Friday, May 6, 2011

Don't fuck with the babysitter

Hello nonexistent lady and gentleman, I'm going to ramble about the movie I saw last night/earlier this morning, it's called Thor and it's directed by Kenneth Branagh, he's the guy who played the villain in Big Willie Style's Wild Wild West. So I went to the AMC to see it because I had a free popcorn and soda coupon that was about to expire and that's really the only reason I even bother going to the AMC because that place is pretty fuckin' wack, like most movie theater chains. Hell, even the popcorn is fuckin' wack, come to think of it, and yet I went to this place just so I can have some of it for free. Christ almighty.

Some albino homo carrying a blanket and his girl friend sat next to me, and they seemed like nice folk, they asked me if the seat where my jacket was currently resting was being saved for anyone. For some reason I've yet to fathom, rather than say "No it's not", I said "No, we're cool". Who's cool? Me? If that's the case, did I mean "we're" in relation to the royal We? Honestly people, if you think my ramblings make no fuckin' sense, you should try having a fuckin' conversation with me some day, it's some mind-boggling mad mixture of fragmented sentences, missing subjunctives, constantly changing tenses, and a dash of Tobias Funke-isms. I suck at life and its many facets, is what I'm trying to say.

Because it was a midnight showing, it was a midnight crowd and because it was Thursday heading into Friday, that meant it was College Friday and about 98 percent of the audience was old enough to look at you in confusion when you tell them the director of Thor also directed a movie called Dead Again and when you tell them that's the one with Emma Thompson they're all like Who Da Fuck Is Emma Thompson, I Know It's Cinco De Mayo But I'll Still Beat Your Fuckin' Mexican Ass Up And Down The Aisle.

Everybody took the opportunity to hoot and holler during the previews and it gave some of the douchier douches in the crowd many chances to demonstrate their ability to sound like a woman moaning during sex. Because it was all men doing that shit, it made me laugh to think that's exactly how they'd sound if they were to ever find themselves in a prison and Bubba or Leroy or Tyrone or whatever other borderline-racist use of a downtrodden black name for a prisoner shoves about 12 uncut inches of pent-up/veined-up Hurt up these motherfuckers' dumb Axe-wearing bro asses.

There was a trailer for Super 8 before the movie, so I looked away, because I'm good at that shit -- without images, the dialogue and music are useless in trying to spoil shit for me. There was also a trailer for Green Lantern and because I couldn't give a shit about that shit, I watched that lame shit. Anyway, I had no idea who or what was in Thor, aside from the director, because I don't go hunting that shit down on the Internet and because I haven't gone to the movies to see something first-run since Blue Valentine (well, that and Muthafuckin' Fast Fuckin' Five) so it's not like I've been privy to any Previews of Coming Attractions anyway.

So yeah, Thor. This shit starts off with some battle shit way back in the day between Odin and his merry band of supermen (or whatever the fuck they're supposed to be -- Gods? Evolved humans? Highlander II: The Quickening-style aliens?) fighting it out with some bad guys who were probably ancestors of that mutant Mystique from X-Men. The bad guys are called Frost Giants or some shit like that, and they have the ability to freeze shit while wrecking havoc, and because they don't take the time to make some stupid quip like "All right everybody, CHILL!" or "What killed the dinosaurs? DA ICE AGE!" that makes them a million times better than Mr. Freeze from Batman.

Odin is played by Anthony Hopkins, who is doing his thing, and he has an asshole son named Thor (the titular Thor) who wants to be king so he can show all these weak-ass bitches how a Real Man does this shit. Odin's like George Bush and Thor is Dubya, if you're the kind who likes to politicize every fucking thing. Anyway, they're just about to finish the coronation when some of these Avatar rejects try to steal some glowing blue box that has Awesome Powers of some kind (freezing things is what it mainly seems to do). There's a lot of hoopla about the failed attempt, it leads to this dick Thor going over to the Frost Giants' planet and stirring shit up because he's a fuckin' douche who turns tables full of food over if he doesn't get what he wants, like some petulant child, which is kinda what he is, really.

It's hard to judge Thor's friends because they're all really cool but they're big on Thor, so they must be Secret Assholes behind closed doors. I mean, it's like when I found out the lovely Kristen Bell was engaged to that cock Dax Shepard. Now, for all I know, Dax Shepard might be a nice guy, or at least decent enough to get a nice girl like Ms. Bell and not make fun of her lazy eye, but since that motherfucker collected paychecks fucking with people on Ashton Kutcher's horrific program Punk'd, that makes him Guilty by Douchesociation, plain and fuckin' simple. Same thing with Thor's fellow warriors, and same thing with every pro-sports player and their teammates.

As it is, Thor's warrior homies are pretty cool; you have this hot warrior-princess type, you have this young Cary Elwes-looking motherfucker, you have Punisher War Zone with a beard and fat suit, and you have this relatively quiet Asian motherfucker who you wished had more opportunity to kick ass. Hell, I wish they all had more opportunity to kick ass. You know what, powers that be? You should at least make one of those DTV spinoffs like they did with the Get Smart movie, using these characters. I'd pay a few bucks to watch these 4 do their thing.

Anyway, Odin, he knows what's up, he knows his son's a cock, so he takes away Thor's ass-kicking powers and takes away his mighty hammer and exiles the fortunate son over to Earth. Thor ends up landing over in New Mexico which kinda sucks because once you stop for a meal at the Bobcat Bite, there's really not much to do there, not unless you're a filmmaker looking to save some money tax-incentive style.

So Thor lands in New Mexico and gets hit by a van that happens to be driven by Natalie Portman, the lucky bastard. With her, she's got this cute chick in glasses that I was kinda crushing on, and the guy who Jennifer Connelly and Paul Bettany named their kid after. This guy, this Stellan Skarsgard, I guess he's a friend of the Connelly/Bettany double-feature, and I wonder how that's like. I mean, I bet you a typical visit ends with him going home and jerking off to Bettany's hot wife -- that is, if Stellan Skarsgard is anything like me, because that's what I usually do after visiting a friend and his wife or girlfriend, even the unattractive ones, because I ride the Sad/Creepy train to work everyday and I'm a self-employed motherfucker.

It's like this movie I saw once, called In Search of a Midnight Kiss, and it starts with this dude taking a photo of his roommate's wife and photoshopping it onto some anonymous naked chick's picture. Then he starts beating off to it, then his roommate and his wife walk in and catch him in the act. The only reason I haven't done that shit yet is because I'm too lazy to learn Photoshop -- well, that and I was too busy banging so many hot chicks, obviously, I don't have time for lame shit like that. But who's to say Stellan Skarsgard ain't some Photoshop master? I take that back, homeboy doesn't even need Photoshop, he just needs to rent The Hot Spot and get some prime wankery material right fuckin' there, man.

Anyway, Portman's some kind of scientist and I guess the cute chick in glasses and Skarsgard are part of the scientific study Scooby team, and they're trying to figure out what's up with this fuckin' Aryan's wet dream who fell from the sky, and better yet, why is he such an asshole?

I thought it was really canny of Branagh and company to have the first third of the movie play like some ultra-portentous Life & Death shit, some Fate Of The Universe shit, all done with dead-seriousness expected from a story about mythical gods. But then, after the situation is laid out and Thor lands on Earth, the movie bamboozles our asses by introducing a very healthy sense-of-humor to the proceedings, and not in some lame Beastmaster 2: Through the Portal of Time kinda way either, I mean, they don't really overdo it with the fish out-of-water jokes, it's more like "trip out on this fuckin' asshole".

It's pretty fuckin' hilarious the shit this guy pulls once he's on Earth, fuckin' walking in the middle of the street, expecting traffic to stop for the motherfucker. Actually, that's not too weird at all, at least not here in California with that bullshit right-of-way law, because in that case there's a shitload of Thors in this motherfucker. The only way he'd fit in more is if he was riding a bike in the middle of traffic. But yeah, he carries himself in such a I'm Important And You're Below Me manner, thinking everyone's going to cater to his every order and desire, and he finds out the hard way it's not gonna work out that way for him now. Still, it's funny to hear him declare that he's in need of "sustenance", and then after scarfing down many plates of breakfast, this asshole's smashing coffee cups after draining them dry, demanding more of the fine beverage. Because sometimes it's awesome to watch an asshole do his thing as long as he's not doing it to you.

It's also Good Times to see him pulling some shit, thinking he can get away with it because he's fuckin' Thor, only to find out the hard way that he's just as susceptible to getting tased and getting shot up with sedatives. This is the Hollywood version of the real world, though, so that means he can still get hit by a car and come out of it with a minor moment of disorientation, just like Matrix in Commando getting smashed by a Porsche going high speed and shaking that off like it ain't no thang, unless there's an alternate ending where Thor drops dead and while everyone wonders what the fuck happened, Portman uses her scientific knowledge to deduce that it probably had something to do with getting hit by a car twice.

So after the first third of serious set-up, the movie then eases into a back-and-forth structure, cutting between Thor's misadventures in New Mexico and all the drama going on back in Thor's stomping grounds of Asgard (a world that looks a lot like the Feature Presentation intro for Harkins Theaters). The New Mexico stuff is funny and the Asgard stuff is serious, and somewhere along the way, that shit starts to blend in with each other, which I guess makes it like, I don't know, representative of the increasingly dangerous situation. It's like, this shit was funny but now it's no longer the people of Asgard and those Mystique-looking motherfuckers who are in risk of having their worlds rocked, now it's the farmers and migrant workers of New Mexico (and the rest of the world as well, when you think about it) who are now being tossed into the Everything To Lose pile.

Thor has this brother named Loki, and he's got a really big forehead, like Christina Ricci, and I'd make fun of that shit except I've noticed I have a lot more forehead nowadays because getting older blows. I'm more aware of that shit in other people, now that it's happening to me. It's a good thing Mike Epps wasn't in the audience, he'd have his way with the motherfucker, and with me, for that matter. Anyway, Loki's the opposite of Thor, he's skinny, dark-haired, and even-tempered -- or is he? DUN DUN DUN.

There's also this awesome badass gatekeeper played by the motherfucker who gets owned by Denzel in American Gangster (I haven't seen The Wire yet) and Rene Russo plays Thor's mom. This chick, Rene Russo, I don't know if it's the CGI or if she's just lucky to be blessed with good genes but she's growing old gracefully, that one. She's got what Helen Mirren has and what Candice Bergen used to have; she's got that thing going on where if you're an old dude but don't want to look like a complete degenerate by dating a 19-year-old, and you want to date someone in your age range but still get props from your fellow man, then you really can't get any better than her or the other old broads I just mentioned, even though some keep trying to push way-past-glory types as being still in their prime. I mean, people go on about how glamourous someone like Sophia Loren still is, and if by "glamourous" you mean "she dresses well" and nothing else, well then I guess you're right. I'm sounding like an even bigger asshole than usual, because when it comes down to it, I'd hit that shit and be tearfully grateful for it. No I wouldn't, I'm like Brad Pitt in this bitch, excuse me while I have sex with a hot chick between paragraphs.

