You have all been emailing me NONSTOP about how much you love Horrible Bosses, so you will be delighted to hear that it made lots of money at the box office and thus is there already talk of a sequel!
I can't wait until the sequel gets made, and comes out in theaters, and makes lots of money, and then comes out on Streaming Laser Robot-Disc or however we watch movies IN THE FUTURE, and then all of you can come over to my house and we can make popcorn and watch a double-feature of The Hangover 2 and Horrible Bosses 2: Shit Is About to Get Horribler! and WE WILL ALL BE SO HAPPY!
Pillow fiiiiiiiiiiiiiight!
Showing posts with label Film Corner. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Film Corner. Show all posts
Film Corner!
Below, the trailer for the new Justin Timberlake vehicle, In Time, which, as you will soon discover, is a very clever pun. (No it's not. Clever, I mean. It is definitely a pun.) The writer and director of this movie is Andrew Niccol, who wrote and directed some films I liked very much (Gattaca; The Truman Show) but also came up with the story for The Terminal, that garbage film in which Tom Hanks plays a Latka Gravas who lives at the airport, so it could really go either way.
Anyhoo, IMDb informs me that In Time is about a future in which "people stop aging at 25 and must work to buy themselves more time, but when a young man finds himself with more time than he can imagine he must run from the corrupt police force to save his life." Meanwhile, the trailer informs me it is also about a future in which women retain the timeless choice between dude prop or dude trophy.
Once again, I will observe the bitter hilarity of a mind that can conceive of a concept in which a digital life clock counts down on every person's arm, but can't conceive of a concept in which women, and men of color, aren't marginalized supporting cast for a graduate of the Mickey Mouse Club.
To the trailer!
Text Onscreen: "In the late 21st Century, time has replaced money as the unit of currency." ("Time is money!"—My Dad, telling me to get busy dusting the living room if I want my $2 allowance, 1984.) More Text Onscreen: "At 25 years old, aging stops, and each person is given one more year to live." ("What is this shit?"—My Dad, if and when he sees this trailer, 2011.) More Text Onscreen: "Unless you replenish your clock, you die." I originally read this as "Unless you replenish your COCK," which I'm pretty sure is a concept developed by S. Freud.
Cue the action thriller music. Justin Timberlake's clock is ticking down. He wants more time. He is OUTRAGED that it costs four minutes for a cup of coffee when yesterday it cost three. He doesn't get paid as much time at work as he expected; he met the quota but OH SHIT the quota has gone up since last week.
He and his friend Roseanne Conner's Son-in-Law meet a dude at a bar who has a CENTURY in his clock. Everyone oohs and ahhs at the guy with the huge clock. Some other asshole wants the guy's clock. Justin Timberlake helps the white dude with the huge clock escape the white dude with the smaller clock through the bathroom window. No, I am not making this up.
They go back to the dude with the huge clock's apartment, where he tells Justin Timberlake that he is 105 years old, but he's had enough. He exposits some stuff about how there wouldn't be room for everyone if everyone had a clock as big as his: "How else could there be men with a million years, while most live day-to-day?"
I realize the clock is supposed to be a metaphor for money/power/influence, but the absence of women in this trailer, combined with the fact that the acquisition and exhibition of wealth in a patriarchal system is itself often a metaphorical dick-measuring contest, is severely undermining my appreciation of the profound existential and justice commentary to which I'm supposed to be paying attention, because all I can think is that this film should not have been called In Time but In My Pants.
Anyway!
Justin Timberlake tells the dude with the huge clock that he "sure as hell wouldn't waste it" if he had a huge clock, so, after Justin Timberlake falls asleep, the dude gives his huge clock to him. Justin Timberlake wakes up to find himself with a huge clock, and a message scrawled in the grime on the window of the loft: "Don't waste my time." MORE PUNS PLEASE!
Blah blah blah now people, namely Cillian Murphy, are after Justin Timberlake's huge clock. JT is meanwhile using his new huge clock to get access to fancy limos and dress-up parties in "New Greenwich." I think he sleeps with a call girl, but only realizes it when he sees that there's less time on his huge clock…? He gets introduced to some very clock-rich white dude's mother-in-law, wife, and daughter, who all look the same age and very much alike.
Eww.
Cillian Murphy shows up to nab JT. It's not clear why, exactly, Cillian Murphy wants to get him, except, I guess, for how we're supposed to infer that the government (or WHOEVER) always wants to crush any threat to their power, but if there are truly white dudes running around with million-year clocks, is a hundred-year clock really that threatening? I'm sure all will become clear IN TIME!
Justin Timberlake punches people and gets his huge clock the heck out of there by taking lookalike daughter played by Amanda Seyfried hostage. She wants to go home, but he won't let her, because she's his insurance policy blah blah blah. This kidnapping is obviously justified because he has a feeling they'll find him guilty whether they can prove it or not. Not only am I convinced, so is she! Cue the running while holding hands and the making out!
Montagery. A collection of random but suuuuuuuuuuuper trite quotes: "If you can buy loyalty, you can buy their trail." "For you to be immortal, many must die." "No one should be immortal, if even one person has to die." "How can you live with yourself watching people die right next to you?" "You don't watch; you close your eyes." "I'm going to make them pay; I'm going to take them for everything they've got."
Ah, okay. This is a treatise on privilege and is, in fact, just a retelling of Robin Hood. JT breaks into a time-bank (lulz) and steals a bunch of time, which he and Amanda Seyfried then hand out to people. "Take the time! It's free!"
More montagery. Evil white dudes with huge clocks say things about time getting into the wrong hands and upsetting the system. To underline that point, we get a scene of a poor black mother turning time over in her hands. Oof your racist symbolism.
THANK HEAVENS THAT NICE WHITE BOY WITH THE HUGE CLOCK IS GONNA SAVE EVERYONE.
"His crime," says someone who cares in voiceover, "wasn't taking time; it was giving it away."
Okay, player.
Anyhoo, IMDb informs me that In Time is about a future in which "people stop aging at 25 and must work to buy themselves more time, but when a young man finds himself with more time than he can imagine he must run from the corrupt police force to save his life." Meanwhile, the trailer informs me it is also about a future in which women retain the timeless choice between dude prop or dude trophy.
Once again, I will observe the bitter hilarity of a mind that can conceive of a concept in which a digital life clock counts down on every person's arm, but can't conceive of a concept in which women, and men of color, aren't marginalized supporting cast for a graduate of the Mickey Mouse Club.
To the trailer!
Text Onscreen: "In the late 21st Century, time has replaced money as the unit of currency." ("Time is money!"—My Dad, telling me to get busy dusting the living room if I want my $2 allowance, 1984.) More Text Onscreen: "At 25 years old, aging stops, and each person is given one more year to live." ("What is this shit?"—My Dad, if and when he sees this trailer, 2011.) More Text Onscreen: "Unless you replenish your clock, you die." I originally read this as "Unless you replenish your COCK," which I'm pretty sure is a concept developed by S. Freud.
Cue the action thriller music. Justin Timberlake's clock is ticking down. He wants more time. He is OUTRAGED that it costs four minutes for a cup of coffee when yesterday it cost three. He doesn't get paid as much time at work as he expected; he met the quota but OH SHIT the quota has gone up since last week.
He and his friend Roseanne Conner's Son-in-Law meet a dude at a bar who has a CENTURY in his clock. Everyone oohs and ahhs at the guy with the huge clock. Some other asshole wants the guy's clock. Justin Timberlake helps the white dude with the huge clock escape the white dude with the smaller clock through the bathroom window. No, I am not making this up.
They go back to the dude with the huge clock's apartment, where he tells Justin Timberlake that he is 105 years old, but he's had enough. He exposits some stuff about how there wouldn't be room for everyone if everyone had a clock as big as his: "How else could there be men with a million years, while most live day-to-day?"
I realize the clock is supposed to be a metaphor for money/power/influence, but the absence of women in this trailer, combined with the fact that the acquisition and exhibition of wealth in a patriarchal system is itself often a metaphorical dick-measuring contest, is severely undermining my appreciation of the profound existential and justice commentary to which I'm supposed to be paying attention, because all I can think is that this film should not have been called In Time but In My Pants.
Anyway!
Justin Timberlake tells the dude with the huge clock that he "sure as hell wouldn't waste it" if he had a huge clock, so, after Justin Timberlake falls asleep, the dude gives his huge clock to him. Justin Timberlake wakes up to find himself with a huge clock, and a message scrawled in the grime on the window of the loft: "Don't waste my time." MORE PUNS PLEASE!
