Pardon my absence. Having an actual, personal life for once means that for the first time I have to figure out how to balance it with the professional, and that’s still a work in progress.
But here’s a bunch of my stuff for you to read:
All mayo needs in order to become something I like is a tiny tweak – add pickles to make tartar sauce, and spices to become chipotle sauce, add some onion flavor to get Ultimate Cheeseburger sauce, add I-know-not-what and you get Remoulade. But by itself, in a mini tidal wave upon the ocean of not-quite-soft mushrooms, it kicked my ass and my gag reflex. I needed the hot-sauce-spraying watch from UNDERCOVER BROTHER. But McDonald’s isn’t much for anything spicy. Damn white-people food.
You’d expect shirts that sport images of Obama, as well as campaign slogans like “Yes We Can.” What I’d never have expected is one that turns an off-the-cuff remark into a catchphrase, wrestling-style (think “Layeth the Smacketh Down” or “Austin 3:16″).
Original Recipe is a pliable term in the world of KFC. Sure, we all know what their Original Recipe fried chicken tastes like (“salty uber alles” is one way of putting it), but the chicken strips that are allegedly breaded with Original Recipe don’t taste the same to me at all. The fact that they no longer even do Extra Crispy strips is a gastronomic crime, but then, I’ve been on the Extra Crispy bandwagon since high school, possibly as a subtle form of rebellion against my father, who’s an Original guy through and through, when he’s not enjoying Hardee’s fried chicken instead.
When a character’s primary raison d’etre is as a sight gag, it makes a kind of sense to racially recast if doing so adds to the gag factor. I haven’t noticed any significant protests demanding that LaBute recast the Dinklage role with an actor of color. The same cannot be said for M. Night Shyamalan’s THE LAST AIRBENDER, in which characters who appeared to be Asian in the original cartoon will be portrayed in some cases by Caucasian actors. In an interview with the L.A. Times’ Geoff Boucher, Shyamalan defends his decision by saying that the characters on the cartoon are a deliberate mix of many different racial features, designed so that all kids can identify with them (he also refers it the cartoon as “anime,” when in fact that word by definition refers to Japanese cartoons, and AVATAR: THE LAST AIRBENDER is American). Then he digs himself a little deeper by comparing racial concerns to the casting of Haley Joel Osment in THE SIXTH SENSE, in which the lead character was written as having black hair while Osment is blond.
Like its 1981 predecessor and other mythology-based monster epics from effects guru Ray Harryhausen (Jason and the Argonauts, The 7th Voyage of Sinbad), this new Clash is basically an excuse to string together a fun series of big beastie battles in ancient Greece. Where it falters a bit is the story: The screenwriters seem to think they can improve upon classic mythological tales, but they’re wrong.
Traditionally, when a sequel features the word “too” rather than “two” at the end, it means an all-new cast retelling essentially the same story, with Teen Wolf Too being the classic example. Perry’s telling more or less the same story here as well, but all the original characters return, having fallen back into old patterns after what appeared to be personal growth by the end of the last film.
We all love Tina Fey and Steve Carell, don’t we? So why doesn’t Hollywood love them, too? At least enough to give them a script worthy of their talents? This halfassed (but star-studded) farce from hacktacular director Shawn Levy, in which the comics play harried marrieds on a mistaken-identity run from the mob, is marginally better than the likes of Evan Almighty and Get Smart. But not by much.
Watching an earnest, maudlin cinematic sermon of this sort really helps you appreciate the fact that Tyler Perry throws some comic relief into his theatrical tracts. There are laughs to be had here, but of the unintentional kind, as when an alcoholic reaches for his fifth of Jack Daniel’s, and a song on the soundtrack loudly proclaims, “There’s no message in this bottle!”
I’ve always wanted to see this. And yet, I’m not sure if it can be done.
I had an interesting relationship with The A-Team as a kid. My mom sometimes decided to ban it, as it was too violent. Sometimes she would relent…and then she’d backslide. It was erratic.
Can anyone play B.A. but Mr. T? Hard to imagine, since the two are intertwined. Liam Neeson ceratinly cannot do an American accent, but the makeup sure makes him look the part.