Raza actress Adriana Barraza is credited in the end credits, yet I don't remember ever seeing her, I don't know what that's about. Maybe Branagh's a big Top Gear fan and shares the same opinion of mi gente as those limey fucks, and he wanted to fuck with us, the fuckin' asshole. Branagh doesn't give a fuck about Oscar-nominated performances if they're coming from a fuckin' wetback, isn't that right, ol' chap? I bet you he almost choked on his fish & chips as he laughed over that particular editing decision. Whatever, perhaps it was something else. Maybe if having a certain foreshadowing cameo by a bow & arrow-using motherfucker in the movie meant you had to ass Babel out in the name of keeping a bladder-friendly 119-minute running time, then I guess it was the right thing to do.

I don't know how they're doing it, but I'm glad Marvel is doing it. I mean, they've been doing very well these past 10 years with their comic book movies. I've liked all of them, and even the one I liked the least, the Ang Lee version of Hulk, I still liked quite a bit. Who's in charge of picking the directors for these joints, because he or she deserves a medal for picking someone he or she thinks would make the most interesting adaptation, rather than just picking some motherfucker whose film opened at number one in the box office the previous week. OK, so they picked Brett Ratner for X-Men: The Last Stand, but nobody's perfect, we all have our weak moments, and besides, at that point in the production they were in such last-minute deep shit, they needed someone competent who could get the goddamn thing in the can, and you know what? I liked that movie too. I like everything.

But yeah man, for the most part, it's like they pick the director least likely to get the job but most likely to get the material. I mean, it's not like Branagh was coming off a string of box-office smash hits when they picked him, but the motherfucker has made some good movies, he's great with actors, and they Just Fucking Knew he sure as shit was going to bring the same over-the-top panache he brought to his previous joints (at least the joints that aren't in black & white and have alternate titles in the UK and the States). I've heard some people say that this one doesn't feel like a Branagh joint, and I'm going to take a wild guess here and say that has something to do with the lack of CGI fire-breathing metal creatures in Peter's Friends or Love's Labour's Lost.

Seriously, what the fuck are you talking about, people? This Brit is directing the shit out of this shit like it was fuckin' Henry V (I still want to see the previous Henrys, but I can't find them at any video store), I really doubt the guy half-assed it for a paycheck, and if he did, he probably had all the scripts on set re-titled "William Shakesphere's Thor" just to make sure he kept his eye on the prize. Sure, I'm sure he could've probably done more with the material, but you gotta understand that's part of the deal when you're working for big daddy Marvel; you gotta bring your A-game but you also have to understand who's signing your checks. Look at it this way: this movie is probably going to make a lot of bank, enabling homebrit the capital and clout to make a couple more movies that are 100 percent his, then when those movies bomb, he'll get hungry again and direct the sequel or something and probably get a wee bit more leeway the second time out. That's called a Win Win situation in my book.

Thor is above-average entertainment; it moved fast and kept my interest and had a nice amount of laughs in the motherfucker. The action was cool in that CGI-spectacle sort-of-way, and the visuals in general are really nice to look at (I especially loved anything involving that hyped-up They Live style otherworldly transporter room). Natalie Portman is very pretty, the cute chick in glasses is my current movie-crush, Stellan Skarsgard is probably secretly jacking it to Jennifer Connelly, and the director of Choke is doing his S.H.I.E.L.D. thing like a fuckin' boss.

They're all giving 110 percent for a movie that averages 84 percent, in my opinion. I wouldn't call Thor great, it didn't rock my lame world like Muthafuckin' Fast Fuckin' Five did, but it's definitely one of the better examples of a summer movie, one that I wish was the rule, rather than the exception nowadays. Yeah, I know it's May, I know it's not really summer yet but Hollywood doesn't give a shit, so why should we, right? Also, Ralph Macchio is thanked in the end credits and that earns Thor extra credit special points, and while you probably think the filmmakers were thanking another Ralph Macchio, as far as I'm concerned, there's only ONE Ralph Macchio, bitches. Get that shit right.

In conclusion, Vincent D'Onofrio is probably pissed off right about now.

Monday, May 2, 2011

You can have any brew you want, as long as it's a Brahma

I don't know if you've seen 2009's Fast Ampersand Furious, but if you didn't, I'm about to spoil that shit, so skip to the third paragraph if you're all sensitive and shit. Anyway, to the best of my recollection of my single viewing of that film, the climax of the climax had Vin Diesel's character Dominic "'CUZ THE BUSTER KEPT ME OUTTA HANDCUFFS" Toretto smashing into Fenix, the piece-of-shit who killed his girlfriend Letty, and the audience at my showing was all Hell Yeah about it. Well, there was one guy next to me, he wasn't so cheery; he looked back at the crowd behind him and shook his head in disdain.

After the film, I asked him why he did that, and he told me that we all looked like assholes cheering the villain's demise, that it made us as bad as him and it wasn't going to change anything. He said that when all was said and done, criminals would still smuggle drugs with the use of high-speed vehicles, the War on Drugs will continue, and hell, there might even be repercussions from people who worked for Fenix. I told him that he might be right, it might not make a difference in the long run, but I bet you Toretto, Letty's family, (and the families of any other people Fenix killed, for that matter) feel a lot better knowing Fenix wasn't breathing anymore. He then gave me this smirk and brought up the fact that we never saw what they did with Fenix's body, so where's the proof that he was really killed in the first place and I was like Whatever, dude. I don't know why I felt like bringing that particular anecdote up, I just did, I guess.

Hello lady and gentleman, I'm going to ramble about the fifth film in the Vroom Vroom series of films that have the words "Fast" and/or "Furious" in the title. It's called Fast Five, and based on the box office reports, you've most likely seen it already. But in case you haven't, this one picks up where the last one left off, with a prison bus breakout that I'm sure has been described as "daring" by many others who've already written about this movie. I was expecting something very clever and elaborate, but I was wrong because it really just came down to causing that bus to flip over 17 times Another 48 Hrs. style and hope for the best that Toretto (one of the prisoners inside the bus) didn't get killed or Reeve'd up as a result.

Nope, homeboy survives (as do all the other passengers in the bus, believe it or not) and we then cut to sometime later in Brazil (Rio de Janeiro, that is), with Paul Walker and Jordana Brewster driving through one of the many City of Gods they have in that fuckin' country; this is obviously one of the lesser City of Gods, because while there are plenty of gun-wielding youngsters running around, none of them are too young to drive and there isn't a Li'l Ze or Knockout Ned in the bunch.

Anyway, the Buster and Lady Toretto are both very good-looking but I'm glad I wasn't in that car, because you can just tell that shit must've smelled kinda ripe in there, I mean, it's a hot climate and I don't think they made that many stops or change of clothes, for that matter. They then meet up with fuckin' Vince "WHY'D YOU BRING THE BUSTER" I Don't Know His Character's Last Name from the first film and get down to setting up a new heist with the Domster, because fuck getting a day job.

All of this eventually leads to a bunch of motherfuckers looking for the Furious crew; a bunch of Brazilian bad guys led by Bucho from Desperado (although from the look of his waistline nowadays, he should be called Mucho), as well as a group of government badasses led by the gay guy from Be Cool. The gay guy from Be Cool is obscenely pumped up in this movie, even more pumped than he was in his last film, Faster (which is a pretty tight flick, save for the last 10 minutes or so).

I'm looking at this scary guy with his tree trunk arms and circa 1989 projection-television-sized chest and thinking to myself that this guy, this gay guy from Be Cool, he must be a really big fan of Lyle Alzado, because it looks like he's trying his absolute darndest to meet the motherfucker. He never stops sweating either; I was going to blame that on the Brazilian climate but nobody else is sweating liters like this guy, who's sweating like Ted Striker trying to land a plane, so it must be a side-effect from downing bottles of Xenadrine between camera set-ups. Can you smell what The Rock is cooking? I can, and it smells like a man going through ketosis.

At this point, the series is making it very clear to us that we are entering video game/cartoon logic territory. Not that the first few Fast/Furious joints were gritty representations of real life, but they were pretty grounded for summer fare. I mean, one of the most outlandish moments in the first film was when both Dom and the Buster race down a street, hoping to cross the train tracks before an oncoming train smashes them both. But by the fifth film, these motherfuckers drive a convertible off a cliff and then get up from the fuckin' car in mid-air and jump off from it before finally landing in a river (shades of Vin Diesel's opening stunt in XXX). In the first two films, the government agents were middle-aged guys played by Ted Levine and James Remar. In this one, the government agents are ripped and look like side characters from the Metal Gear series. In comparison to the fast-talking quip-masters that occupy this film, the side characters in the first one might as well be inarticulate extras from Gus Van Sant's Death trilogy. These aren't complaints, just observations. In other words, I'm just saying.

During all the street chases and vicious ownings, the Furious crew get the idea in their heads to pull yet an even more impossible heist and realize they're gonna need a bigger boat, and by bigger boat, I mean they need more guys on the job. Why I didn't just say that in the first place, I have no idea. At this point, the movie turns all Ocean's on us when we're intro'd to the additions to the team -- characters from previous Fast/Furious joints -- you have the two bickering brothers from the last one, Ludacris from part dos, the tall skinny chick from the last one (she and Sweet Dee from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia should team up and make a buddy action movie, called Killer Birds or something), Tyrese from part dos (I groaned when I saw him, but thankfully, the filmmakers made him not nearly as annoying in this one, so I never felt like throwing him into the path of an oncoming train like I did in 2 Fast 2 Homoerotic) and last but certainly not least, muthafuckin' Han from Tokyo Drift.

Let's talk a bit about Han; this guy -- SPOILER YOU FUCKERS -- died in Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, but his character is pretty awesome and the filmmakers realize that (it's revealed here that his full name is Han Seoul-Oh), so the way they keep him in the series is by having the last joint and this joint (and probably the next joint) all take place before the events of the Tokyo joint -- and even then, you never know what they might pull to keep him in these joints. I mean, you never know. By the way, on a completely unrelated note, stick around during the end credits. Anyway, like I was saying, I have no idea how they might keep him alive.

While Han might be the coolest character in the movie, Brewster & Brazilian Bird the hottest, and Paul Walker's character the most Paul Walker-esque, it's Dominic Toretto who was my favorite. Calm down dear, listen up: I liked how his character was no longer the badass cooler-than-cool person he tried to come off as in the first film, he's softened up quite a bit. Part of that, I think, might be a result of him losing the love of his life in the last movie. In that one, I was pleasantly surprised that they didn't just try to James Bond that shit and have him shacking up with a new broad before the end credits, and I was even more pleasantly surprised that he's still not considering putting himself on the market in Fast Five. He's still grieving, and as a result of that, I notice his character is a lot more, I don't know, needy or something. Maybe "appreciative" is a better word.

I mean, he's done it before in the last one, but here he's really laying it on thick with his talk about the people in his life being "family", regardless of whether they're related or not. He gives at least one heartfelt speech to his fellow Fast & Furious-ers, telling them how much they mean to him, and I think at least a couple of these guys are secretly thinking Calm Down Dude, Don't Start Crying Now and feeling all awkward and shit while politely smiling and nodding their heads before taking a celebratory swig of beer.

He was all about family in the first one too, but it was more of a You're Part Of The Circle Or You're Not and it's really hard to get in his circle (uh, that didn't come out right) but in this one, I think he's very open to anyone willing to hang with the fuckin' guy. I bet you that shit extends beyond the screen; it's like Hey guys, I make these Fast/Furious movies for you, the ones who were always down with the series but weren't down with The Chronicles of Riddick or Find Me Guilty or Babylon A.D. for some reason, and rather than hate on you, I'm gonna give you what you want. It's like he knows where he's wanted, and he's sure as fuck appreciating the shit out of it nowadays. If you're a Fast & Furious fan, then shit man, you're in the family, brother. Well, that and there's also the mass amount of fame & cash he gets for doing these flicks.

