should not be casually dismissed. But while he aims for the belly laugh, he misses the heart, and like the bullet in Bazil’s head, MICMACS skirts the edges of one’s cerebellum, threatening to fully engage but never quite doing so.
The gals you all love – and yes, I did kinda love ‘em in their first flick — are back, but unfortunately the writing you’ve enjoyed in the past isn’t. There’s a half-hour of good stuff to be had in this big-screen sequel…unfortunately, it’s preceded by nearly two hours of listless filler.
The first Sex and the City movie felt like a joyful reunion, and a real movie with serious stakes; three out of four of our heroines actually seemed on the verge of losing their relationships. Part two feels more like a cynical cash grab, with relatively little on the line. Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) worries about Mr. Big (Chris Noth) wanting some alone time each week. Charlotte (Kristin Davis) has an annoying crying baby, and is nervous about the hotness of her nanny (She’s Out Of My League’s Alice Eve). Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) quits her job and doesn’t look back. Samantha (Kim Cattrall) worries about getting old.
So do they address these issues? Not really. They attend a gay wedding, hang around New York, then buzz off to Abu Dhabi for an hour before truly confronting anything. Abu Dhabi sure does look like a fun place to stay…but this is supposed to be a movie, not a travelogue. Give a six year-old a Barbie luxury hotel and some dolls, and she’ll likely develop a more compelling storyline.
Minus any dramatic stakes or conflict (at least until the very end), all that’s left is wardrobe changes every scene, predictable “Samantha’s a slut” jokes, and a surprising amount of booze-swilling. And oh, Sex and the City, we really expected more from you than that hoary old chick-flick cliché of the group karaoke number. Cameos by the likes of Ron White and Miley Cyrus are amusingly weird, at least.
By the time the movie delivers anything resembling relationship insight, frantic fun, or even amusing double entendres, it has numbed the viewer into a stupor. There could be a halfway tolerable movie in there somewhere, but it would take a ruthless editor to find it.
Look, if you like these characters enough, you’ll find something to enjoy about their continuing story. Just realize that you’re no different from Trekkers who are apologetics for Star Trek V just because Shatner’s in it.
Mickey Rourke on a drinking straw makes a certain amount of ironic sense. Mickey Rourke getting his own menu item at Burger King, however…I never thought I’d see that day come. A cocktail at the Frolic Room, sure. But a burger? I guess it follows when you realize that his face somewhat resembles a pound of ground beef.
Before Red Bull, Mountain Dew was known as the caffeine king of carbonated beverages, and its glowing green color, suggesting radioactivity and/or Kryptonite, only added to the appeal. Quark could have served this on Deep Space Nine.
I get THE NOTEBOOK. Can’t say I fully enjoy it, but I get why it works. And I do enjoy me some Garner and Rowlands in most anything these days. I don’t get TWILIGHT. I don’t get most of the movies Kate Hudson chooses to make. Ashley Judd’s output over the last decade was mostly horrific to me. So maybe I am hopelessly unromantic, but I’d like to think that somewhere out there, somebody can make a love story that appeals to crying women without insulting my intelligence and standards. Until then, I get to sit through tedious exercises like LETTERS TO JULIET.
The Jalapeno sandwich, comes with a slice of pepper jack cheese that is warmed enough to sweat, but not enough to melt. A minor error in judgment on that, I’d say, but the taste is still acceptable. Then there’s chipotle sauce…mmmm…chipotle….seriously, this particular chipotle sauce may be the best fast food version I’ve had, with the smoked peppers distinctly hitting the palate. With just the right number of pepper slices melting into this sauce on top of that nice big chunk o’ breast, you get yourself something that wouldn’t be amiss on a real restaurant’s menu.
When President Obama went to Europe after being elected, his critics accused him of embarking on an “apology” tour on America’s behalf. One can debate the extent to which such comments were accurate, but what is certain is that they pale in comparison to YOUR recent trip to Europe, during the course of which you’ve felt the need to explicitly, and without equivocation, apologize for TRANSFORMERS 2 and INDIANA JONES 4 (Yes, I know neither one is actually, specifically referred to in the official title by number, but it’s easier, and we all know which movies I’m talking about).