Kevin Smith lit a fire under critics’ asses this weekend when he went on a Twitter tirade suggesting we should have to pay to see his movies. Because I’m not interested in combing through all his Twitter posts, I’ll let Anne Thompson (no relation, as far as I know) tell the tale:
“Cop Out, a buddy cop comedy starring Bruce Willis and Tracy Morgan, scored the best gross of Smith’s career ($42.8 million) and a miserable 19% Tomatoscore. So Smith (aka Silent Bob) is now striking back—at whom? The critics (many of whom are personally fond of the guy). But having tweeted his feelings, now Smith’s brought them down on his head. Worth it? You be the judge.”
She goes on to quote from his feed. Here’s the relevant part:
“Realized whole system’s upside down: so we let a bunch of people see it for free & they shit all over it? Meanwhile, people who’d REALLY like to see the flick for free are made to pay? Bullshit: from now on, any flick I’m ever involved with, I conduct critics screenings thusly: you wanna see it early to review it? Fine: pay like you would if you saw it next week. Like, why am I giving an arbitrary 500 people power over what I do at all, let alone for free? Next flick, I’d rather pick 500 randoms from Twitter feed & let THEM see it for free in advance, then post THEIR opinions, good AND bad. Same difference. Why’s their opinion more valid?”
Smith has already moved in this direction in the past, having had individual critics like Scott Foundas and David Poland kicked out of press screenings of his films because of some comment they made in the past that Smith took personally.
I wouldn’t normally feel the need to even say a damn thing, except that for the past five years or so, I’ve seen numerous articles and people shit on criticism in particular and me personally, which wouldn’t be so grating if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve actually been losing my livelihood at the same time. To sum up: we criticize Kevin, and he still gets to make movies with Bruce Willis. We (I) get criticized by the public and our higher-ups, and our income gets taken away.
Due to issues of diplomacy and maintaining some semblance of connections, I have remained silent more often than I’d like, but I’ll be damned if the director of DOGMA gets to talk smack unanswered. So Kevin, I know you are not likely reading this, but listen up a little.
First off: you do not get to be both the genial self-deprecating jolly fat man AND the thin-skinned, cut-a-wrestling-promo-on-the-critics whiny bitch. These are totally contrary personas. Don’t want people making fun of your weight? Fine, then stop referring to it YOURSELF. Quit making movies where other characters call you “fat fuck” and “tubby bitch.” Either try to lose the weight, or own your fatness. Right now, you’re like a matador complaining that the bull notices the red flag.
Secondly, this whole idea of making critics pay to see your movie – it’s not that radical. Really. Other filmmakers already do this on a regular basis. Want their names? Tyler Perry, Neveldine/Taylor, Kevin Greutert, Darren Lynn Bousman, Uwe Boll. Heard of them? I know you have. I’m actually a big fan of some of those names. Yet I don’t get to see their stuff early – I hit a Thursday midnight screening, stay up all night composing a review, email it to my editor, and then guess what? E! Online and/or Geekweek publishes it first thing Friday, just like every movie we actually did get to see in advance for free.
Meanwhile, a paper like the LA Weekly will run a blurb like “JAY AND SILENT BOB SUCK DICK was not screened in advance of our print deadline, but a review will appear here next week and at laweekly.com.” Instant stigma to Weekly readers, who are savvy enough to know that this means someone lacked confidence in the flick (but hey, you want to be ranked alongside Uwe Boll and Tyler Perry, that’s your call). Granted, you are suggesting we pay for advance screenings…hell, I’ve done that, too. Ever see where a movie will sometimes do a national sneak preview, a Saturday or two before it actually opens? Sometimes these are earlier than press screenings, and we will pay. It’s not unprecedented.
Other points you try to make, Kev:
“Next flick, I’d rather pick 500 randoms from Twitter feed & let THEM see it for free in advance”
Sure Kevin, those are called promo screenings. Go for it. Just please keep them separate from press screenings – little pisses me off more, professionally, than when I find out a screening I’m going to is a radio station promo with all kinds of yelling and T-shirt giveaways and bad stand-up and stupid contests.
“Why’s their opinion more valid?”
Our opinions aren’t more VALID…they just tend to be more articulate and readable, which is what we’re hired for. Why are you more valid a director for a studio movie than me? I went to film school. But guess what, you’ve proven yourself a bit along the way. So have I, as a writer. I’m trying to do so as an actor as well, but would never suggest I deserve automatic good reviews for it.
“Like, why am I giving an arbitrary 500 people power over what I do at all?”