That part earlier where I referred to the second (and worst) of the series as 2 Fast 2 Homoerotic, that reminded me of a couple scenes in this one. There aren't nearly as any (if any) of those moments, although the Vince character does seem like a jilted chick every once in a while. I mean, in the first one, he didn't come off that way because he was all about wanting to score with Brewster's character -- but once the fuckin' Buster came into their lives, his chances pretty much went down to zero.

But in Fast Five, Vince has a woman and a kid, and Brewster's with the Buster now, but I guess it's in Vince's nature to be territorial about *something*, and in this movie that Something is his schoolyard chum Dominic. Vince is still wary about the Buster, trying to tell Dominic to be careful with him, but Dom's like Whatever and Vince gets all butt-hurt about it, whining about how "You never listen to me" and I'm half-expecting him to go on about how he doesn't feel appreciated for all the hard work he does cleaning the house and making dinner.

Someone somewhere mentioned how this series is changing, that it used to be about racing but it's now about heists, which is a weird thing to say because the other movies (at least the first 2) involved heists in one way or another. Maybe what he or she meant about this movie concentrating on heists is that there are a lot more staples of the heist genre in this movie, compared to the previous flicks; you have the sequence where each member of the team is introduced, you have scenes devoted to each member performing their part of the heist using his or her specialty, you have the montage where they kept doing practice runs on specific parts of the job, and most importantly, you have one of those awesome scenes where the entire heist crew huddles up around a table, looking at blueprints of the place they're going to hit, and going over the requirements needed to pull off the job. I fuckin' love that shit and I fuckin' love heist movies and Fast Five is a damn good heist movie. I don't know if Paramount was planning on doing this, but if they were, I'd suggest they shouldn't even bother making an Italian Job 2, because Universal and this movie just assed them the fuck out with Fast Fuckin' Five.

I always liked the Fast/Furious series and thought they were fun time-killers, but I also kinda understood that they weren't really respected, at least not in comparison to genuinely awesome summer action movies. These third-tier summer extravaganzas couldn't hang out with the big boys like Die Hard or The Dark Knight, they had to settle for the company of the Pirates of the Caribbean series (well, the last two, anyway) or even lower, lamer excuses for A Fun Time At The Movies like the Transformers movies. When I rambled about Fast Ampersand Furious, I admitted that my enjoyment of that movie may have come more from the nostalgia of digging the first one, but I'm happy to write that the reason I really dug Fast Five is because it's a fucking awesome summer action flick (summer came early, didn't you know?). I'm not sure if I'd put it up there with the A-level summer flicks, because I'd have to see it again and frankly, I need a couple years at least before I even consider qualifying that shit, but I'll sure as hell put it in the B+ section.

The action is top-fucking-notch and I can say that with confidence because at least twice I wanted to jump the fuck out of my seat and fucking applaud the movie for having the ability to make me smile like a dumbass as a result from having just watched something Fucking Awesome happen. It's not just the car chases and crashes, there's also a nice amount of violent shootouts that push the PG-13 rating as far as possible; there's a foot chase through the favela that ends with what felt like a higher body count than the past 4 films put together (it seems like each Fast/Furious film gets harder & darker with each installment). Then later in the film, there's also a pretty brutal fight scene that in the real world would end with one of them in the hospital and the other in the morgue -- that's the Chicago way! -- but in this movie, it only results in an eventual mutual respect for each other's strengths. Only in the movies, baby. Sure, you can be a grouch and be all like That's Bullshit And This Movie Is Bullshit, and if that's the case, I hope one day you'll realize it's OK to enjoy awesome stuff and you won't be mocked by your fellow hipsters for doing so.

I don't know how many cars they destroyed in this fucking movie, but I'm sure the family members of all the stuntmen who surely died performing the stunts will be proud of the film. Also, there was a trailer for the Cars sequel before the movie and that made me think that the families of the cars that were destroyed in this movie would also be just as understanding/forgiving of the film. By the way, 3 of the movie trailers preceding our feature presentation featured shit jokes, and one of them (some Jason Bateman/Ryan Reynolds comedy) actually featured 3 shit-related moments in its 3-minute running time. If that wasn't all, there was also a rather vivid exploding toilet scene in Fast Five.

What the fuck, people? Were we always a society of fecal lovers? And yet, these same people who laughed at a baby rocketing shit onto Bateman's face, these same people who guffawed at Leslie Mann dropping crazy deuces on the toilet while lamenting her choice of Thai food, these people who howled at Bateman freaking out when Mann got in bed with him and pointed her recently-wiped ass towards him -- these same people would freak out if they saw Salo or the 120 Days of Sodom, then they would go home and order Jackass 3 on pay-per-view, gobbling all the bathroom humor like so much chocolate pudding.

Complaints? I have a few -- actually, I only have one, really: I wish they didn't feel the need to Tony Scott the shit out of the subtitles, but what can you do, it's the hip/young thing to do, I guess. I also would've loved to see some ragdoll bodies fly out of the fuckin' cars, and blood, oh yes, precious beautiful blood would've been welcome amongst all the insanity, but again, this is a PG-13 joint and I can always create an Unrated Director's Cut in the Blu-ray player of my imagination. Nudity would've been welcome too, but again, there's always my imaginary Blu-ray.

In short, if you like fast cars, two-fisted action, one-fisted gunplay, sweaty steroid cases, vehicular smashups, and plenty of tits & ass in bikinis and various other tight skimpy outfits, then you're most likely the writer of these ramblings and you should already be planning to see this shit a second time. But if you're not me, and you don't like the above-mentioned qualities, but you *do* like seeing a closeted action star acting less closeted than he did in recent movies, then yeah, you should see this shit right the fuck now.

Monday, April 18, 2011

On my way out, I overheard a guy telling his friend how "martial arts gave me discipline", only he said it like he was asking a question

For years -- since '06, anyway -- my buddy's been talking up the television show 30 Rock. He said I was missing out on something I would really dig, and thanks to sickness and Netflix Instant Streaming, I was able to eventually catch up on both the first four seasons as well as pop culture's love affair with Tina Fey. So when I found out about that book she wrote, I thought that it would be cool to go to a signing and shake her hand or something (her left hand, of course -- us lefties can sense each other out).

Turns out the only signing she's doing in L.A. is after a "conversation" between her and one of my favorite You're Better Than This Material actors, Steve Martin -- but it's at the Nokia Theatre and even if you buy the cheap seats it's still going to cost a pretty penny with parking and all the other supplemental rapings those bastards give you. Meanwhile, all a New Yorker had to do to get his/her shit signed was go to a Barnes & Noble and buy her book. At the risk of going full Kanye, I declare the following: Tina Fey doesn't care about L.A. people.

I'm sure the Nokia Theatre deal will be as nuts as the book signing in New York, what with all the rabid fans and their fanatical rabidry (that's a word...now). But I don't think she's going to get as psychotic a turnout as fictional author of fiction Sutter Cane did in John Carpenter's In the Mouth of Madness, which I just happen to bring up because I just happened to have attended a midnight screening of it at the great New Beverly Cinema. In that movie, this guy Cane, he sells more books than syllable-sibling Stephen King and I bet you he probably sells more books than J.K. Rowling and the shittier Mormon version Stephanie Meyer combined.

This midnight screening was hosted by Brian Collins of Bloody-Disgusting.com and he started off the night by asking if any of us in the audience had also attended the previous midnight show he hosted -- Phantasm II -- and after looking over the raised hands, he said that actress Sam Phillips (the guest for that screening) was in the lobby, still talking (she was rather loquacious, you see). He then intro'd the producer of the film, Sandy King (aka Mrs. John Carpenter) and proceeded to chat about the film and have a Q&A with the audience. One day I'm going to graduate myself to the level of Rich Miser (current status: Plain Miser) and in a brief moment of charity, I will donate a shitload of money to the New Beverly Cinema so they can buy some kick-ass microphones because at this point, the current mics are really more of a prop. Although I guess it would help if the user of said mic actually brought it up towards his/her mouth.

Ms. King spoke softly and I'm going deaf, so here's the best I can come up with, based on what I think I heard:

-- She talked about how the film was shot in Canada as a way to trick New Line Cinema into financing a union shoot; they wanted to keep this film a non-union production and King wasn't having it, and she knew all of Canada's film crews were unionized, so there. At one point, the studio wanted her to film in Love Canal, but she didn't like the idea of sending cast & crew to work in and around a toxic waste dump.

-- Collins brought up that this film was written by a studio exec (awesome risk-taking motherfucker Michael De Luca) as opposed to being a film that was dictated by one, and he asked King how much of the film reflected said script, or did Carpenter have his way with it. King answered that very little was changed; the Lovecraft references and all that shit, those were all De Luca's ideas and Carpenter fought to stay true to the script. In fact, King mentioned that the fights between New Line president Bob Shaye and DeLuca were particularly tough since those two had a father-son relationship.

-- Because this film was shot during a very busy period in Carpenter's career (he shot like 2 or 3 movies from '93-95), King couldn't quite remember when this film was shot (I remember on the laserdisc commentary they said it was shot in '93) but that Sam Neill was cast as the lead before Jurassic Park was released. By the time filming started, the dinosaur joint was breaking box-office records and Neill suddenly got super-recognizable around town.

-- Special effects maestro Greg Nicotero has a breakdown on every one of the productions he works on, usually due to UPS losing one of the items needed to complete his work (despite -- or maybe in spite of -- everyone telling him to stop using UPS)

-- She did everything to make sure that Charlton Heston was comfortable on set (even going as far as telling the "pretty liberal" crew what not to say in front of Mr. From My Cold Dead Hands), and he still ended up hating her and treating her kinda shitty. She didn't take it personally, though, because Heston had a reputation for hating producers in general. Aside from his treatment of her, he was the consummate pro and did everything that was asked of him.

-- They shot at a real church, which created some problems with the family of someone involved with the church (I missed exactly what this guy did) who had recently passed away. I'm sure they would've been OK with it if the movie was Fireproof II or something, but not this ungodly shit.

During the Q&A, Sandy King mentioned 30 Days of Night as being one of the few recent horror films she liked, otherwise most of them suck and she lamented the sad state of the genre (nobody's trying anything original anymore, she said). She also had no idea what was up with The Ward's release date, all she knew was that it had gotten purchased by a distributor and at this point, the movie is out of her and Carpenter's hands and it's up to the distributor to figure out whether they're going to release this shit or not. Also, it was brought up that Hayden Christensen is in the film, he's one of the little kids there somewhere. She also referred to Sam Neill as an "Englishman" and all I could think about was how lucky she was that Zoe Bell wasn't in the audience.

So then the movie started, and the print looked pretty damn good, like maybe it never got much of a run in the past 15 years. John Carpenter's score (done in collaboration with Jim Lang) was great as always, even though the main theme got me tempted to jump in and go Exit light/Enter night/Take my hand/We're off to Never-Never land.