Blah blah blah now people, namely Cillian Murphy, are after Justin Timberlake's huge clock. JT is meanwhile using his new huge clock to get access to fancy limos and dress-up parties in "New Greenwich." I think he sleeps with a call girl, but only realizes it when he sees that there's less time on his huge clock…? He gets introduced to some very clock-rich white dude's mother-in-law, wife, and daughter, who all look the same age and very much alike.
Eww.
Cillian Murphy shows up to nab JT. It's not clear why, exactly, Cillian Murphy wants to get him, except, I guess, for how we're supposed to infer that the government (or WHOEVER) always wants to crush any threat to their power, but if there are truly white dudes running around with million-year clocks, is a hundred-year clock really that threatening? I'm sure all will become clear IN TIME!
Justin Timberlake punches people and gets his huge clock the heck out of there by taking lookalike daughter played by Amanda Seyfried hostage. She wants to go home, but he won't let her, because she's his insurance policy blah blah blah. This kidnapping is obviously justified because he has a feeling they'll find him guilty whether they can prove it or not. Not only am I convinced, so is she! Cue the running while holding hands and the making out!
Montagery. A collection of random but suuuuuuuuuuuper trite quotes: "If you can buy loyalty, you can buy their trail." "For you to be immortal, many must die." "No one should be immortal, if even one person has to die." "How can you live with yourself watching people die right next to you?" "You don't watch; you close your eyes." "I'm going to make them pay; I'm going to take them for everything they've got."
Ah, okay. This is a treatise on privilege and is, in fact, just a retelling of Robin Hood. JT breaks into a time-bank (lulz) and steals a bunch of time, which he and Amanda Seyfried then hand out to people. "Take the time! It's free!"
More montagery. Evil white dudes with huge clocks say things about time getting into the wrong hands and upsetting the system. To underline that point, we get a scene of a poor black mother turning time over in her hands. Oof your racist symbolism.
THANK HEAVENS THAT NICE WHITE BOY WITH THE HUGE CLOCK IS GONNA SAVE EVERYONE.
"His crime," says someone who cares in voiceover, "wasn't taking time; it was giving it away."
Okay, player.
Nope
There are probably about a million reasons not to see the shitty new Smurfs film, but I'm just going to mention one: "Gutsy Smurf," the new smurf developed exclusively for the film, who is inexplicably Scottish, has ginger sideburns, wears a kilt, sports a tam-o-shanter style pom on his hat, and is described as "brave to a fault."
If you happen to see Iain, and he unaccountably requests that you raise his blood pressure, ask him what he thinks of "Gutsy Smurf." For additional raising of heart rate, helpfully offer that at least "Gutsy Smurf" isn't called "Cheap-Ass Drunk-Ass Smurf," and then work Shrek into the conversation.
It's not that he's offended; he's contemptuous.
And so am I.
If you happen to see Iain, and he unaccountably requests that you raise his blood pressure, ask him what he thinks of "Gutsy Smurf." For additional raising of heart rate, helpfully offer that at least "Gutsy Smurf" isn't called "Cheap-Ass Drunk-Ass Smurf," and then work Shrek into the conversation.
It's not that he's offended; he's contemptuous.
And so am I.
Film Corner! Review of Delhi Belly
by Shaker Aparna
[Trigger warning for rape culture, violence, misogyny, classism, fat hatred.]
So there's this Bollywood movie, Delhi Belly, which is fast becoming a cult phenomenon all over India. It's also playing in limited theaters in the US, where it's also very popular: On a recent weekday, we couldn't get tickets to two different shows at a Manhattan theater.
But, eventually, we scheduled a baby sitter and everything, and went to the AMC right in the middle of Times Square to see the movie, which was supposed to be a 'bold' movie, one made for the 'youth of India', supposedly an 'original, edgy, hilarious' movie, a movie that's collecting fabulous reviews and even better revenues.
Maybe, pushing thirty, I'm no longer the 'youth of India' or of anywhere else, because 'original, edgy and hilarious' doesn't really seem to mean what it used to.
So anyway, the movie is about three men, one or two in committed relationships, all three miserable in their lives. They're caught up in a typical undercover-transaction-gone-wrong situation, of which there are twenty movies made every year (so it's very original, yes), and end up getting a shit-load (hahahahaha! Oh wait, I didn't explain the part of the movie's toilet humor. But it's c-o-m-i-n-g!!) of stolen money, and they end up doing the right thing anyway with said stolen money. Along the way, the lead hero finds the woman of his dreams, and they blow through six frames a second of the most generous definition of humor that can exist.
And this is just one of about, oh, seven Hangover-inspired Bollywood movies (or virtual remakes) releasing this year. True Fact. For some reason, that pinnacle of Hollywood comedy seems to have really inspired Indian filmmakers. It must be those awesome characters in The Hangover—man about to be married to a hot but controlling girlfriend gets into a crazy situation that tests his manhood and he realizes and escapes the girl's clutches just in time, moving on to a far better, hotter, more compliant prospect; man in a bad job blows off his boss and asserts control; man objectifying every woman around is just a poor Galifianakis who can hardly be blamed for his normal maleness, because he can't get any, poor guy.
Part of what worries me about the reception of this film is it's not about whether or not some persons found the movie funny; it is about the unanimity of opinion in the editorials and the review columns, the unquestioning acceptance that this is 'edgy' humor, that this is "modern" and what India's Youth wants. Toilet jokes? It says something about our nation, but not exactly what you think it says. And even someone brought up on British sitcoms knows the toilet humor plays out in the first hour, then you need something else to keep it funny.
Not to worry, for with the main course of toilet humor, we also have rape jokes, fat jokes, lesbians-are-just-women-who-haven't-found-the-right-man (oh, yes, they did go there. Yes. The movie's very edgy and modern, you see!), slut-shaming, gender essentialism, any-guy-in-a-committed-and-respectful-relationship-is-a-sucker, and other such wonderful sources of Genuine Humor.
Since this is a 'heist gone wrong' genre movie, the stolen money (diamonds hidden in a Matryoshka doll—how original indeed) ends up with the typical deserving-but-clueless character. And who is this poor lucky sap? None other than a man who cheats on his wife (but of course, only because she is fat and because she 'henpecks' him). I mean, what else is the poor guy going to do—NOT go to a sex-worker? Oh, and even there he ends up with someone who incidentally is equally fat as his wife, hahaha, the poor guy is so incurably 'sweet' even the whores take advantage of him. Of course, if he only could've stood up for himself he could've gotten a better deal—a thin, pretty woman for his cash. But it's all good, because he ends up with all the thirty stolen diamonds, because he's such a good guy and this is a feel-good movie.
The humor (for that is what I take issue with; the triteness of the story and the predictability of the plot is to be expected from a mainstream Hindi Bollywood movie, really—like any other mainstream movie) rides squarely on the backs of women and the poor. It's so fucking edgy to joke about rape, so original and funny when a pervert operating as a photojournalist—one of the three leads, that too—takes advantage of his occupation to surreptitiously take pictures of an interviewee's body as free porn 'for himself'. This totally doesn't actually happen every day.
A woman screaming and panting in mortal fear for her life is played for the cruelest laughs, especially because the camera helps you focus on nothing but her heaving, sweaty bosom. Oh, a whimpering woman! Being toyed with! How hilarious!
But no, seriously. To Aamir Khan & Kiran Rao, both of whom also helped create the lovely, Academy-award nominated Lagaan (nominated ten years ago for Best Foreign Film): You can do SO much better. You've actually worked together to create funny, heart-warming, touching movies that don't insult the audience, that don't demand I leave my brains and logic behind to have fun or to be part of a 'modern' movie.
For instance, not only is it illogical, it is also NOT hilarious when a spurned boyfriend—another one of the leads—fantasizes about beating/humiliating his ex-girlfriend or hopes that the girl is abused and ill-treated by her family, and it's played for audience laughs, especially when it is abundantly clear that said girl is going through an arranged marriage under pressure from the same family. And most hilarious of all (by which I mean embarrassingly out of touch) is that the main lead feels victimized and manipulated by being offered dowry. Oh, the shame of it, poor lad, being offered a free car and a free apartment by his fiancee's parents! The villains here are the parents, of course, not the poor guy who's just being sweet in accepting the gifts! For that situation to be played for laughs in a country and a context where there are still hundreds of women dying dowry deaths EVERY DAY seems not just like ignorance to privilege but like willful, deliberate cruelty.