Uhhhh…what POWER do we have, exactly? Even the overwhelmingly negative reviews for COP OUT didn’t stop it from being your highest grosser EVER. Meanwhile, most of us critics struggle to pay the bills. Boo-hoo, whiny boy. Oh, and where does that 500 number come from? Last time I checked, the actual number of employed critics in the U.S. was maybe one-tenth of that.
Take a deep breath, Kevin, and take in a few things: You get to make movies for a living. By your own account, your wife is a fantastic lay. You have (in)action figures of yourself. To supplement your income, you can just show up and talk about whatever comes into your head for an hour or so, and people pay money to watch.
Why the FUCK do you care what we say? Let your studio publicists do their job.
I never really “review” movies that I have significant roles in – it’s too hard to distance myself. So let’s not call this a review, exactly; but I did watch the director’s cut last night in an all-but finished form (the dialogue was slightly off-sync or unmixed in a couple scenes). And boy, do I wish this was the one we could have shown the public first.
I’m not blind to the flaws of the original film. I love it, and will always love it, but I get why others don’t. Tonally it was an odd mix of director and script: the screenplay was balls-out brutality written as a giant F.U. to critics who were whining about movies like HOSTEL, while Zach, for as long as I’ve known him (i.e. since film school) has made meditative dreamscapes, usually featuring some kind of animation at some stage. I used to kid him about how he was going to find a way to get animation into WICKED LAKE. Lo and behold, in the director’s cut, he has. I won’t spoil how, but it absolutely works.
Most substantially, the director’s cut, which is entitled WICKED, WICKED LAKE, features a complete visual and aural overhaul…
TNA has taken a long time to get it together as regards their merchandise. The key to a hot-selling wrestling shirt is that it has to work even for someone who has no clue about wrestling. Where TNA has erred in the past is putting slogans on the back of the shirt, and the wrestler’s name on the front. For example, I could probably sell a shirt sporting the slogan “Big Sexy” to any number of large guys, but if that’s only written on the back, while the front just says “Kevin Nash,” I’m not gonna have much luck except with Kevin Nash fans.
CHLOE is based on the French film NATHALIE… (yes, the ellipses are part of the title), which, with its more cerebral approach to kinkiness, would seem more in line with what I’d expect from Canadian-raised director Atom Egoyan, who can often be as chilly and detached as his home country. Here, however, he’s gone balls-out Hollywood style in his approach to the material, adding more onscreen sex and a FATAL ATTRACTION element entirely absent from the source.
So this column goes out to Nick, on the offchance he takes a road trip somewhere, and is forced to eat fast food at rest stops, where nouveau-Mexican sit-downs are scarce, but pseudo-Mexican crustacean delights just happen to be in vogue at a couple of major chains.
Those of you who know what I’m talking about can probably skip the video portions of this column. For those who don’t, Wiseau is the director and star of the cult hit THE ROOM, which plays once a month in L.A. on five screens, and sells out every show. Apparently conceived as an awards-worthy romantic tragedy, THE ROOM is one of the funniest movies of the past decade, largely due to Wiseau’s inconsistent acting, bizarre accent and appearance, and complete inability to understand how actual human beings think, speak, and interact. With 20/20 hindsight, he will tell you that these were all deliberate choices designed to make you react. But then, he also claims to be American.
Alas, this BARON is barren, more dead than red. And while it’s often just disappointing when a movie isn’t what you’d hoped, THE RED BARON holds a particular type of disappointment – and I’m not just talking about the people who, like my girlfriend, are bummed that Snoopy isn’t in it. Frankly, given the liberties the movie takes with history, they might as well have added a flying beagle, and possibly multiplied their grosses exponentially.
In a chaotic near-future, Jude Law is tasked with forcibly removing artificial organs that have not been fully paid for, until, inevitably, the tables get turned and he finds himself with a replacement heart—and a lack of funds.
An interesting enough premise, but the movie is never able to find the right tone, and frankly, Law’s character kinda deserves the karmic payback he’s fleeing from.