This guy, Cane, he writes books that fuck you up, literally fuck you up. Even though his fame and name make you think of Stephen King, the subject matter of his books is more like some Lovecraftian shit. I remember reading an interview with Joe Carnahan, he's the guy who made the flashy/kinda lame Blood Guts Bullets and Octane, then he made the great Narc, and now he's back to making flashy/kinda lame shit. Anyway, he was promoting his first film, and he mentioned that he was writing the screenplay to Narc, and he said if the finished film reflects even a portion of his original intent, it would "stick to the sleep of the weak" or something like that. Well, Sutter Cane's writing is a lot like that, it sticks to the motherfucker reading it and disturbs his/her shit up something proper.

So now his publishers are all disturbed because Cane's gone missing, and in comes ace insurance investigator John Trent (played by ace New Zealander Sam Neill) to find out if this is all bullshit or not. Biblical motherfucker Charlton Heston plays the Moses of the publishing firm and he sends Trent out with this chick editor named Styles to find him -- but more importantly, to find the manuscript to his latest book (that shit was supposed be in press by yesterday -- dug the Escape from New York font on the cover). Not once is Cane's safety or well-being ever mentioned, except in the context of insurance claims.

Sam Neill is awesome for so many reasons, and reason number 899 is that he has one of the best knowing smirks in the business (he can also yawn and play tired better than any other actor I can think of at this moment). The characters he plays in most of these joints always seems to carry an air of having shit figured out way before you, and it's like he's amusing himself watching you make an ass out of yourself because of it. I wonder if that's something he does in real life or if that's just a trick out of his magical actor bag. Anyway, that shit's in full effect with John Trent.

His character is also kind of a dick in that he'll drive with a bicycle horn in his glove compartment just in case he has a chick sleeping in the passenger seat, then he'll take that shit out and honk the poor girl awake. Why? Shit man, why is there a watermelon there, I don't know why. But I bet you John Trent was also the kind of asshole in college who'd put shaving cream on his sleeping frat-bro's hand, then tickle his face with a feather. I don't know, maybe that's his way of scoring with the ladies, by doing fucked up/lame shit to them. Chicks dig jerks, they say. I mean, he's obviously into this chick, probably figures with this broad (played by Julie Carmen -- raza!) he can get some play during their stay at the hotel (located in the small town Cane is probably hiding out).

Or maybe he's not trying to really score with her, maybe he's just being an old-fashioned Man in the sense that it used to be OK to treat all women like you want to bang them, regardless of whether you want to bang them or not. I say this because the movie came out in '95 but it feels very 70's; you have Trent treating a big-time editor like Styles like she was some fuckin' secretary temp, and he's smoking up a storm in places nobody's allowed to smoke at anymore. To the best of my knowledge, when this movie came out, you couldn't smoke damn near anywhere anymore and Disclosure was still playing in movie theaters. Yet you have Trent smoking in offices and giving the impression that he's thisclose to giving professional women playful smacks on the ass. Also, you have to understand this was written by a guy who had no qualms whatsoever with getting a blow job during a party in front of everyone, so maybe he works from a different code of conduct than everyone else.

You know, I saw this back in '96 on laserdisc and I must've been a little asshole back then because I thought it was OK. Or maybe I'm a bigger asshole now, because after watching this film on the big-screen last night, I'm going as far as to say it might be one of Carpenter's best. It has a creepiness to it that grows larger and larger as the film goes on, it's like a Sutter Cane book in the way it sneaks up on you and eventually pounces on your fuckin' nerves like some asshole kitten pouncing on some awesome dog in a YouTube video.

It's like the director (props to d.p. Gary Kibbe as well) Just Fucking Knew where to put the camera for maximum effect on every single shot and his editor Just Fucking Knew exactly the right moments to cut away and/or how long to stay on a shot. There's a fantastic sequence where Trent is running down what appears to be a hallway straight out of Event Horizon, and he's being chased by...something. True to it's Lovecraftian nature, we only get glimpses of this unholy thing going after him and it's like I'm going Ay Dios Mio over here.

I love Carpenter's use of wide-angle lens and the way that shit is slightly distorted at the edges of the anamorphic frame -- those are usually the biggest giveaways you're watching a J.C. joint. I'm sure it's just a matter of time before filmmakers start aping that look, using it way too much to the point that it becomes a regular go-to setting on Avid or Final Cut Studio, kinda like the way lens flare used to be awesome until everybody and their fuckin' mother started using it. Then J.J. Abrams stepped in and offered his 12-inches to the lens flare gangbang with Star Trek. Maybe by the time John McTiernan goes to jail, does his time, and comes out, that shit will be old and done with for a while and then maybe McT can own the lens flare look once again.

The setting is pretty unnerving as well, like some Silent Hill-looking shit or maybe Fulci (if he was still alive) coulda used this location and made Straight Outta Dunwich with it or something. Nothing feels false or lame here, not even the false scares because this is the kind of rare movie where even the false jump scares have something unnerving about them; usually, the moment after a false scare is left to the audience to catch a breath but here, the false scare makes things worse because it means The Real Scare is coming up and I'm/You're not sure if you want to get to it, I don't need that shit in my life. Ay Dios Mio.

I don't know what it is that made me more susceptible over the years to being freaked out over the idea of this movie. Part of it is that the world of this film is starting to look a lot like the real world today. But to be fair, I'm sure people felt that way even when this movie was brand spanking new. Still, that was 1995 and this is 2011 and it feels like This Is It to me, like maybe we've reached humanity's breaking point and something is going to give one way or the other.

It seems like people are more divided than ever about every fucking topic, about every fucking thing and the Internet has only made it worse; this technology that was created to bring people from far-away lands together is mostly now used to scream I'M RIGHT AND YOU'RE WRONG. You'll find far more discourse on disliking something than you will on liking something. That's the best we did with that shit, use it to tell more people than before what we don't like. Plus, I have a blog, that sure as shit doesn't help.

I guess what I'm trying to say in my rambling and confused way is that shit feels pretty goddamn apocalyptic to me already, just like the world of this movie, and that enhanced the viewing experience. I saw Black Hawk Down in a stifling hot and crowded theater, I saw Enter The Void on the big screen a couple nights ago in a highly altered state, and now I watched In the Mouth of Madness in a theater on a planet that is currently doing its best impression of latter-day Peter Falk -- stumbling around confused, angry and scared.

Throughout the entire film, you'll catch the occasional news report or radio broadcast about some crazy shit, and I like how that the characters in the film are in their own worlds, away from all that horrible shit, and it's not until the end of the film that SPOILERS YOU SENSITIVE ASSHOLES the mass hysteria eventually oozes its way to everything and it's too fuckin' late. That's kinda my worldview; we keep ignoring this shit happening Everywhere But Here and by the time we realize we have to do something, for all the good we'll do, we might as well get ourselves a large tub of popcorn and laugh ourselves to tears while we watch the show unfold. And we won't even need slimy tentacles or jagged jaws to get the party started, we'll do just fine on our own.

Shit man, real life is scarier than this movie, now that I think about it. I mean, in this movie, you can always blame it on those fuckin' Old Ones, but here in the real world we don't have a convenient otherworldly scapegoat to pin our fuck-ups on. There's another John Carpenter movie that had a similar effect on me, They Live, where it turns out it's not us fucking each other over in the name of Big Bucks, it's these goddamn formaldehyde faces from another planet that are pimping us out. If it was only that fucking simple -- if you ask me (you didn't) I'll take zombies, aliens, and motherfuckin' Cthulhu over Human Nature any day of the fuckin' week.

Anyway, it was a pretty scary movie, made scarier by my own wackpot/crackpot worldview and the wiry, skinny guy sitting in front of me; he eventually sat up unnaturally straight (the way we're all supposed to sit) and I swear I thought he was mutating right before my very eyes. To be fair, I was probably still tripping on reserves from last night's viewing of Enter the Void, so there's that too. There was a girl in the audience who would scream every once in a while and it made me sad because her screams never felt genuine. I was made even more certain of this during the end credits when out of nowhere she gave out another one of those I NEED ATTENTION screams, and I was made even more certain of my already certain certainty when outside of the New Bev she gave one more scream as we walked down the residential sidewalk -- giving the sleeping residents yet more fuel for the fire of what I'm sure will one day be a Formal Complaint against all those damn kids and their 2 a.m. exodus after a late night at the New Bev.

In conclusion, I think this movie would make a good double-bill with Memento because they're both wide-screen films about two smarmy insurance investigators (played by Down Under actors passing themselves off as Americans) getting owned by something they could never truly comprehend. The End.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Medium is the new large (popcorn)

The movie was going to start at 2pm and I thought I was ahead of the curve by arriving one hour earlier, but as I drove past the New Beverly Cinema at approximately 12:55pm and saw the line stretching out all the way down to Lulu's Cafe, I was like Of Course I'm An Asshole. Hello lady and gentleman, this is me talking about going to see Kill Bill: The Whole Bloody Affair.

Filmmaker Quentin Tarantino -- as opposed to pastry chef Quentin Tarantino -- had been programming March's schedule at the New Bev, and on the final week he would end it with a week-long engagement of his combined version of both volumes of Kill Bill. Tickets went fast, I know that because I was one of the motherfuckers constantly clicking the Refresh button on my browser minutes before they went on sale. Because of this, the New Bev has not only extended the run another week, they made the last two days (April 6/7) only available to purchase at the box office. That will be interesting to see, how that line ends up looking.

I went yesterday, the first day at the first showing, mostly because I liked the idea of having the rest of the day available to do nothing but check e-mails and harbor resentments against my few friends and acquaintances for real/imagined slights. The line was long, but we all had tickets, so I was able to substitute the panic of not getting in for the panic of not getting a good seat. It turned out I ended up sitting behind Mr. Tarantino again, as I did during the Grindhouse screening. He was sans brother Rodriguez, but he remained consistent in that his guests' were predominately female (Omar Doom was one of the few men in the group, so I'm guessing half of the ladies were with him, as it should be when you're one of the badass motherfuckers who killed -- fuck it, I'm not spoiling that one yet).

Did not expect QT to be there; it was his birthday that day, but it was also 2pm and if I was a rich Oscar-winning filmmaker, I wouldn't be getting out of bed until at least 2:30, but as it was, he was there in his green and black hooded sweatshirt. There's eavesdropping and can't-help-but-overhear, and since I was sitting behind the guy, I think I belong in the latter category; it sounded like he was talking about Tron Legacy and how he dug what he saw as a re-envisioning of the original film's visuals. It was interesting and fitting with his "tell me what you like, not what you don't like" philosophy, that I never heard him actually say that he liked the movie.

He also mentioned how the original Tron didn't leave as much of an impression on him as the arcade adaptation did. Someone said something about how watching Tron Legacy in 2D was like watching Captain EO without the 3D glasses, and QT laughed, saying he was going to use that line. Then he used a line from Death Proof, the one about "if you want to hang with the cool kids, you gotta be cool" or something like that, I don't remember, I'm fuckin' tired.

Before the film, a couple guys on stage were selling limited edition (of 600) posters of Kill Bill, drawn by someone respected, I'm sure. Anyway, they were $50 each and I'm just not quite at that disposable income level yet, so I didn't get one. You should get one, though. Get me one, too, while you're at it.

The pretty woman working the concession stand had a way about her that put me at ease, for some reason, she just did. For all I know, she could be cracking whips at the other employees behind closed doors, but the lady who served me my popcorn had a nice aura about her and strangely enough, did not have a single whiff of hipster about her, unlike the rest of us. She must be a Torgan, I thought to myself. Further thoughts ended with me concluding that a high-strung, overly sensitive piece-of-shit like me would only find peace in a utopia where all the people working behind counters of any kind were of the Torgan lineage.