Even the random sidewalk characters, in this case an old White (presumably American) couple visiting India for their wedding anniversary, bring in their own share of sexist stereotypes—the old man clearly being a henpecked, sex starved, but lovable old creep.
The lead, a young upcoming actor called Imran Khan, plays a man so beaten down by society, so unable to stand up (joke, joke!) for himself that he actually performs oral sex on his girlfriend. Poor sap. And still the ungrateful woman complains and complains about his facial hair, his one concession to manhood; doesn't she know how good she's got it? So he's such a loser, but by the end of the movie he's turned into a Real Man (TM), and kisses his new girl like he owns her, and punches a rival in the face! In the face! Yay! He's so DUDEly now! And this is very, very modern, of course. Very unlike all those boring old Hindi movies where they had a macho hero punching rivals and kissing women. But this is different.
It's sad, because, off-screen, Imran Khan seems like a really nice person, the rare Bollywood actor who seems to respect the women in his life and has a strong personal core, separate from the glamorous world of his occupation, a very normal, not especially privileged childhood. He's seen his parents' marriage break-up, and that points to a grounded family that's dealt with issues in a realistic way, unlike Imran's contemporaries (one of whose parents have felt compelled to stick together despite very public instances of domestic abuse by his father against his mother). It's sad that such a guy like Imran feels he needs to be an assholey dude, a misogynist to make it in the Hindi film industry.
But yes, that's what you get when a whole industry looks to The Hangover for inspiration, and the entire world is willing to pretend that age-old oppressions exploited for laughs is "cutting edge."
[Trigger warning for rape culture, violence, misogyny, classism, fat hatred.]
So there's this Bollywood movie, Delhi Belly, which is fast becoming a cult phenomenon all over India. It's also playing in limited theaters in the US, where it's also very popular: On a recent weekday, we couldn't get tickets to two different shows at a Manhattan theater.
But, eventually, we scheduled a baby sitter and everything, and went to the AMC right in the middle of Times Square to see the movie, which was supposed to be a 'bold' movie, one made for the 'youth of India', supposedly an 'original, edgy, hilarious' movie, a movie that's collecting fabulous reviews and even better revenues.
Maybe, pushing thirty, I'm no longer the 'youth of India' or of anywhere else, because 'original, edgy and hilarious' doesn't really seem to mean what it used to.
So anyway, the movie is about three men, one or two in committed relationships, all three miserable in their lives. They're caught up in a typical undercover-transaction-gone-wrong situation, of which there are twenty movies made every year (so it's very original, yes), and end up getting a shit-load (hahahahaha! Oh wait, I didn't explain the part of the movie's toilet humor. But it's c-o-m-i-n-g!!) of stolen money, and they end up doing the right thing anyway with said stolen money. Along the way, the lead hero finds the woman of his dreams, and they blow through six frames a second of the most generous definition of humor that can exist.
And this is just one of about, oh, seven Hangover-inspired Bollywood movies (or virtual remakes) releasing this year. True Fact. For some reason, that pinnacle of Hollywood comedy seems to have really inspired Indian filmmakers. It must be those awesome characters in The Hangover—man about to be married to a hot but controlling girlfriend gets into a crazy situation that tests his manhood and he realizes and escapes the girl's clutches just in time, moving on to a far better, hotter, more compliant prospect; man in a bad job blows off his boss and asserts control; man objectifying every woman around is just a poor Galifianakis who can hardly be blamed for his normal maleness, because he can't get any, poor guy.
Part of what worries me about the reception of this film is it's not about whether or not some persons found the movie funny; it is about the unanimity of opinion in the editorials and the review columns, the unquestioning acceptance that this is 'edgy' humor, that this is "modern" and what India's Youth wants. Toilet jokes? It says something about our nation, but not exactly what you think it says. And even someone brought up on British sitcoms knows the toilet humor plays out in the first hour, then you need something else to keep it funny.
Not to worry, for with the main course of toilet humor, we also have rape jokes, fat jokes, lesbians-are-just-women-who-haven't-found-the-right-man (oh, yes, they did go there. Yes. The movie's very edgy and modern, you see!), slut-shaming, gender essentialism, any-guy-in-a-committed-and-respectful-relationship-is-a-sucker, and other such wonderful sources of Genuine Humor.
Since this is a 'heist gone wrong' genre movie, the stolen money (diamonds hidden in a Matryoshka doll—how original indeed) ends up with the typical deserving-but-clueless character. And who is this poor lucky sap? None other than a man who cheats on his wife (but of course, only because she is fat and because she 'henpecks' him). I mean, what else is the poor guy going to do—NOT go to a sex-worker? Oh, and even there he ends up with someone who incidentally is equally fat as his wife, hahaha, the poor guy is so incurably 'sweet' even the whores take advantage of him. Of course, if he only could've stood up for himself he could've gotten a better deal—a thin, pretty woman for his cash. But it's all good, because he ends up with all the thirty stolen diamonds, because he's such a good guy and this is a feel-good movie.
The humor (for that is what I take issue with; the triteness of the story and the predictability of the plot is to be expected from a mainstream Hindi Bollywood movie, really—like any other mainstream movie) rides squarely on the backs of women and the poor. It's so fucking edgy to joke about rape, so original and funny when a pervert operating as a photojournalist—one of the three leads, that too—takes advantage of his occupation to surreptitiously take pictures of an interviewee's body as free porn 'for himself'. This totally doesn't actually happen every day.
A woman screaming and panting in mortal fear for her life is played for the cruelest laughs, especially because the camera helps you focus on nothing but her heaving, sweaty bosom. Oh, a whimpering woman! Being toyed with! How hilarious!
But no, seriously. To Aamir Khan & Kiran Rao, both of whom also helped create the lovely, Academy-award nominated Lagaan (nominated ten years ago for Best Foreign Film): You can do SO much better. You've actually worked together to create funny, heart-warming, touching movies that don't insult the audience, that don't demand I leave my brains and logic behind to have fun or to be part of a 'modern' movie.
For instance, not only is it illogical, it is also NOT hilarious when a spurned boyfriend—another one of the leads—fantasizes about beating/humiliating his ex-girlfriend or hopes that the girl is abused and ill-treated by her family, and it's played for audience laughs, especially when it is abundantly clear that said girl is going through an arranged marriage under pressure from the same family. And most hilarious of all (by which I mean embarrassingly out of touch) is that the main lead feels victimized and manipulated by being offered dowry. Oh, the shame of it, poor lad, being offered a free car and a free apartment by his fiancee's parents! The villains here are the parents, of course, not the poor guy who's just being sweet in accepting the gifts! For that situation to be played for laughs in a country and a context where there are still hundreds of women dying dowry deaths EVERY DAY seems not just like ignorance to privilege but like willful, deliberate cruelty.
Even the random sidewalk characters, in this case an old White (presumably American) couple visiting India for their wedding anniversary, bring in their own share of sexist stereotypes—the old man clearly being a henpecked, sex starved, but lovable old creep.
The lead, a young upcoming actor called Imran Khan, plays a man so beaten down by society, so unable to stand up (joke, joke!) for himself that he actually performs oral sex on his girlfriend. Poor sap. And still the ungrateful woman complains and complains about his facial hair, his one concession to manhood; doesn't she know how good she's got it? So he's such a loser, but by the end of the movie he's turned into a Real Man (TM), and kisses his new girl like he owns her, and punches a rival in the face! In the face! Yay! He's so DUDEly now! And this is very, very modern, of course. Very unlike all those boring old Hindi movies where they had a macho hero punching rivals and kissing women. But this is different.
It's sad, because, off-screen, Imran Khan seems like a really nice person, the rare Bollywood actor who seems to respect the women in his life and has a strong personal core, separate from the glamorous world of his occupation, a very normal, not especially privileged childhood. He's seen his parents' marriage break-up, and that points to a grounded family that's dealt with issues in a realistic way, unlike Imran's contemporaries (one of whose parents have felt compelled to stick together despite very public instances of domestic abuse by his father against his mother). It's sad that such a guy like Imran feels he needs to be an assholey dude, a misogynist to make it in the Hindi film industry.
But yes, that's what you get when a whole industry looks to The Hangover for inspiration, and the entire world is willing to pretend that age-old oppressions exploited for laughs is "cutting edge."
Of Course
Actual Headline: Chris Brown Cast in Romantic Comedy Based on Advice Book.
Immediately, I knew exactly which "advice book" it would be, and my intuition was soon confirmed:
Let's keep our fingers crossed there's a role for Charlie Sheen in this forthcoming cinematic masterpiece!