This movie about the first all-girl rock band wants it both ways: Yes, the Runaways were awesome, but there was also something more than a little inappropriate about putting teenage singer Currie onstage wearing little but a corset to belt out “Cherry Bomb.” And 30 years later, there’s still something inappropriate about putting teenage actor Fanning onstage doing the same. But the film doesn’t spend time pondering such things, as former David Bowie/Marilyn Manson video director Floria Sigismondi prefers to revel in the superficial
The burger did not have tomatoes. It had tomato, singular, as in one slice. See that picture above, showing more than one slice, and crispy onions all around? Not quite. One tomato slice, and the onions huddling in a group, hiding beneath it. The effect is interesting – as you bite in, it’s like a normal burger, then get to the center and you have a burst of tangy flavor all of a sudden. Variety, spice of life, etc…but I really did want more crispy onions and tomatoes.
If you can manage to simply “turn your brain off” and enjoy the cool designs, you will enjoy it far more than I. The books are too dear to me for me to able to do that, and yes, I know a movie is a different animal…Jan Svankmajer’s ALICE is extremely faithful and highly tedious, due primarily to the director’s overreliance on redundant narration. But couldn’t Burton and Woolverton (and Depp) have at least pretended to care about the source?
4. Gun Shy, starring and produced by Sandra Bullock(nominated for Best Actress, The Blind Side). Liam Neeson plays an undercover DEA agent with diarrhea. Sandra Bullock falls for him anyway. That is all you need to know.
Yep, Roman Polanski’s still got it. With dry humor and expertly timed suspense, the director throws Ewan McGregor into a conspiracy theory plot involving a Tony Blair-like politician (Pierce Brosnan) whose memoirs provide the focal point of an investigation into serious war crimes. Similarly plotted recent movies, like, say, Edge of Darkness, can only dream of being this good.
Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Cop Out is a tribute to cop-buddy comedy sequels of the ’80s, since, when the movie opens, our bickering partners have been together nine years, and there’s no obligatory recap of how they first met, hated each other initially, and later turned out to be the perfect mismatch. This does lead one to wonder how a screeching, paranoid dork like Paul Hodges (Morgan) ever became a detective, let alone one paired with the more standard action-hero-y Jimmy Monroe (Willis), but skipping the origin story at least allows us to cut directly to the chase (literally).
Unfortunately for the director, and the audience, SHUTTER ISLAND is a disaster. I haven’t read the Dennis Lehane novel it’s based on, but I suspect the fault does not lie with the source material, as every other scene made me think to myself that David Fincher could have directed the script better. Hell, I’m not sure but that Kevin Smith or even Uwe Boll couldn’t have directed it better – they would certainly not have wasted as much money on needless gaudiness, plus Boll would still have cast Ben Kingsley. This doesn’t feel like Scorsese…it feels like Baz Luhrmann with a bad hangover (the fact that DiCaprio spends much of the movie either puking or having headaches and hallucinations similarly suggests a kind of morning-after vibe).
McDonald’s may not have invented the chicken nugget, but they damn sure made it famous; the McNugget is an all-time classic that belongs in any hypothetical fast food Hall of Fame alongside the French fry and nachos. Kids today often grow up eating little besides chicken nuggets (I have two younger brothers who prove the rule), so it seems a little unfair in hindsight that, when I was a wee one, they did not exist! And I didn’t like McDonald’s burgers as a kid either, so when other children would have group outings to McDonald’s, there was very little I could eat. Here, the McNugget swooped in to save the day around 1980, but I grew up in Ireland, and it wasn’t until the late ‘80s that they made it across the Atlantic and became a weekly addiction for young LYT (one of many reasons Ireland sucked).
Burton, in particular, is becoming so formulaic that one can play Mad Libs with the inevitable trades announcement. Behold:
HOLLYWOOD – Johnny Depp has officially signed on for the lead role of _______ in Tim Burton’s __________, a twisted new retelling of the classic __________ story, which will take advantage of the director’s unique vision. “I’m going to approach this character as if a ________ actually existed in the real world,” said Depp. “I think it will put a really unique spin on his ________.”
Opposing Depp’s character will be Helena Bonham-Carter as _________, who becomes a formidable opponent. “My take on her is that she’s slightly misunderstood,” said Bonham-Carter. “She’s been caricatured for all these years as a __________, and it’s made her a bit crazy.”
“Growing up, _________ was my favorite thing ever,” said Burton. “I’ve always wanted to re-imagine it in my quirky style, only with a less coherent story.”
Joining Bonham-Carter and Depp in the cast will be Christopher Lee, in a menacing cameo as the intimidating _________.