While I NOM NOM NOM'd the popcorn, a girl I recognized from the stand-by line was walking up the aisle and then did a complete about-face right after passing Quentin's row -- excited recognition. She seemed cut from the Quirky cloth and in the movie of her life, she would be played by Alison Lohman; her blonde hair was mostly done up in something that reminded me of Princess Leia's hairdo, she was wearing a frilly white blouse and leopard print pants with matching suspenders. She carried a leopard print coat that completed the ensemble. She looked down toward Quentin and from where I was sitting I could see her eyes tear up, her form slightly trembling (as was her voice).

"Remember me?" she asked, and I suddenly felt my head tilt down towards the floor. QT did not answer (probably steeling himself, preparing for the worst), so she continued. Something about how she met him last year at a cafe and that she proposed marriage to him -- my gaze was burning a hole into the floor at this point -- and then went on to shower effusive praise, telling Rapist #1 from Planet Terror how much she loved him, and she used that word, "love". I felt for this MPDG and I certainly wasn't judging her -- there but for the grace of ego, go I.  But I wanted her to shut the fuck up before things got worse for both of them. She was a cute girl from where I was sitting but QT probably gets model-quality tang on a daily basis, and besides, you never promise crazy a baby.

Thankfully, nothing followed; Quentin said he did remember her, then thanked her and she went back to her seat. Even more thankfully, Quentin and his crew did not turn into Mean Girls after she left, it didn't turn into them laughing as Stuntman Mike walks away after failing to sneeze (or whatever the fuck he was trying to do in that scene). Instead, they listened as Quentin was rather matter-of-fact in his recollection of running into the girl, and then they continued talking about other stuff.

Julia Marchese stepped up to the mic and led the entire audience in singing Happy Birthday to QT, and then the birthday boy went down and did his intro. As he began, camera flashes started going off, so one of his ladies got out of her seat and hurriedly walked over to Julia to tell her something. Julia then turned to the audience and asked us to please shut off all cameras. Not satisfied enough with Lady Marchese's request, Quentin's Gogo Yubari then took over and went schoolteacher on us, telling those with cameras to stop it. Out of respect for Quentin -- and fear of being sent to detention -- the audience members proceeded to stop photographing QT.

He talked about how this print of Kill Bill was presented in Cannes back in '04 (the year he was president of the jury) and it was screened out-of-competition and he mentioned that there were things in The Whole Bloody Affair that were not in Vol. 1 & 2, and that there were things in Vol. 1 & 2 that are not in The Whole Bloody Affair, likening this version to a 60's "roadshow" film like Battle of the Bulge, complete with an intermission. He also told us that this print was only screened two times before today; the first time at Cannes, the second in a private screening at the Alamo Drafthouse in Texas. Because of that, he told us, we would be the first public audience to watch The Whole Bloody Affair, which we reacted to by cheering because we're special or something.

It was going to be a long ride, so he quickly wrapped it up by thanking us for wishing him Happy Birthday, and then told us that he picked trailers of films that were in one way or another some of the inspirations for Kill Bill. To the best of my weed-damaged memory, we saw the following:

-- a jazzy ad for Dr. Pepper (seen before at the Grindhouse screening)

-- Pam Grier owning motherfuckers in Coffy

-- Sting of the Dragon Masters starring Angela Mao. I've seen this film before, when I was 11; I was studying taekwondo and was quite the fiend for it (the kind of little asshole who would go to the video store in his gi) and one day I saw this box for a movie called When Taekwondo Strikes. I was like Whaaa? A taekwondo movie that wasn't Best of the Best or Best of the Best 2? Huzzah! Anyway, that was an alternate title for Sting of the Dragon Masters. The trailer is awesome because Bernard Herrmann's North by Northwest score plays over it. But don't take my word for it, click here.

--The Million Eyes of Su-Muru with Frankie Avalon and Shirley Eaton. A bunch of hot chicks on an island doing their thing, and then fuckin' Beach Blanket Bingo shows up to shoot the shit out of them because he's the good guy, I guess. What a fucking asshole.

-- Rolling Thunder. If you don't know about Rolling Thunder, then man, you just don't fuckin' know.

-- They Call Her One Eye, the American re-edit of Thriller: A Cruel Picture. I met Christina Lindberg once at a screening of this movie; I pretty much acted like the girl I mentioned earlier, and she seemed genuinely creeped out by me. Par for the course, if you ask me.

-- Shogun Assassin, the American re-edit of the first 2 parts of the Lone Wolf and Cub series. Watching the trailer served as a setup for a pretty amusing callback for the audience near the end of Kill Bill. That John Landis-looking motherfucker Leonard Maltin did two things that will make him A-OK with me for life: he held open a door for me at the Egyptian Theatre, and he gave this movie three-and-a-half stars in his movie guide.

The film began, and this time when the late, great Sally Menke's name came up, Quentin was applauding along with everyone else -- his clapping was the loudest, and he was the last one to stop. 

I'm sure you've seen both volumes of Kill Bill, and it's safe to say that whatever your opinion on those films will be the same opinion with The Whole Bloody Affair. Me, I dug the hell out of both volumes. I dug how in the same way that Spielberg & Lucas took their beloved childhood cliffhanger serials and paid homage to them while taking that shit to the next level with Star Wars and the Indiana Jones flicks, QT took all those kung-fu, yakuza, exploitation, spaghetti western and grindhouse movies he grew up watching and made Kill Bill.

You see it even in the way certain sequences are shot; the Pai Mei stuff gets all crazy with the Shaw Brothers zooms and rack focusing, the House of Blue Leaves battle has the occasional tilted angles that look like 1970's Sonny Chiba is gonna come out at any moment, and the wedding chapel stuff (particularly the Bill/Bride dialogue) has a bit of the Leone-esque vibe, mixing wide shots with extreme close-ups of the characters faces -- and then, of course, there's all those feet shots. Always with the fuckin' feet shots. Me, I'm gonna have all the actresses in my movies wear glasses and everyone's gonna be like Dude, what is up with all the girls-in-glasses in your movies and I'm gonna be all coy about it, saying how it's not gratuitous, all the glasses shots have a reason for being there, unlike Jane Campion's movie which is nothing but gratuitous girls-in-glasses shots, tee-hee-hee.

To be safe, I'll try not to spoil anything too much in the off chance you still haven't seen this. It's been slightly re-edited to give that "roadshow" feel QT was referring to; the intermission break comes right after The Bride drops off a certain character at the hospital, and as a result, eliminating a major plot revelation that Vol. 1 closed with, and as a result of that result, the audience is no longer ahead of the main character in this version of the film.

This is the same print that was screened at Cannes, so we see the official Festival De Cannes logo at the beginning and French subtitles throughout (most amusing subtitle came up when Buck's "Pussy Wagon" is introduced: BAISODROME). The opening credits still proclaim this as Kill Bill Vol. 1, the end credits are from Vol. 2, and while QT has talked about adding an extra scene during the animated Origin of O-Ren sequence, it's not included in this print, so either they're still working on that for an eventual Blu-Ray or theatrical re-release or maybe that shit's just not gonna happen. 

As far as things that are no longer in this cut of the film, I remember the following: The Old Klingon Proverb no longer opens the film (a dedication to Kinji Fukasaku is in its place), the extended ending that closed Vol. 1 is gone (since we're going to see most of it later on anyway), and the Vol. 2 intro of Uma talking to the camera while driving to Bill's is gone too. As far as things added to this cut of the film, we now see the full uncut House of Blue Leaves sequence in color (I swear, somewhere along the way during that battle, the non-stop barrage of red blood and severed limbs became damn near hypnotic in its beauty -- beautiful ownage!) and I swear a couple dialogue scenes in the second half of the film seem to go on a tiny little bit longer (but then again, my memory of Vol. 2 is hazier than Vol. 1).

I'm running out of steam here, what else to say? Oh, OK, I noticed the women in the audience seemed to get a bigger kick out of O-Ren Ishii and Gogo Yubari doing their thing than the guys. One girl a couple rows ahead of me seemed absolutely delighted with Gogo's treatment of that drunk Ferrari-driving motherfucker -- was this a kind of wish-fulfillment thing going on, after a life of being accosted by unattractive men looking to pick up on her? Yeah, I wish I could disembowel the next loser who tries to hit on me!

There's a part when O-Ren tells her underlings how they shouldn't be afraid to speak up if they have an opinion on something or disagree with her. She says she's open to hearing them out as long as they hear her out in return. With the exception of the "I collect your fucking head" bit, that could also be something that maybe an Oscar-winning filmmaker might tell his cast and crew. I don't know, I'm just pulling even more stuff out of my ass than usual. Ready for more ass-out-pulling? Like, totally complete ass-out-pulling?

I like to amuse myself (and only myself) by interpreting the pre-battle House of Blue Leaves stuff as Quentin Tarantino and his entourage hitting up a hot nightspot. Quentin is O-Ren Ishii -- the Crazy 88's, his entourage. Like O-Ren, QT is fuckin' Boss of All Bosses in his field (provided that Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg, Terrence Malick, et al, aren't in the room) and I'm sure many an establishment was run by a person who told the staff that no matter what the VIPs demand, they gotta get that shit, no matter how fuckin' outlandish it is, you gotta satisfy their every whim with vim in this bitch. If Quentin's buddies want four pepperoni pizzas in this sake joint, that muthafuckin' Charlie Brown-looking muthafucka best get that shit right quick.

But then, in that case, who does The Bride represent -- Roger Avary, maybe? That motherfucker's blond-haired, so that shit could work. Do you find me sadistic, Roger? Taking your fuckin' Top Gun rant and using it for my own purpose? Uh, uh, motherfucker -- this is me at my most opportunistic. But to go with that interpretation would mean you'd have to go with the tragic assumption that QT has guilt about the whole intellectual property thing, and therefore is deserving of being revenged upon -- ah, but then again (like Budd says) so does Roger, so I guess we'll just see, won't we?

This combined version runs a little over 4 hours, even longer if you count the intermission (felt like at least 15 minutes were given to us), and yet it didn't feel long at all to me. I remember seeing Once Upon a Time in America at the Egyptian, that shit was a half-hour shorter than The Whole Bloody Affair and felt twice as long -- that might have something to do with that flick not having an intermission (what the fuck?), so I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. I never do, really.

As the end credits rolled, I overheard a girl a few seats down recognize the name Cheng Cheh. I wanted to tell the guy with her that she was a keeper, this chick who knew what the fuck a Cheng Cheh was. Then I was reminded of the Quentin fangirl from earlier (QT left during intermission, never came back, probably out of fear of the girl), and thought maybe I should follow my own ungiven advice, so I got up and looked for the leopard-printed lady.

There was a long line already formed outside for the 7pm show, this one even longer, snaking out even past Lulu's cafe and headed for the residential sidewalk. The standby line was as long as a regular movie night line, and then there was another line from the opposite direction, which I couldn't figure out. Down the street I saw her, the girl who wanted to take Quentin's hand in marriage, and I ran down until I caught up to her. Because I'm a fat fuck, I arrived completely drenched in sweat and out of breath. In between gulps of air, I told her that I may not be Quentin Tarantino, but maybe she'd like to join me for some pie, because I kinda have this thing where I like to go for pie after a movie and talk about it. She stood back, looked me over, and then very slowly, she smiled. I smiled back.