[Related Reading: Steve Harvey is back with more of his wisdom about men and women and relationships.]
Immediately, I knew exactly which "advice book" it would be, and my intuition was soon confirmed:
The singer-actor's rep tells Us Weekly that Brown, 22, will play a role in the upcoming comedy Think Like a Man. The highly-anticipated film is an adaptation of Steve Harvey's New York Times best-selling book Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man.Perfect.
Let's keep our fingers crossed there's a role for Charlie Sheen in this forthcoming cinematic masterpiece!
[Related Reading: Steve Harvey is back with more of his wisdom about men and women and relationships.]
Three Things I Like About Jesse Eisenberg
1. He is a good actor who tends to pick projects I enjoy watching.
2. He fosters cats. If you can't watch the whole interview, the summary is Conan O'Brien asking him if his "life has changed considerably since Social Network came out," to which Eisenberg replies, "Well, I've got more cats," and then goes on to explain: "Well, you know, I'm a foster parent for cats, and, um, um, the more movies I do, the more guilty I feel, and, um, the more cats I feel the need to get to alleviate the guilt from doing the movies, and then if a movie is, god forbid, popular, then I have to get even more cats… I have two now BUT I'm on kind of a list where they can deliver them to the house, so it's two at the moment. … And, if you haven't been to New York, the apartments are tiny, and so, to be a foster parent for cats is basically to have, like, you know, tenants coming in and out, like, if you live in a house, it'd be like the equivalent of having, like, a lot of people coming and staying over, uh, because my apartment's so small. So, I have a lot of cats, a lot of cat food, a lot of litter, and, um, nothing else in the apartment. … My life is basically just, you know, feeding and cleaning cats. And then I get to be the Sexiest Geek Alive."
3. He does not like rape jokes:
LMD: When a comedy [like 30 Minutes or Less, Eisenberg's new film] is this raunchy, is there such a thing as going too far?Eisenberg is, in addition to being an actor, a writer. It would be swell if he started writing some of his own material, sans rape jokes, because I suspect there's some significant bit of crossover between survivors and people who appreciate self-deprecating, slightly neurotic, highly intelligent actors who dig cats.
JE: There is stuff in this movie that I'm uncomfortable with. I don't like to use the "R" word, for example. Rape, for example. I'm very uncomfortable with that word, personally, because I do work with domestic violence organizations and I'm very aware of the alarming statistics of women who are abused. So I'm very uncomfortable with that. I'm not uncomfortable with the sexual jokes. Sometimes I think they're less funny than others, I don't care about that, because it doesn't harm anybody. I'm uncomfortable with saying "rape," I don't like saying that, I never say it in my life. If somebody says it, I cringe. I don't like it when people make jokes about that word.
[H/T to @fakeplasticstar.]
Film Corner!
Below, the trailer for the upcoming box office smash from Steven Soderbergh Contagion, the working title for which my top secret sources (full disclosure: I don't actually have any top secret sources) have informed me was Oh Noes! White People Are Getting Sick, Ya'll!
Dame Gwyneth Paltrow was at a groundbreaking ceremony for a new factory, at which people of Asian descent were present (UH-OH!), according to the voiceover by her movie-husband Matt Damon. He is asked if she mentioned seeing anyone who was sick, and he says nope! Over a scene of Dame Gwyneth Paltrow hugging her movie-child which is supposed to be heartbreaking (but isn't, because, really, everyone's pretty tired of her waxing anecdotal in real life about favorite fishmongers and her didactic preaching about grody fatties, so if there's one person we're prepared to view as a cinematic metaphor for self-indulgent celebrity and thus respond with apathy as her privileged character dies of bird flu, it's Dame Gwyneth Paltrow), Matt Damon says, "She said she was just jetlagged." Whoops!
"ONE TOUCH" ominously looms onscreen, stark text floating against a backdrop of, I dunno, red blood cells and coffee grounds or something. "TRANSMISSION."
It is at this point that I begin to recall, not in a conscious way but a visceral way, in which a memory does not lay itself across the mind but crawls up from the depths of one's gut, dragging behind it a creeping unease, a time in which men (mostly) were dying of a disease the name of which my nation's president would not utter, and there was talk of TRANSMISSION through water fountains and sweat and kisses and maybe all it took was ONE TOUCH. And I'm really grossed out by this movie, because, while the stuff of that memory shouldn't be off-limits, the fact that this trailer doesn't seem to share that memory with me at all, just seems to pretend it never happened and this is just entertainment, makes something well up in my throat, disgust I think, and I remember having this feeling before with other "disease thrillers" that want to deny in the interest of fun and profit what should be a communal memory that gives us all pause, we people of a certain age.
Anyway! I soldier on.
Dr. Kate Winslet exposits to Matt Damon that "the average person touches their face three to five times every waking minute; in between, we're touching doorknobs, water fountains (!), and each other." Scenes of people touching things. Scenes of Dame Gwyneth Paltrow getting sick. Cut to Dr. Laurence Fishburne expositing, "So we have a virus with no treatment protocol, and no vaccine at this time."
"ONE INSTANT" ominously looms onscreen. "INFECTION."
Dame Gwyneth Paltrow is in the hospital. Matt Damon is panicked. She does not have a history of seizures! She makes some kind of contorted face. (ACTING!) Cut to Dr. Fishburne telling Dr. Winslet, "As of last night, there are 32 cases."
"ONE CONTACT" ominously looms onscreen. "CONTAGION."
"Unfortunately, she did die," Dr. Someone-Who-Looks-Like-Hank-Azaria-with-a-Beard tells Matt Damon, who doesn't get it. The doctor has to repeat himself. Matt Damon is shocked! "What are you talking about?!" he shouts. "What happened to her? WHAT HAPPENED TO HER?!"
It is at this point that I start to think about the privilege of being a (relatively or objectively) rich, white, straight, Western person, where your partner/spouse dying of a virus for which there is no medicine (either at all, or available to you) is such a rarity that you cannot conceive of its ever happening to your family, and I Google statistics on malaria deaths worldwide, and I read about how malaria killed between 708,000 and 1,003,000 people in 2008 alone, 89% of which occurred in Africa, and about how "Malaria is the 2nd leading cause of death from infectious diseases in Africa, after HIV/AIDS," and suddenly I am just HATING this fucking trailer, and I don't even care if the movie has some awesome message (spoiler alert: it doesn't!) about rich, white, straight, Western persons taking for granted that we PROBABLY WON'T DIE OF A CURABLE AND PREVENTABLE DISEASE, because it's being marketed as: "An action-thriller centered on the threat posed by a deadly disease and an international team of doctors contracted by the CDC to deal with the outbreak." Barrrrrrf!
In fact, DOUBLE BARF because also I already saw this movie when it was called Outbreak.
Anyway! I soldier on.
Because white people are getting sick, there are helicopters and government types looking concerned and concerns about someone having "weaponized the bird flu." Dr. Fishburne says, "Someone doesn't HAVE to weaponize the bird flu. The birds are doing that."
LOL WHUT. What is this movie?!
Enter Jude Law, who's playing a Professor of Counting from Cockney University: "On day one, there were two people, and then four, and then sixteen. In two months, it's a billion. That's where we're headed!" In case you are a visual learner, images of two, four, sixteen, and one billion people are helpfully provided.
National Guard. The president is going "underground." (LULZ.) Panic. Suspicious media. Destroying samples in a lab. Monkeys in cages. Empty airport. Trash piled up on a city street.
UH-OH! Dr. Winslet is sick. Dr. Fishburne promises to get her "out." There are lots of people whose lives are affected—lots and lots of WHITE PEOPLE. Gwyneth Paltrow, Matt Damon, Kate Winslet, Jude Law, John Hawkes, Marion Cotillard… GOOD THING DR. FISHBURNE IS SO INTERESTED IN SAVING THEM! Except for Dame Gwyneth Paltrow, of course. Who already died. RIP GOOP.
"NO ONE IS IMMUNE" ominously looms onscreen. "TO FEAR."
Montage of more "action thriller about a deadly disease" stuff. "It's mutating!" someone says. Of course it is.
Dame Gwyneth Paltrow was at a groundbreaking ceremony for a new factory, at which people of Asian descent were present (UH-OH!), according to the voiceover by her movie-husband Matt Damon. He is asked if she mentioned seeing anyone who was sick, and he says nope! Over a scene of Dame Gwyneth Paltrow hugging her movie-child which is supposed to be heartbreaking (but isn't, because, really, everyone's pretty tired of her waxing anecdotal in real life about favorite fishmongers and her didactic preaching about grody fatties, so if there's one person we're prepared to view as a cinematic metaphor for self-indulgent celebrity and thus respond with apathy as her privileged character dies of bird flu, it's Dame Gwyneth Paltrow), Matt Damon says, "She said she was just jetlagged." Whoops!