Originally a one-note parody of the ‘80s TV show MacGyver, MacGruber (Will Forte) as a sketch character was also a virtual update of the ‘80s SNL sketch “Toonces, the Driving Cat.” Every skit is more or less the same: a character with an alleged talent invariably screws up and kills everyone, only to return again some subsequent week and do more or less the same thing. Various MacGruber sketches have also depicted him with a gay son (Shia LaBeouf) and as the actual son of MacGyver (played once again by original star Richard Dean Anderson). The movie ignores any such “canon,” as it were, carrying over only Kristen Wiig as sidekick Vicki St. Elmo (though to appreciate the movie’s funniest line, a passing knowledge of the sketch is helpful).
It may not pack the same surprise as the first one, but with a half-dozen major characters and subplots, this sequel feels like an actual Marvel comic set in a superheroic universe.
I tuned out right about the time Robin started lecturing Prince John and an assembled group of barons about a bill of rights and limited central government. Scott and Crowe should have just gone ahead and done a George Washington biopic instead.
The big signs plastered across the window of my local Taco Bell use the word “premium,” and silly me, this got my hopes up. “Premium Chicken Tortada”? I thought maybe this was the dawn of some new ingredient called “premium chicken.” It isn’t. It is, rather, Taco Bell’s generic “all-white-meat chicken,” which may be a technically true term, but in fact refers to orange-tinted compressed bits that are as fake in shape as any McNugget.
Mickey Rourke and drinking. They go together like…uhhh…Mickey Rourke and plastic surgery. Scalpels don’t make good promo items, though. They can make you bleed way too much. Which leaves drinking, something Mickey can now assist you with. No, not booze. SLURPEES.
I’ve been preemptively slamming the remake on Twitter, but now that I’ve seen it, I admit that I was wrong. The new DEATH AT A FUNERAL is every bit as profane as its predecessor, but it’s a hell of a lot funnier. Which is strange considering that the plot – briefly synopsized as: “at a funeral, everything that can go wrong does” — is almost beat-for-beat exactly the same (so yes, Danny Glover shits on Tracy Morgan’s hand, in an equally gross reprise of the original’s most offensive scene; thankfully, the loogie-spit/swallow bit is not repeated). The key here, I think, is that LaBute and Rock have cast actors who are experienced at comedy, while Oz did not.
The fact is that there are lots of film fans in OC, but few people care about giving them any kind of notice. The OC Register’s coverage is generally anemic, as is their coverage of everything else…and that other publication never ceased reminding me that they believed their readership was more interested in stories about elementary school boards than film-makers or festivals (in fairness, many of the readers who wrote letters to the editor reinforced that stereotype).
With the Double Down — two fried chicken filets, cheese, sauce, and bacon — KFC is veering dramatically into county fair territory. This may not be quite at the level of the Krispy Kreme Donut Chicken Sandwich, but it’s close.
“I always made a very sick joke to friends, if we were watching television, and we saw a child molester on television, I always said they should stitch his mouth to the ass of a very fat truck-driver, it would be a good punishment for him. Everybody was laughing, and thought that was so horrible, that I thought that idea’s great for a horror film. It all started with a very simple joke.”
In a supercolorful, slightly heightened reality, a handful of folks are crazy enough to try to become costumed heroes. Their plans meet with often disastrous outcomes for them, but hilariously entertaining results for those of us who appreciate profane and slightly perverse humor. Kick-Ass is being promoted like Watchmen, from the writer of Wanted, and while it has elements of both, it’s more purely entertaining than either.
When the folks in charge of this remake tell you they’re reclaiming Freddy as a more “serious” character, they’re fibbing a bit: Not just because Freddy was never as emasculated in the movies as they seem to think, but also because this new Freddy still has the wisecracks, including a couple directly lifted from the original and its sequels.
The difference here is that Freddy is now possibly a molester as well as a murderer (if indeed he was guilty of anything at all in life, which is another new potential wrinkle). This makes the whole thing more unsettling and disturbing, yes; but also makes it less easy to enjoy in quite the same escapist way as before.