Then she yelled "RAPE!" and I ran away.

Somewhere in that last paragraph, I started making it up, which is sad because even in my fantasies I feel a need to be realistic.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Zoë Bell is better than you.

Playing hooky from school resulted in me getting Saturday detention, but when Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez played hooky from work, it resulted in Grindhouse. Go figure. As part of QT's birthday month, the man himself is programming the schedule at the New Beverly Cinema. There's a line that Harry Belafonte's gangster character says to Dermot Mulroney's hostage character in that dead drunken supremely-talented asshole Robert Altman's film Kansas City, and I vaguely remember it being something like "You hear that? (the music playing in the club) That's Count Basie. It's the only reason you're not dead yet." Well, I'm going to appropriate that shit, smack it up, flip it, rub it down (oh no!) and say that the New Bev is the only reason L.A. isn't dead to me.

When I drove past the theater, there were about 5 or 6 people in line. Ten minutes later, after finding a spot and taking a stroll around the block, the line was halfway down the block. Mr. Phil Blankenship would periodically walk down the line to make sure that everyone already bought their ticket online (it completely sold out online, anyone who wanted to buy a ticket that night had to wait in Standby). The huge turnout for tonight's screening of Grindhouse plus Machete reminded me of the two or three (or four?) screenings of Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World they had here, and how those shows played to a packed house; both films were disappointments at the box office but the fans are hard-fucking-core. Which made me think if there were just as many hardcore fans of the movies that beat Grindhouse during its initial release; would I see people line up around the block to see Wild Hogs at the New Bev? I highly doubt that.

A very familiar-looking man stepped up to someone in the line, and after a couple seconds I went Holy Shit It's Michael Biehn -- Kyle Reese! Cpl. Hicks! Johnny Ringo! -- dressed casually in his dragon print button shirt and black jeans and hiking boots (he looked like he was in a scene from the non-existent Navy Seals 2, chilling out and drinking beer with his bros on R&R until they all get paged because a group of terrorists have taken over an embassy or something). The man in line showed Biehn an album full of black & white artwork (storyboards? comic art?) and after a while of looking through them, Biehn took his leave and walked off with his lady companion who was not Sarah Connor, which is a good thing because the chances of the New Bev turning Tech Noir dropped dramatically once I realized that.

As I devoured (DEVOURED, I SAY) the delicious popcorn, and the theater slowly filled to capacity, Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez showed up. Biehn went up to Quentin and they hugged; he said something about how it's been a while since the last time they had spoken. Mr. Rodriguez -- a tall drink of water -- arrived suited and booted, and he not only managed to wear a cowboy hat without looking douchey or racist, he made that shit look pretty fuckin' cool. Quentin came dressed as Quentin.

They ended up sitting in front of my friend and I, and that was very cool. We were going to watch this movie with the guys responsible for it sitting close enough for me to uncomfortably breathe heavily all over them, clipping hairs from their head for the shrine I keep in my closet where I worship them Helga Pataki-style in my spare time; I have a lot of spare time. To Quentin's left were three ladies, which sounds about right, I'd complain if he had 2 or less. One arrived in the kind of sexy badass outfit one wears when riding a motorcycle in a movie; her belt buckle appeared to be a diamond-studded pistol. At one point, Quentin asked her for a large Diet Coke and I wondered if she was an assistant (or just a considerate friend) and perhaps that pistol was real and she was Quentin's "do-dirt nigga".

Like most of my fellow fanboys, I too considered the idea of going up to them and making a complete ass of myself. It's not like I wouldn't have anything to say, in fact, it's quite the opposite. I wanted to tell them how I had just completed my first feature and I had them to thank/blame. I wanted to tell them how they were the first filmmakers who I felt a kinship with, and that it was the 1993 one-two combo punch of seeing Reservoir Dogs on VHS and El Mariachi in the theater that gave my life a goal in that young age -- to go from accomplished film-watcher to wannabe filmmaker. I wanted to tell them how with their first films, Quentin Tarantino made me want to make movies and Robert Rodriguez told me that nothing was stopping me from making them.

Instead, I decided it was better to respect their space and leave them alone.

"Jungle" Julia Marchese began the intro by requesting people not to take photos or video and then QT and RR came down. Quentin talked about how this screening was especially, uh, special because it felt like he and his brother from another mother Rodriguez were coming full circle with this experience. They told the "hooky" story; Robert would watch 16mm prints projected on a white sheet in Quentin's blacked-out apartment (this was before Tarantino moved to plushier digs that are unfortunately located next door to Alan Ball's pterodactyls) and that Quentin sincerely declared/asked something to the effect of "Isn't this the life?". They told the Dragstrip Girl/Rock All Night story; Robert saw the poster for that double bill, said he had the same one at home, and then he immediately had a light bulb moment and brought up the idea for Grindhouse.

It also came out of wanting to share the experience of watching movies at Quentin's house; QT would screen 2, 3, 4 movies and have trailers and intermissions and ads -- Grindhouse would be a chance to do all that for audiences worldwide (well, audiences in the U.S. at least). They also mentioned how Rodriguez had his movie cast long before Tarantino cast his; to give the actors an idea of what kind of movies they were making, they screened Zombie (horror: this could never happen) and Torso (terror: this could happen) with trailers. Rodriguez's film would be full of show-stopping gore (like Zombie) and Tarantino's film would feature extended scenes of girls talking punctuated with the occasional brilliant kill scene, climaxing with a 20-minute long final setpiece (like Torso).

They also made sure to distinguish the "sickos" in Rodriguez's film as being "infected", not zombies. Quentin told a story about how he talked to director Umberto Lenzi (I'm assuming they were discussing Nightmare City) and referred to the bad guys in his film as zombies. Lenzi responded by getting all WTF about Quentin's use of the word "zombie", acting all confused before finally getting all Italian loud and declaring "THEY'RE-A EEEN-FEC-DED PEEEE-PUUULL!"

We were then told how we were going to watch Grindhouse as they originally intended it; with real trailers and ads included. The movie was already long, Quentin said, and I'm sure legal issues were also another reason why it wasn't released this way, but for us, the fans at the New Bev, this is how we'd be watching it. He told us that he and Robert would not be coming up to do a Q&A or talk more about the film, this would be a triple feature that would go: trailers, Planet Terror, trailers, Death Proof, trailers, Machete. Then they wished us a good time and sat down.

A guy went right up to Quentin to get his autograph or something and QT gave him the apparently-known-by-many shpiel of "Thanks, but I'm just trying to watch the movie like you..." or something like that. The lights went down and suddenly a guy in a powder-blue t-shirt with dark blue sleeves came walking quickly down the aisle, headed for the same row as Quentin but Julia (walking up the aisle) demonstrated her Bionic Woman engineering by lasering in on the pesky target and getting in front of him. She held up her hands, effectively blocking him in a polite manner that could also double for Don't Make Me Have To Push You. The lady Just Fucking Knew what this guy was up to and was going to put a stop to it. Whispered words were exchanged, but I managed to hear her tell him "Please go back to your seat" at the end of it, and that's just what he did.

I don't remember the order of the trailers and ads, but I'll do my best: a Coca-Cola advertisement, Lucio Fulci's The Psychic, Dario Argento's Deep Red, Sum Yung Guy's Deep Thrust, Lucio Fulci's Zombie, some Filipino's Women In Cages and I think that was it as far as the new trailers, followed by the Machete trailer and Planet Terror.

Now, I've written about Grindhouse before in one of my first ramblings on this here blog; it was my contribution to the far superior blog Final Girl and her Film Club. I haven't been there in a while, but I'm going to see if she's still doing the Film Club thing, I'd like to do another one. I think I might have even met the lady (if that was even her) behind that site at Eric Spudic's Movie Empire (which is now closed, unfortunately). She was working the counter and even offered to help me take my purchases to my car. I thanked her but figured I could handle it myself. Then she politely laughed at my stupid joke about how I'll probably drop them anyway. Then I went outside, and sure enough, I dropped the movies. Because my life is filled with nothing but new ways for me to choke on my spoon.

Anyway, yeah, I've rambled about Planet Terror and Death Proof already and it's interesting to read (for me, not for you) because I was well into an alcoholic depression (with the occasional rage-filled moment of levity) during that time of my life. Don't clap for me yet, 12-steppers, I don't drink anymore but I do love me some pot -- but at least I'm not depressed anymore. So if you want my detailed (read: way too fucking long) thoughts on the extended versions of both films, click on this motherfucker.

I will say a couple things about the films, I'm now of the opinion (or at least as of this moment in time) that the shorter Grindhouse versions of both movies are superior. For a while, my ideal version of Grindhouse was the theatrical cut of Planet Terror (the pacing moves like a MUTHAFUCKA) and the extended version of Death Proof. But now, I like my Death Proof shorter as well. Sure, there are moments that I'll be missing, like the full Michael Parks monologue or that awesomely creepy photo-taking sequence, but I can always enjoy those scenes separately on the Blu-ray. I really don't give a shit about buying Italian Vogue (even though I liked seeing Nicky Katt pop up) and I'm not getting anything out of Kurt Russell fondling Rosario Dawson's feet, since I'm not the one fondling them. I once made a DVD with the extended versions of both movies along with the Zombie/Wright/Roth trailers taken from an Internet source, but after watching it once, I gave it to my cousin.

With repeated viewings, a dim motherfucker like me starts to notice and appreciate things more from these films. My third favorite scene in Death Proof (following the entire car chase sequence and the first crash) is when Jungle Julia texts Christian Simonson. She's excused herself to a closed-off section of the bar, away from the loud music of AMI the jukebox. The bar music on the soundtrack is eventually drowned out by Pino Donaggio's score from Blow Out ("Sally and Jack", I believe) and she's sending him lovey-dovey messages. It's like this is Jungle Julia without the tough don't-give-a-shit persona she's been putting up in front of everyone else for the rest of the film. This is a personal, non-guarded moment and I think she genuinely likes the dude, this dude who probably doesn't give a shit about her. I mean, for all she knows, that guy was probably texting back his "Me Too" message while getting a fuckin' lap dance. She's making Stuntman Mike feel like a heel and talking shit about that skinny fake-blonde bitch at the bar, but she's probably hiding the fact that she's also a little touchéd herself.

At least that's how I like to see it. I'm probably wrong, like I was wrong about the scene in Jackie Brown (still my favorite QT joint) when Robert Forster firsts sees Pam Grier and Bloodstone's "Natural High" starts to play on the soundtrack. I thought that was supposed to underscore Forster's love-at-first-sight moment, but then on the DVD, QT is talking about how that was just a moment for people to go "Ahhh!" because it's an awesome song, and how the only people who really got that scene were black people -- and Quentin, of course, because he's black too.

A couple moments watching Grindhouse with the directors in front of me stood out; The first was right after the Machete trailer when a blocky 70's-style Weinstein Company logo came up with the announcer saying "Brought to you by your friends at the Weinstein Company!" Right after that, Quentin glanced over to Robert and Pretty Girl With The Diamond Pistol Belt Buckle beside him. Oh how I wish I had the ability to interpret that glance! What did it mean? What was the emotion behind it? Only Quentin and those he shared his glance with know for sure. Also when the late Sally Menke's credit in Death Proof came up, everyone else in the room burst into applause and cheered -- all but Quentin, who slowly nodded for a while. 