"ONE TOUCH" ominously looms onscreen, stark text floating against a backdrop of, I dunno, red blood cells and coffee grounds or something. "TRANSMISSION."
It is at this point that I begin to recall, not in a conscious way but a visceral way, in which a memory does not lay itself across the mind but crawls up from the depths of one's gut, dragging behind it a creeping unease, a time in which men (mostly) were dying of a disease the name of which my nation's president would not utter, and there was talk of TRANSMISSION through water fountains and sweat and kisses and maybe all it took was ONE TOUCH. And I'm really grossed out by this movie, because, while the stuff of that memory shouldn't be off-limits, the fact that this trailer doesn't seem to share that memory with me at all, just seems to pretend it never happened and this is just entertainment, makes something well up in my throat, disgust I think, and I remember having this feeling before with other "disease thrillers" that want to deny in the interest of fun and profit what should be a communal memory that gives us all pause, we people of a certain age.
Anyway! I soldier on.
Dr. Kate Winslet exposits to Matt Damon that "the average person touches their face three to five times every waking minute; in between, we're touching doorknobs, water fountains (!), and each other." Scenes of people touching things. Scenes of Dame Gwyneth Paltrow getting sick. Cut to Dr. Laurence Fishburne expositing, "So we have a virus with no treatment protocol, and no vaccine at this time."
"ONE INSTANT" ominously looms onscreen. "INFECTION."
Dame Gwyneth Paltrow is in the hospital. Matt Damon is panicked. She does not have a history of seizures! She makes some kind of contorted face. (ACTING!) Cut to Dr. Fishburne telling Dr. Winslet, "As of last night, there are 32 cases."
"ONE CONTACT" ominously looms onscreen. "CONTAGION."
"Unfortunately, she did die," Dr. Someone-Who-Looks-Like-Hank-Azaria-with-a-Beard tells Matt Damon, who doesn't get it. The doctor has to repeat himself. Matt Damon is shocked! "What are you talking about?!" he shouts. "What happened to her? WHAT HAPPENED TO HER?!"
It is at this point that I start to think about the privilege of being a (relatively or objectively) rich, white, straight, Western person, where your partner/spouse dying of a virus for which there is no medicine (either at all, or available to you) is such a rarity that you cannot conceive of its ever happening to your family, and I Google statistics on malaria deaths worldwide, and I read about how malaria killed between 708,000 and 1,003,000 people in 2008 alone, 89% of which occurred in Africa, and about how "Malaria is the 2nd leading cause of death from infectious diseases in Africa, after HIV/AIDS," and suddenly I am just HATING this fucking trailer, and I don't even care if the movie has some awesome message (spoiler alert: it doesn't!) about rich, white, straight, Western persons taking for granted that we PROBABLY WON'T DIE OF A CURABLE AND PREVENTABLE DISEASE, because it's being marketed as: "An action-thriller centered on the threat posed by a deadly disease and an international team of doctors contracted by the CDC to deal with the outbreak." Barrrrrrf!
In fact, DOUBLE BARF because also I already saw this movie when it was called Outbreak.
Anyway! I soldier on.
Because white people are getting sick, there are helicopters and government types looking concerned and concerns about someone having "weaponized the bird flu." Dr. Fishburne says, "Someone doesn't HAVE to weaponize the bird flu. The birds are doing that."
LOL WHUT. What is this movie?!
Enter Jude Law, who's playing a Professor of Counting from Cockney University: "On day one, there were two people, and then four, and then sixteen. In two months, it's a billion. That's where we're headed!" In case you are a visual learner, images of two, four, sixteen, and one billion people are helpfully provided.
National Guard. The president is going "underground." (LULZ.) Panic. Suspicious media. Destroying samples in a lab. Monkeys in cages. Empty airport. Trash piled up on a city street.
UH-OH! Dr. Winslet is sick. Dr. Fishburne promises to get her "out." There are lots of people whose lives are affected—lots and lots of WHITE PEOPLE. Gwyneth Paltrow, Matt Damon, Kate Winslet, Jude Law, John Hawkes, Marion Cotillard… GOOD THING DR. FISHBURNE IS SO INTERESTED IN SAVING THEM! Except for Dame Gwyneth Paltrow, of course. Who already died. RIP GOOP.
"NO ONE IS IMMUNE" ominously looms onscreen. "TO FEAR."
Montage of more "action thriller about a deadly disease" stuff. "It's mutating!" someone says. Of course it is.
Film Corner!
[Trigger warning for rape culture, exploitation, violence.]
Jason Batman is like Ben Stiller and Dane Cook rolled into one giant garbage disaster: He's got all the überdouche taste in material of Dane Cook, plus the No-Doz fueled work ethic of Ben Stiller (who, it should be noted, also chooses an excessive number of awful projects).
"I have got to be in EVERYTHING, and make sure ALL OF IT IS GARBAGE!"—Jason Batman's memo to his agent.
Settle down, Jason Batman.
With Horrible Bosses still tops at the box office (USA! USA! USA!), one of the nightmare factories known as The Studios are striking while the barf is hot and rolling out the preview for the next Jason Batman vehicle ("Keep the Jason Batman train a-rolling!"—Hollywood), in which he stars with Ryan The Green Ryan Reynolds Reynolds, as one of two blokes who covet each other's lives and through the magic of simultaneously wishing while peeing in a fountain (seriously), they wake up in each other's bodies.
Behold: The trailer for The Change-Up.
Jason Batman is married to Leslie Mann (who is married in real life to Judd Apatow, who didn't have anything to do with this movie, unless you count being one of the brave trailblazers who took a long look at the film industry ten years ago and thought, "This place could use some more misogyny!") and they have twin babies who cry while their parents are trying to sleep. Leslie Mann says, "It's your turn," and Jason Batman gets up and sleepily walks down the hall and steps on a squeaky toy because no doy this movie is trite garbage.
Bottles. Feeding. Diaper-changing. Jason Batman gets squirted in the face with diarrhea. That baby's butt is the smartest thing in this movie.
Cut to Ryan Reynolds, who is sound asleep in his bachelor pad, until a half-naked lady storms in wanting to have wild sex with him. OBVIOUSLY.
Cue Motown music. Cut to the BFFs at a bar, where Jason Batman asks Ryan Reynolds to "tell me about your women." I make a face which I can only describe as the same terse grin of horrible expectation I made in a dream where I was assassination dispatched to poison a warlord, just as he took his first bite of the beautiful cake I had baked him.
"I have been keeping company with a number of nice ladies," replies Ryan Reynolds, who then regales Jason Batman with stories of women like "Tatiana," whom he has to "make cry first, but it's worth it," and "Brenda," who "wants it in wheelbarrow, Arabian goggles, the Arsenio Hall, the pastrami sandwich..." These are the imaginary names of exotic sexual positions, as conceived by creatively bankrupt jackasses.
Jason Batman says he doesn't even know what those are. "You're married," says Ryan Reynolds. "Good point," says Jason Batman. And NO DOY it is because married people are basically DEAD and therefore DON'T HAVE SEX.
Later, Jason Batman explains to Ryan Reynolds that having babies is difficult because they don't understand the world and lack the ability to communicate their needs in a calm and effective way, which can be frustrating for a parent who loves them and wants to successfully fulfill those sometimes enigmatic needs. HA HA! Just kidding! He says having kids is "like living with mini drug addicts: They're laughing one minute and then they're crying the next, and then they're trying to kill themselves in your bathroom for no good reason. They're very mean and selfish, and they burn through your money..." This rant only ends here because Ryan Reynolds finally stops him.
The two buddies stop to pee in a fountain, because they are disgusting and rude assholes, and they say they envy each other's lives. "I wish I HAD your life," they say in unison. LIGHTNING STRIKES!
Whooooooooooooooooops they shouldn't have been pissing in that wishing well and wishing things, because the next morning, they wake up in each other's bodies!
Cue the zany romp score over a montage of their figuring out what happened. Ryan Reynolds admits he didn't really envy Jason Batman's life: "I was just being polite!" HAR HAR! Oh well, maybe he'll learn that being a family man is something he wants after all! FINGERS CROSSED!