After Grindhouse, there was about a 20-minute break (and the exodus to the toilets and concession stand began). Some guy walked up to Quentin and Robert and thanked them for the good times, and QT/RR graciously thanked him back. Quentin then said "Love your tailor!", referring to the man's Grindhouse t-shirt. I talked with my friend for a bit, then checked my messages (zero, as usual), then went to say goodbye to the Cherry Coke I had gotten intimately acquainted with during Grindhouse. I got in line to use the head and saw that Mr. Rodriguez was in front of me, probably looking to relieve himself of some Cerveza Chango.

When you're a famous filmmaker, you have to make peace with the fact that people are going to ask for autographs or talk with you while you wait to use the toilet; Rodriguez signed quite a few pictures and posters and was being incredibly nice the entire time. If he was annoyed, he was hiding that shit like a pro. The powder blue shirt guy (aka the guy who almost probably got his ass handed to him by Golden Earrings in the name of Quentin's comfort) went up to RR and shook his hand. After that guy left, the guy in front of Rodriguez then turned to Robert and said "Man, you can't even pee in peace!" and then followed it up with "So how was it like working with Lindsay Lohan?"

After the break, a new reel of trailers started: a jazzy bebop-ish ad for Dr. Pepper, Chinese Hercules (starring Bolo Yeung aka That Buff Asian Dude From Bloodsport), some crazy nunsploitation flick called The Lady of Monza (the trailer consisted of people getting whipped, smacked, punched, kicked, and I think even banged -- it's a movie about nuns), something called Ride In A Pink Car, muthafuckin' Charlie Bronson breaking out muthafuckin' Robert Duvall in Breakout, and a teaser for something called Teenage Hitchhikers (dialogue and narration playing over a slow revolving zoom out of what appeared to be the poster, if I recall somewhat correctly).

Machete followed. I saw it back in October and liked it, but felt a tad letdown. It's a sad irony (or whatever the right fuckin' word is) that ultimately this was yet another example of a movie that wasn't as good as the trailer. You have Danny Trejo, the 21st century Charles Bronson, fucking motherfuckers up in the worst possible ways using knives and various other stabbing/slashing/impaling implements all in the name of the illegal immigrants who are trying to make a shitty living doing shitty jobs -- and I was left wishing there was more of that. My buddy loved it, though; I think he even liked it more than Death Proof.

The good outweighs the bad, but the bad is still pretty fuckin' heavy; the movie feels too slow at times and that's kind of a shock because Rodriguez is usually aces in the pacing department (remember long ago, when I told you how I thought Planet Terror's pacing moves like a MUTHAFUCKA?) but to me, this one doesn't really feel like it's headed anywhere. Usually, you can feel that shit, like we're headed into the home stretch, but in this one, I sure as fuck couldn't. By the time Machete is leading an army of low-riders into the final battle, I knew I was watching the prelude to the Big Battle, and yet, it didn't feel like it, if that makes any sense and it probably doesn't.

Robert DeNiro's character, he's this senator who's running for re-election on a campaign of no amnesty for illegals and building an electrified fence at the border, and I think his ads where he refers to the illegals as "parasites" and uses images of cockroaches and maggots, well, it didn't seem so funny to me because I can totally buy that happening in real life. I think Rodriguez was trying for Satire and took an unplanned left turn into Straight Up Fuckin' Accurate. Shit, check any news message board on the subject, those motherfuckers are already talking that kind of shit -- hell, it's probably even worse. It's really just a matter of time before we see real ads like that, making illegals synonymous with insects. I'm still not convinced that DeNiro's speech where he keeps mocking the idea of "change" wasn't taken word-for-word from some politician going off on that socialist/commie/America-hating/tax-loving Obama (or "Nobama", as the clever like to call him).

Steven Seagal is awesome, and if you don't agree with me, then you're probably Kelly LeBrock. I probably even like him more as a fat guy, but I'm down with either version -- which I guess makes him the Alec Baldwin of martial artists. I love that they cast him not only as the bad guy, but a Mexican drug kingpin named Torrez. That description sounds like it was taken straight from the fantasy movies that play in the cinema of my imagination. He doesn't disappoint, either; he speaks with an accent, occasionally throws in some Spanish (he's particularly fond of calling people "puñeta").

The rest of the cast is great; Don Johnson does his best Michael Parks impression, Lindsay Lohan does a good job remaining somewhat relevant, Cheech is Cheech (always a good thing), Jeff Fahey speaks in such a low growling voice you could probably play his scenes to test your subwoofers, Nimrod Antal is way better an actor than you'd expect, and goddamn Jessica Alba and Michelle Rodriguez are making it difficult for me to live life knowing I'll never get to bang them. We already know about Alba's hotness capabilities, but I was especially (pleasantly) surprised by M.Rod's bringing-of-the-sexy in this one. She didn't do much for me back in the day, but now, I don't know if it's because they usually cast her in butch roles or she hadn't fully blossomed yet, but I see her in Machete and she manages to combine that hardass aspect she brings with a large degree of absolute smokin' heat.

I wonder about that. I thought it was good filmmaking that did it, but I recently watched a video clip from a radio show where the host was recording his guest and in the middle of it, Michelle Rodriguez walks down the hall with her entourage, on her way to another show. They say Hi to her and she winks back. After she's gone, the guest turns to the host and talks about how hot she is in person, and what a shame it is that Hollywood's been dyking her up all these years.

Anyway, Robert Rodriguez co-directed this movie with his protege Ethan Manquis, maybe that's why this one doesn't have that same, uh, I don't know, snap to it that his other movies have. It really only comes to life during the action, and even then, half of the action is frustratingly standard-looking, while the other half is wildly inventive. It also seems to have the same problem that Once Upon A Time In Mexico had -- the film seems more interested in the supporting characters than the fuckin' main dude. Look man, in the end, I dug it, but goddamn, I really wanted to see the movie I thought I was going to get from the trailer. As it is, it feels like I'm watching a different movie with the occasional scene from the trailer thrown in -- which come to think of it, is EXACTLY what this movie is. Don't I feel like a fuckin' tonto.

The audience response was interesting. There wasn't as much cheering or laughing as with Grindhouse. There was the occasional WOOOO but I think it was the same guy doing it. Some of the jokes fell flat (regardless of whether they were funny or not) and got no response, and some bits that I didn't expect to get a reaction were rather well-received. Quentin seemed to really dig the movie, though. Some of the loudest laughs came from him, and on occasion, only the laughs came from him. But before you say What The Fuck Are You Implying, calm down puñeta, I'm not implying anything -- trust me, his were as sincere and genuine a fuckin' laugh as you will ever hear. These guys are best friends, and as such probably share the same sense of humor. It happens, I guess -- sometimes the audience is going to be on a different wavelength but as long as you're still getting laughs and as long as the audience is still cheering every once in a while, what's the problem?

The triple feature ended, and a great time was had by most (I can't assume for all of you). Quentin and Robert stuck around during the credits, talking to each other. My buddy and I ended up chilling outside for a while, me yapping incessantly while he smoked his cigarette. Eventually, RR went outside and signed some autographs. By the time we decided to take off, I looked over to see RR and QT listening intently while Clu Gulager (wearing a Marine Corps jacket -- once a Marine, always a Marine) talked to them about whatever. I felt like turning in their direction and shouting THAT'S RIGHT MOTHERFUCKERS, WHEN CLU SPEAKS, YOU FUCKIN' LISTEN, but then I remembered that I while I may be stupid, I'm not bloody stupid and instead I drove my friend to Norms, where I spent my meal being stared at by a bald smiling tattooed man in the booth in front of me, only occasionally breaking eye contact with me to look down at a sketchpad he was furiously drawing on.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Gym employees have no sense of humor, and if they do, it's an extremely wack sense of humor from another planet

So the doctor, he fixed my ear up; it wasn't permanent damage, just something a little antibiotic and steroids can fix. Feeling the sudden violent mood swings brought on by the latter drug, I wondered aloud if I should start beating the shit out of women while lifting weights or something. He said perhaps it's best to start incorporating some physical activity into my life, something more than just getting up to grab another Hot Pocket to toss into the microwave. Sure whatever, asshole. I mean, this doc, he was watching Hot Fuzz in his office, which happened to be across from the exam room where I was waiting inside for a long time. I could hear the unmistakable David Arnold ass-kicking music coming from the closed door and I was sitting there unable to even call a motherfucker because of the sign that said NO CELL PHONE WHILE INSIDE EXAMINATION ROOM. Also, my doctor looks like Guillermo Del Toro and he's giving me shit about my shape, so Double Dumbass on you, I say.

How do you really convince someone like me to visit a gym, to get a little of that physical activity he was talking about? You tell the asshole to visit one of these Gold's Gym joints and visit their "Cardio Cinema" room, a small darkened theater made up of a big screen, projector and treadmills in place of seats. They only play one film per day, played on a loop so if you come in late, you can catch up with the rest later if you're still running/walking/cycling by then. Sounded like an easy way to burn some calories; letting the on-screen events distract me as my heart-rate level was somewhere around 300 and all I was doing was walking. Fat fuck.

The guy at the gym explained how great the Cardio Cinema room is, and how it's outfitted with surround sound and IMAX. Yup, he said IMAX and it took every ounce, fiber, molecule, muscle, and belief inside me to not go right up to his face, look him in the eye, and go "BULLSHIT!!!!!" like Chow Yun-Fat in the English-dubbed version of Hard Boiled. Instead, I just nodded, pretending I was the kind of person who would buy that shit.

It's not like I was expecting The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, but the choices are relatively "safe" middle-of-the-road fare, and maybe even "middle-of-the-road" could be considered too kind, if yesterday's choice is any indication: Killers, a movie I never wanted to see because it starred two people who I'm 99.7 percent sure are insufferable douchebags in real life. There's another movie called Killers, starring nobody you know and directed by the guy who ended up creating The Asylum production company, responsible for those quickly-made low-budget DTV cash-ins of films currently playing in non-cardio cinemas -- I didn't even like that movie but I was really hoping I was watching that one instead.

I guess I could've gone to a regular treadmill instead, but I've gone through that before, that shit makes me feel all too aware that I'm exercising and even the music or the closed-captioned televisions aren't going to distract me enough. I'm here, so I should try this Cardio Cinema regardless of today's fare, I said to myself. I'm going to do a quick rundown on this one, because you really shouldn't be worrying about spoilers on this shit, and it's not like you're gonna read this anyway.

So the movie starts with the Female Douchebag From Knocked Up on a trip to Nice, France with her parents, played by awesome non-douchebags Tom Selleck and Catherine O'Hara. I feel bad for O'Hara, strictly on a She's Better Than This level; I'm sure she makes a nice chunk of change doing these movies a favor by being in them, but it still stings a bit that she and other SCTV gods like Eugene Levy also have to appear grateful for that shit. No wonder Rick Moranis said Fuck That Shit and got out of the game. No wonder John Candy's dead. I hope at least the people behind movies like Killers, New York Minute and Surviving Christmas understand that the only good they provide to this world is affording Levy and O'Hara the opportunity to appear in better movies, like those improv joints from that asshole Christopher Guest.

Female Douchebag is recently single and she meets this guy who's good looking in a This Guy's A Major Tool kinda way, played by Punk'd The Douchebag. Punk'd is supposed to be a secret agent/assassin type, and I say "supposed" not because his identity is mysterious or something, I say "supposed" because we're supposed to buy that shit, that this douche can fuck up some tough Frenchie and snap his neck. Whatever, douche. If anything, I'd sooner believe that while they were filming this, Punk'd got a little too rough on the stuntman fighting opposite him and nearly got his ass handed to him as a result.

I can picture it; the stuntman steps back and says to him (in a Cockney accent) that one more stupid mistake like that and he's going to twist Punk'd's nutsack off and place it between his asscheeks, a position more becoming to him, he'd reckon. Then Punk'd the Douchebag starts crying to his army of bodyguards to get between him and Angry Cockney Stuntman, then and only then starting to feel tough. So yeah, Punk'd meet-cutes Female Douchebag after doing a hit (he blew up some helicopter, killing his mark and a most likely innocent helicopter pilot) and they begin a wonderful douchebag courtship while enjoying the nice beaches and nice vistas of, uh, Nice.

Selleck's character is overly protective of his daughter, even making sure her hotel room is adjacent to his. He's always going on about her safety. I want you to remember that for later. Anyway, Punk'd ends up turning down a hit from his boss, played by yet another funny actor slumming it and having to look happy about it, Martin Mull. The only reason I don't feel as bad for Mull is because Patton Oswalt once referred to him as being an asshole; it was one of those arguments for Don't Meet Your Heroes, and the flipside to that coin according to Oswalt, was that he then met Carrot Top (not a hero of Oswalt's) and found him to be one of the nicest guys ever.

So cut to three years later, and Punk'd the Douchebag is married to Female Douchebag and they live in a nice neighborhood somewhere in the tax-incentive-giving state of Georgia. Punk'd has some kind of job in construction where he works out of an office and occasionally visits a site to tell the Mexicans what's what while still dressed in his clean white corporate wear, probably getting that shit dirty and not caring because I'M AWESOME or whatever douchebag mantra is filling his mind at the moment (he learned from the smaller, less-popular sub-sect of Transcendental Meditation called DTM, and I don't even have to tell you what that shit stands for. Meanwhile, Female Douchebag works in an office or something.

It's quite a thing to watch Punk'd's interactions with others; his response to everything is to make a condescending Whatever Loser look after the other person is done talking. For all I know, the character in the screenplay is supposed to be likable, but because of the actor playing him, he just seems like the smarmiest, most-asshole-like, I'm Better Than You motherfucker I've seen in quite some time. I guess this is what fans of Punk'd like about him, this is why they spend their hard-earned money to go see his shit movies, they love watching this guy be an asshole because maybe they want to be just like him, and they've gone as far as the Ed Hardy shirt and the ironic trucker's cap, but that's it. They're still a cougar away from being him. That's the only thing separating those douches from this douche, because there certainly isn't a talent gap involved.

I mean, Lois Griffin from Family Guy shows up playing one of Punk'd's neighbors and she's doing the wacky neighbor thing and it's like Punk'd couldn't even play it like he's amused by her. Later in the film you find out she's a hired assassin and I think that's supposed to be a surprise except Punk'd is already treating her weird from the beginning -- and I don't think he's supposed to be playing it that way. It's like the director tried to pull Punk'd aside and explain to him that his character should be friendly with Lois Griffin because as far as he's concerned, she's just some lady. But Punk'd probably turned to this director and went, NAH THAT'S STUPID, BRO (Punk'd speaks in all caps) and then probably explained that his fans like to see him be a dick and not in an awesome Alec Baldwin/Will Arnett sort-of-way, it's more like he's a dick in the way that genuinely unpleasant people are dicks.

So suddenly in the middle of the movie, the Douchebags find themselves being attacked by friends and colleagues; Punk'd's co-worker attacks him in the kitchen with a knife, friendly deliverymen are firing machine guns at them, a horny sexed-up neighbor is trying to run them over. Now, Female Douchebag doesn't know why (she doesn't know about Punk'd's former life -- he confessed to her late one night about it, except she was asleep and didn't hear a word, and he thinks she did and took it rather well as a result) this is happening to them but Punk'd figures maybe it's related to his previous employment. Anyway, they start to bicker with the whole WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME/I TOLD YOU ALREADY deal, eventually leading into the I'm Pregnant plot point and along the way, many a product placement is made.

This is where I came in (and then stayed to watch the first half when the movie started over). I started working out halfway through the film, and I have to admit, it played rather well this way, not knowing why anything was happening. In fact, there was an almost Kafka-esque feel to it, watching this couple freaking out as all these people in this suburban setting try to kill them, and they can't even go to Big K-Mart to buy a pregnancy test without Usher showing up with a price gun and making Punk'd nervous that he might be One Of Them. There's a germ of a good idea there somewhere, in my unintentional reedit-by-way-of-watching-it-from-the-middle version. Not that it helps, it only made me want to go home and watch the chase scene from To Live and Die in L.A..

Usher's appearance, by the way, only made me wonder if this was set up by having Punk'd call his bros and ask them if they wanted to show up and have some fun. Most of them were out doing better things (probably out fishing with Mark Cuban, Chris Daughtry, Jeff Probst, Super Chef Bobby Flay and Adam Scott's character from Step Brothers). Damn. Usher seemed like an OK guy, but now I have to re-think that because of the company he keeps. It must've been unbearable on that set, those two bro-ing out while girls with no standards or self-respect were screaming and moistening their undergarments because OMG PUNK'D AND USHER ARE AT THE BIG K-MART.

The assassins are mostly played by people who unlike the stars of this film, are known for their comedic talents and sense of humor. They unfortunately are losers in the Who's More Attractive game against the stars, and that's where it really counts in Hollywood; Lois Griffin from Family Guy (shot in the head), some skinny dude (run over), some other skinny dude (neck snapped), real-life Marine Rob Riggle (who unfortunately probably had the decency to be nice to Punk'd behind-the-scenes, rather than putting him in a hurt locker -- his character gets crushed/impaled), Casey Wilson from SNL (shot in the head), and someone named Lisa Ann Walter (burned to death) who I remember from something for some reason. For a while, I thought the theme of this movie was Hot People Rule, Normal People Drool, but there is one hot chick who is trying to kill them, as well, she's like Punk'd's secretary or something, and she gets impaled by an antler chandelier that she was bitching about earlier in the movie, which I guess is irony or poetic justice or something.

For a good portion of the running time, there was an older Asian couple on the treadmills next to me. They seemed to really enjoy the movie, and good for them, I'm not holding it against them, I just wish they knew that the star of the movie is probably the kind of asshole who would wait for them to leave so he could start going Ching Chong Ching Ching Chong behind their backs, then high-fiving his bro about it ("now let's go date-rape some chicks!").

I wish the Asian couple didn't leave, because then this fat guy (fatter than me) in a red polo shirt and sweatpants stepped in and decided that he was going to let everyone know what he thought of this movie. He didn't seem to mind that people around him left their treadmills while he was trying to MST3k the feature. It was probably his way of working up the nerve to do an open-mic night at the local Chuckle Hut and bomb horribly with his observations about women until out of desperation he starts making jokes about those goddamn Mexicans and their Mexican music (this Chuckle Hut is located in Orange County), then they'd all laugh and he'd feel Awesome and now fully charged, he tries to pick up chicks with his shit Chris Farley impersonation -- and succeeds!

You cannot escape the talkers, even in the movie theater gym. I felt that even though this was a shit movie, this is still a movie theater setting and he should take that shit somewhere else. Nobody is forcing him to watch this. As for me, I was running in spite of the assholes on-screen -- I was running OUT of spite. I'm a spiting motherfucker. Besides, as shitty as the movie was, it still managed to distract me from the plain and simple fact that I was actually running. Running! For more than 10 seconds! It's probably even easier if you're doing it to a movie you like!

It got to a point that we were the only two left, and I sure as fuck wasn't going to leave, I had a good run going. Eventually, a cute girl got between me and Fat Guy In A Polo Shirt and he decided to give his running commentary to her, rather than me. I can sense her Oh Man, I Picked The Wrong Treadmill vibes and I'd feel sorry for her, but since she'd probably never give me the time of day, I felt nothing but a major amount of Serves You Right For Being Cute toward her. Instead, I cooled down and switched to another machine, leaving her with Mr. All My Friends At Work Say I Should Be A Comedian.

So at the end of the movie, it turns out that Selleck's character used to be a secret agent/assassin/whatever himself, and he was the original target that Punk'd The Douchebag was supposed to take down at the beginning. He thought Punk'd was after him, so he assigned sleeper agents to pretend to be Punk'd's friends and neighbors until they got the word from him. There was a misunderstanding when Martin Mull's character recently contacted Punk'd, and Selleck assumed the hit was back on, so he alerted the assassins and that's why Punk'd and Knocked Up spent the second half of the movie trying not to get killed. This from the guy who was nervous about the idea of his daughter sleeping in a hotel room that wasn't adjacent to his.
But now that everything is settled, and all the assassins are dead, it's all water under the bridge, I guess. Turns out Selleck's as big a douche as his daughter and son-in-law.

This was an asshole movie made by asshole people and starring a couple of assholes. There is the occasional cool person involved (some of the supporting cast, the cinematographer shot True Lies) but other than that, it's an asshole production. But I saw the whole thing, so that makes me the biggest asshole of the bunch. You know, I'm being hard on Katherine Heigl, I know people don't like her, but I'll let her slide. I take back all the Female Douchebag talk about her because she never hosted a prank show, she never called herself and Sean Combs "the new Rat Pack". I'm sure in between doing movies, reading scripts and raising her kid, Ms. Heigl probably likes to chill out by reading my blog, so I just want to make it clear that I don't really have a beef with her. But you're sure as fuck on probation, Heigl.

The action was OK, but it's more of that pre-Bourne old-movie-star style of action choreography where you don't believe for a second that Punk'd could fuck a guy up like that. People get shot and blown up, it's a touch more brutal than you'd expect from a no-blood PG-13 movie, and it probably hurts more to watch because it's happening to people you want to see accomplish their mission and live. Instead, Punk'd and Knocked Up win the battle and live on to have an asshole baby. Meanwhile, I'm sure some of these assassins had families at home who are going to receive either a phone call in the middle of the night, or a visit from Ben Foster and Woody Harrelson. And for what? Because fuckin' Magnum PI was afraid of dying from the very same sword he lived by? What a fuckin' asshole.

This movie made me sad. The only thing that makes me sadder is if they took the same script, same director and the same cast but replaced Punk'd and Knocked Up with, oh, I don't know, Matt Damon and Amy Adams, I'd most likely give this shit a pass, even though this is without a doubt, a shining example of a Piece Of Shit movie.

I don't know if I'll do it again, I mean, I like being sedentary and dying a slow blubberous death, but as far as yesterday goes, I adapted rather easily into this new world, this gym world, walking around and exposing my fat upper body and juicy man-titties in public. What I wasn't ready for was the odd mixture of guys who trot around naked in the locker room with those who are trying to save themselves a little decency by using a towel. I guess that's where the thousand-yard-stare comes into handy when you're now living with civilians who look at your man-bitch-tits while their wangs are flopping around too close to the hair gel.