In the meantime, he urges Jason Batman to use his body to get laid and shit. He fixes up Jason Batman with his own secretary, which is confusing, I know, but the whole body switcheroo thing. She doesn't know it's him, which makes the whole thing very creepy! Luckily, as we all know, tricking women is hilarious.
Just in time to remind us that the whole rape culture is hilarious, here comes a scene of Ryan Reynolds telling Jason Batman not to have sex with Jason Batman's wife. (Again, confusing, switcheroo.) He tells his BFF, "If she comes at me like a hurricane, a guy can only withstand so much." WHAT A GREAT FRIEND!
Cut to not-Jason Batman lying in Jason Batman's bed watching Leslie Mann get undressed. "I am going to ruin her!" he says excitedly, which is a very nice and normal thing that men say about women.
Then she sits on the toilet and farts. Reacting to evidence of her humanity, not-Jason Batman gasps, "Oh my god!" and hides under the covers, then shames her for it when she comes to bed.
The End!
Jason Batman is like Ben Stiller and Dane Cook rolled into one giant garbage disaster: He's got all the überdouche taste in material of Dane Cook, plus the No-Doz fueled work ethic of Ben Stiller (who, it should be noted, also chooses an excessive number of awful projects).
"I have got to be in EVERYTHING, and make sure ALL OF IT IS GARBAGE!"—Jason Batman's memo to his agent.
Settle down, Jason Batman.
With Horrible Bosses still tops at the box office (USA! USA! USA!), one of the nightmare factories known as The Studios are striking while the barf is hot and rolling out the preview for the next Jason Batman vehicle ("Keep the Jason Batman train a-rolling!"—Hollywood), in which he stars with Ryan The Green Ryan Reynolds Reynolds, as one of two blokes who covet each other's lives and through the magic of simultaneously wishing while peeing in a fountain (seriously), they wake up in each other's bodies.
Behold: The trailer for The Change-Up.
Jason Batman is married to Leslie Mann (who is married in real life to Judd Apatow, who didn't have anything to do with this movie, unless you count being one of the brave trailblazers who took a long look at the film industry ten years ago and thought, "This place could use some more misogyny!") and they have twin babies who cry while their parents are trying to sleep. Leslie Mann says, "It's your turn," and Jason Batman gets up and sleepily walks down the hall and steps on a squeaky toy because no doy this movie is trite garbage.
Bottles. Feeding. Diaper-changing. Jason Batman gets squirted in the face with diarrhea. That baby's butt is the smartest thing in this movie.
Cut to Ryan Reynolds, who is sound asleep in his bachelor pad, until a half-naked lady storms in wanting to have wild sex with him. OBVIOUSLY.
Cue Motown music. Cut to the BFFs at a bar, where Jason Batman asks Ryan Reynolds to "tell me about your women." I make a face which I can only describe as the same terse grin of horrible expectation I made in a dream where I was assassination dispatched to poison a warlord, just as he took his first bite of the beautiful cake I had baked him.
"I have been keeping company with a number of nice ladies," replies Ryan Reynolds, who then regales Jason Batman with stories of women like "Tatiana," whom he has to "make cry first, but it's worth it," and "Brenda," who "wants it in wheelbarrow, Arabian goggles, the Arsenio Hall, the pastrami sandwich..." These are the imaginary names of exotic sexual positions, as conceived by creatively bankrupt jackasses.
Jason Batman says he doesn't even know what those are. "You're married," says Ryan Reynolds. "Good point," says Jason Batman. And NO DOY it is because married people are basically DEAD and therefore DON'T HAVE SEX.
Later, Jason Batman explains to Ryan Reynolds that having babies is difficult because they don't understand the world and lack the ability to communicate their needs in a calm and effective way, which can be frustrating for a parent who loves them and wants to successfully fulfill those sometimes enigmatic needs. HA HA! Just kidding! He says having kids is "like living with mini drug addicts: They're laughing one minute and then they're crying the next, and then they're trying to kill themselves in your bathroom for no good reason. They're very mean and selfish, and they burn through your money..." This rant only ends here because Ryan Reynolds finally stops him.
The two buddies stop to pee in a fountain, because they are disgusting and rude assholes, and they say they envy each other's lives. "I wish I HAD your life," they say in unison. LIGHTNING STRIKES!
Whooooooooooooooooops they shouldn't have been pissing in that wishing well and wishing things, because the next morning, they wake up in each other's bodies!
Cue the zany romp score over a montage of their figuring out what happened. Ryan Reynolds admits he didn't really envy Jason Batman's life: "I was just being polite!" HAR HAR! Oh well, maybe he'll learn that being a family man is something he wants after all! FINGERS CROSSED!
In the meantime, he urges Jason Batman to use his body to get laid and shit. He fixes up Jason Batman with his own secretary, which is confusing, I know, but the whole body switcheroo thing. She doesn't know it's him, which makes the whole thing very creepy! Luckily, as we all know, tricking women is hilarious.
Just in time to remind us that the whole rape culture is hilarious, here comes a scene of Ryan Reynolds telling Jason Batman not to have sex with Jason Batman's wife. (Again, confusing, switcheroo.) He tells his BFF, "If she comes at me like a hurricane, a guy can only withstand so much." WHAT A GREAT FRIEND!
Cut to not-Jason Batman lying in Jason Batman's bed watching Leslie Mann get undressed. "I am going to ruin her!" he says excitedly, which is a very nice and normal thing that men say about women.
Then she sits on the toilet and farts. Reacting to evidence of her humanity, not-Jason Batman gasps, "Oh my god!" and hides under the covers, then shames her for it when she comes to bed.
The End!
Film Corner!
Below: The trailer for the upcoming Adam Sandler comedy, Jack and Jill. Trigger warnings for transmisogyny, violence, fat hatred, disablist language, and reference to self-harm.
Adam Sandler and Katie Holmes are a happily married couple with two kids, one of whom appears to be of Indian or Middle Eastern descent, which I'm sure will be mined for MAXIMUM LAFFS. Decorations inform us that it's Christmastime. As action-comedy music begins, a male voiceover says, "In every family, there's one person who drives you a little crazy. But during the holidays, there's no escaping it when it's your sister…your twin sister!"
Jack (Sandler) begrudgingly goes to the airport to pick up his sister…his twin sister!...Jill, who turns around and is—SURPRISE!—Adam Sandler in a shitty wig and ladies' clothes. Well, why should Robin Williams and Eddie Murphy and Martin Lawrence and Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis and Tyler Perry and Marlon Wayans and Shawn Wayans and John Travolta and Dustin Hoffman and Robbie Coltrane and Eric Idle and Tom Hanks and Peter Scolari have all the fun?!
(I kind of can't believe that Mike Myers has not starred in at least one film where he's playing a ridiculously offensive female character in hideous prosthetics. LUCKILY THERE IS STILL TIME!)
Anyway!
Jack and Jill are exactly alike—but, of course, this means that Jack is awesome and Jill is horrible. "She isn't subtle," we are told, as Jill is rude to one of Jack's dinner guests, to which Jack responds by insulting her, because no doy he is a great person. "She isn't shy," we are told, as she gives Jack a list of things she'd like to do while visiting him in his beautiful home in the sunny state in which he lives his affluent and privileged life, to which Jack responds by looking at the list like it's a piece of fetid garbage. One of the items is horseback riding, and we cut immediately to a scene of Jill breaking a horse's legs by climbing on its back, because, even though she is the same size as Jack, she is enormous by virtue of her femaleness.
"And she isn't leaving," we are told, as Jill suggests she'll stay through Hanukkah, prompting cheers from her sister-in-law, niece, and nephew, and prompting Jack to mime putting a gun in his mouth.
His friend makes fun of how ugly his twin sister is and Jack just grins. His wife tells him to try to be nice. He takes Jill to a Lakers game, where she is spotted by Al Pacino, who sends her his number in condiments on a hotdog.
Nope!
In the car on the way home, Jack says Jill has to call him, to which she responds by saying, "Oh, will you stop already? You know all he wants to do is play Twister with your sister!" Ha ha—obviously she is SUCH AN ASSHOLE for being a frigid prude who doesn't want to fuck a celebrity who propositioned her with a hotdog-gram.
Cut to the whole family vacationing on a cruise ship. (Whut? This movie is definitely garbage even by garbage standards.) It turns out Jack and Jill were "double-dutch kings!" and they jump rope together in front of a huge and appreciative crowd, because, as everyone knows, jump rope is a very popular thing on cruise ships.
Montage of crappy scenes from this shitty film reinforcing the premise that Jack is normal and good and Jill is weird and horrible.
Cut to a dinner scene at which Katie Holmes mentions how some twins can feel when the other one is hurt. Jill slaps herself in the face. Jack says he didn't feel it and tells her to do it a little harder. She continues to smack herself harder and harder until Katie Holmes stops her: "No, Jill, stop it! He's kidding!" Jill gives him a you-devil look: "What?!" His young son then punches her in the face, knocking her out of her chair and onto the floor. "Feel that, Daddy?!" he asks. Jack nods: "I actually did feel something there—pride in my son."
Coming in November.
My guess is that this is another one of those films I call Deathbed Confession Cinema, in which you get to laugh at fat jokes and/or transmisogyny and/or ethnic jokes and/or other marginalizing humor for two hours before a heavy-handed dénouement in which a childish moral of the story—"X" are people who are deserving of love and respect, too!—is tacked on to hastily absolve both filmmakers and audience their production and enjoyment of the preceding onslaught of mockery.
Jill will be an object of ridicule and contempt for the entirety of the movie, as seen through protagonist Jack's eyes, and then there will be a contrived reversal at which point Jack will realize the error of his ways in an allegedly feelgood ending that is simultaneously oppressively didactic and hopelessly hollow.
And which probably mistakes pity for empathy.
Deathbed Confession Cinema is nasty stuff. The films are consciously marketed (as here) as sexist, queer-hating, fat-hating, xenophobic, lowest-common-denominator muck, and spend most of their screen-time being precisely that, and then cynically attempt to justify it with a pithy ending in which a gross protagonist is "enlightened" about his (always "his") bullying ways.
So the film's premise stinks for that reason.
It also stinks for the reason that it functions, if not intentionally, as some crypto-Freudian commentary on hatred of the feminine in the male self. Jill is the feminine aspect of Jack, and she manifests as every negative stereotype of the feminine—weak, stupid, ineffectual, incompetent, unsexual, infantile—whose only positive attributes appear to be nurture and entombing her feelings of rejection.
And, of course, serving as a punching bag for Jack's son, because there's no better male bonding ritual than violent misogyny.
It's interesting that the trailer suggests Jack and Jill's inevitable reconnection may begin with a game of double-dutch, which is an almost exclusively female childhood activity, suggesting that men achieve decency and wholeness by embracing their feminine aspect through participation in female spheres. Which, you know, would be a pretty cool message, if it weren't tacked onto the end of Deathbed Confession Cinema that had spent the preceding two hours denigrating the feminine aspect.
In defter hands, this story might have made a compelling allegory. But, alas, Hollywood prefers the Invisible Hand to deft ones.
Adam Sandler and Katie Holmes are a happily married couple with two kids, one of whom appears to be of Indian or Middle Eastern descent, which I'm sure will be mined for MAXIMUM LAFFS. Decorations inform us that it's Christmastime. As action-comedy music begins, a male voiceover says, "In every family, there's one person who drives you a little crazy. But during the holidays, there's no escaping it when it's your sister…your twin sister!"
Jack (Sandler) begrudgingly goes to the airport to pick up his sister…his twin sister!...Jill, who turns around and is—SURPRISE!—Adam Sandler in a shitty wig and ladies' clothes. Well, why should Robin Williams and Eddie Murphy and Martin Lawrence and Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis and Tyler Perry and Marlon Wayans and Shawn Wayans and John Travolta and Dustin Hoffman and Robbie Coltrane and Eric Idle and Tom Hanks and Peter Scolari have all the fun?!
(I kind of can't believe that Mike Myers has not starred in at least one film where he's playing a ridiculously offensive female character in hideous prosthetics. LUCKILY THERE IS STILL TIME!)
Anyway!
Jack and Jill are exactly alike—but, of course, this means that Jack is awesome and Jill is horrible. "She isn't subtle," we are told, as Jill is rude to one of Jack's dinner guests, to which Jack responds by insulting her, because no doy he is a great person. "She isn't shy," we are told, as she gives Jack a list of things she'd like to do while visiting him in his beautiful home in the sunny state in which he lives his affluent and privileged life, to which Jack responds by looking at the list like it's a piece of fetid garbage. One of the items is horseback riding, and we cut immediately to a scene of Jill breaking a horse's legs by climbing on its back, because, even though she is the same size as Jack, she is enormous by virtue of her femaleness.
"And she isn't leaving," we are told, as Jill suggests she'll stay through Hanukkah, prompting cheers from her sister-in-law, niece, and nephew, and prompting Jack to mime putting a gun in his mouth.
His friend makes fun of how ugly his twin sister is and Jack just grins. His wife tells him to try to be nice. He takes Jill to a Lakers game, where she is spotted by Al Pacino, who sends her his number in condiments on a hotdog.
Nope!
In the car on the way home, Jack says Jill has to call him, to which she responds by saying, "Oh, will you stop already? You know all he wants to do is play Twister with your sister!" Ha ha—obviously she is SUCH AN ASSHOLE for being a frigid prude who doesn't want to fuck a celebrity who propositioned her with a hotdog-gram.
Cut to the whole family vacationing on a cruise ship. (Whut? This movie is definitely garbage even by garbage standards.) It turns out Jack and Jill were "double-dutch kings!" and they jump rope together in front of a huge and appreciative crowd, because, as everyone knows, jump rope is a very popular thing on cruise ships.
Montage of crappy scenes from this shitty film reinforcing the premise that Jack is normal and good and Jill is weird and horrible.
Cut to a dinner scene at which Katie Holmes mentions how some twins can feel when the other one is hurt. Jill slaps herself in the face. Jack says he didn't feel it and tells her to do it a little harder. She continues to smack herself harder and harder until Katie Holmes stops her: "No, Jill, stop it! He's kidding!" Jill gives him a you-devil look: "What?!" His young son then punches her in the face, knocking her out of her chair and onto the floor. "Feel that, Daddy?!" he asks. Jack nods: "I actually did feel something there—pride in my son."
Coming in November.
My guess is that this is another one of those films I call Deathbed Confession Cinema, in which you get to laugh at fat jokes and/or transmisogyny and/or ethnic jokes and/or other marginalizing humor for two hours before a heavy-handed dénouement in which a childish moral of the story—"X" are people who are deserving of love and respect, too!—is tacked on to hastily absolve both filmmakers and audience their production and enjoyment of the preceding onslaught of mockery.
Jill will be an object of ridicule and contempt for the entirety of the movie, as seen through protagonist Jack's eyes, and then there will be a contrived reversal at which point Jack will realize the error of his ways in an allegedly feelgood ending that is simultaneously oppressively didactic and hopelessly hollow.
And which probably mistakes pity for empathy.
Deathbed Confession Cinema is nasty stuff. The films are consciously marketed (as here) as sexist, queer-hating, fat-hating, xenophobic, lowest-common-denominator muck, and spend most of their screen-time being precisely that, and then cynically attempt to justify it with a pithy ending in which a gross protagonist is "enlightened" about his (always "his") bullying ways.
So the film's premise stinks for that reason.
It also stinks for the reason that it functions, if not intentionally, as some crypto-Freudian commentary on hatred of the feminine in the male self. Jill is the feminine aspect of Jack, and she manifests as every negative stereotype of the feminine—weak, stupid, ineffectual, incompetent, unsexual, infantile—whose only positive attributes appear to be nurture and entombing her feelings of rejection.
And, of course, serving as a punching bag for Jack's son, because there's no better male bonding ritual than violent misogyny.
It's interesting that the trailer suggests Jack and Jill's inevitable reconnection may begin with a game of double-dutch, which is an almost exclusively female childhood activity, suggesting that men achieve decency and wholeness by embracing their feminine aspect through participation in female spheres. Which, you know, would be a pretty cool message, if it weren't tacked onto the end of Deathbed Confession Cinema that had spent the preceding two hours denigrating the feminine aspect.
In defter hands, this story might have made a compelling allegory. But, alas, Hollywood prefers the Invisible Hand to deft ones.
You Know...
...I find it interesting, ahem, in light of the latest round of "feminism schmeminism" currently (re-)exposing the ugly misogyny endemic to the atheist community, that a new atheist movie, being billed by its maker as "Hollywood's first offering to feature an openly atheist hero in a story about religious conflict," centers around two men—one atheist, one religious—who have slept with the same woman.
It's a story of religion, love and revenge that pits a conservative Christian husband against an atheist who has seduced the religious man's Christian wife.Of course it is.
Film Corner!
Behold, the trailer for the upcoming Sarah Palin documentary, The Undefeated. Which is, no doy, the perfect title for a movie about a person who ran for national office and lost.
Video Description: Sarah Palin is a DAUGHTER. Videotape of a child that, sure, could be Sarah Palin serves as evidence of this fact.
Sarah Palin is a WIFE. Pictures or it didn't happen! Oh, here are pictures of her kissing Todd. All right then.
Sarah Palin is a MOTHER. Sure, yep, pictures of Palin surrounded by children, who ALLEGEDLY came out of her vagina, but Andrew Sullivan has his doubts. Because he's gross.
Sarah Palin is a WARRIOR. Because, as some lady who is unidentified in the trailer helpfully explains, "like a marine, she runs toward the danger." Okay, player.
There is a montage of stuff about how she stood up to oil executives in Alaska, where there was a shitload of energy-related corruption. Based on everything I've read about it, this part of Palin's career was actually marked by some rather savvy and effective politicking on behalf of Alaskans, but, of course, it was never advertised on the national scene because Republicans consider standing up to corporations a liability. Whoooooooops your party is garbage!
Have you heard Sarah Palin is courageous? Well, she is. Here are some people to tell you.
Also, she's an outsider. And the liberal media stinks. Flags. Blah blah. The Republican Establishment is the devil or whatever. Okay, but she just ran on the party's ticket last election, thus suggesting a pretty significant, if fleeting, role in that establishment...? NEVER MIND THAT! She was gonna change it from the inside, I'm sure.
Hey, look. Andrew Breitbart. Yuck.
Money flushing down toilet. Money on fire. That's maybe not the imagery with which you want to leave people whom you are imploring to open their wallets and pay to see this film. Just sayin'.
Video Description: Sarah Palin is a DAUGHTER. Videotape of a child that, sure, could be Sarah Palin serves as evidence of this fact.
Sarah Palin is a WIFE. Pictures or it didn't happen! Oh, here are pictures of her kissing Todd. All right then.
Sarah Palin is a MOTHER. Sure, yep, pictures of Palin surrounded by children, who ALLEGEDLY came out of her vagina, but Andrew Sullivan has his doubts. Because he's gross.
Sarah Palin is a WARRIOR. Because, as some lady who is unidentified in the trailer helpfully explains, "like a marine, she runs toward the danger." Okay, player.
There is a montage of stuff about how she stood up to oil executives in Alaska, where there was a shitload of energy-related corruption. Based on everything I've read about it, this part of Palin's career was actually marked by some rather savvy and effective politicking on behalf of Alaskans, but, of course, it was never advertised on the national scene because Republicans consider standing up to corporations a liability. Whoooooooops your party is garbage!
Have you heard Sarah Palin is courageous? Well, she is. Here are some people to tell you.
Also, she's an outsider. And the liberal media stinks. Flags. Blah blah. The Republican Establishment is the devil or whatever. Okay, but she just ran on the party's ticket last election, thus suggesting a pretty significant, if fleeting, role in that establishment...? NEVER MIND THAT! She was gonna change it from the inside, I'm sure.
Hey, look. Andrew Breitbart. Yuck.
Money flushing down toilet. Money on fire. That's maybe not the imagery with which you want to leave people whom you are imploring to open their wallets and pay to see this film. Just sayin'.
Photo of the Day
JED BROPHY as Nori, ADAM BROWN as Ori and MARK HADLOW as Dori in New Line Cinema's and MGM's fantasy adventure THE HOBBIT: AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY, a Warner Bros. Pictures release. Photo by James Fisher.Via Peter Jackson.
DORI, NORI & ORI: These three brothers, all sons of the same mother, could not be more different from each other. Dori, the oldest, spends much of his time watching out for Ori, the youngest; making sure he's not caught a chill or got himself killed by Wargs or Goblins. Nobody quite knows what Nori gets up to most of the time, except that it's guaranteed to be dodgy and quite probably, illegal. Dori, Nori and Ori are intensely loyal to each other – and whilst they are perfectly happy fighting amongst themselves, woe-betide anyone who means harm to one of these brothers.
Sure
[Trigger warning for sexual harassment and assault.]
So, the Chicago Sun-Times published an article about how Jennifer Aniston is playing a boss who sexually harasses and assaults her employee in the new "dark comedy" Horrible Bosses.
The article details the harassment and assaults she commits in the film; it is accompanied by a still image from the film of Aniston as the Horrible Boss groping her employee, played by Charlie Day.
Naturally, it makes no mention of how fucked-up it is for all of this to be played for laughs, although is it discussed at length how Aniston lobbied to wear "a brown wig with a row of bangs" instead of sporting her "trademark streaky blonde" hair, because: "There was just no way I could [play that role] and not look somewhat different."
The headline of this article is: "Jennifer Aniston takes risk, turns hair dark for 'Horrible Bosses'."
Sure.
So, the Chicago Sun-Times published an article about how Jennifer Aniston is playing a boss who sexually harasses and assaults her employee in the new "dark comedy" Horrible Bosses.
The article details the harassment and assaults she commits in the film; it is accompanied by a still image from the film of Aniston as the Horrible Boss groping her employee, played by Charlie Day.
Naturally, it makes no mention of how fucked-up it is for all of this to be played for laughs, although is it discussed at length how Aniston lobbied to wear "a brown wig with a row of bangs" instead of sporting her "trademark streaky blonde" hair, because: "There was just no way I could [play that role] and not look somewhat different."
The headline of this article is: "Jennifer Aniston takes risk, turns hair dark for 'Horrible Bosses'."
Sure.
Rape Is Hilarious, Part Wev in a Neverending Series
[Trigger warning for rape "humor," fat hatred, sexual assault, violence.]
Deeky texted me last night after he saw a new TV spot for the previously discussed upcoming film Horrible Bosses, in which murder and sexual assault are central "comedic" themes. This spot ran during a primetime re-run of NCIS.
And, no, the fact that it is a prison rape joke between men does not make it funny. There is nothing funny about prison rape.
Call Time Warner and let them know that you don't think rape jokes, especially rape jokes that suggest rape is a fucking compliment, are funny.
If you're on Twitter, you can tweet directly at Warner Brothers Pictures: @WBPictures.
Deeky texted me last night after he saw a new TV spot for the previously discussed upcoming film Horrible Bosses, in which murder and sexual assault are central "comedic" themes. This spot ran during a primetime re-run of NCIS.
"Tool Boss" Colin Farrell tells "Disrespected Employee" Jason Sudeikis, "We've got to trim some of the fat around here." Sudeikis says, "What?!" to which Farrell replies, "I want you to fire the fat people."Yiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikes.
"Maneater Boss" Jennifer Aniston, who is a dentist, suggests to "Harassed Employee" Charlie Day that they have sex on top of an unconscious female patient. "Let's use her like a bed," she says, to which Day exclaims in response, "That's crossing the line!"
"Psycho Boss" Kevin Spacey tells "Abused Employee" Jason Bateman, "I own you, you little runt," to which Bateman sheepishly replies, "Thank you."
At a bar, with "murder consultant" Jaime Foxx, one of them says, "I guess we're just gonna be miserable for the rest of our lives," and Foxx offers, "Why don't you kill each other's bosses?" Sudeikis says, "That's actually a good idea."
Montage of someone flying out the window of a highrise building; the three men in a car spinning out of control; police cars with sirens blaring.
Cut to Sudeikis and Bateman walking down the street together, evidently discussing the murder plan. "I can't go to jail," Sudeikis says. "Look at me, I'll get raped like crazy."
"I'd get raped just as much as you would, Kurt," says Bateman, in a sort of hurt voice because rape is totes a compliment.
"No, no—I know you would," Sudeikis reassures him.
And, no, the fact that it is a prison rape joke between men does not make it funny. There is nothing funny about prison rape.
Call Time Warner and let them know that you don't think rape jokes, especially rape jokes that suggest rape is a fucking compliment, are funny.If you're on Twitter, you can tweet directly at Warner Brothers Pictures: @WBPictures.
STOP
"MGM will reboot the 1983 thriller WarGames." No.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
No.
"Shall we play a game, Professor Falken?"
"Love to. How about Global Thermonuclear War?"
"Wouldn't you prefer a nice game of COME UP WITH A NEW IDEA AND STOP PILFERING IDEAS FROM MY CHILDHOOD IN A DESPERATE BID TO AVOID GLOBAL THERMONUCLEAR CREATIVE BANKRUPTCY?"
"You make a strong case. Let's play THAT GAME."
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
No.
"Shall we play a game, Professor Falken?"
"Love to. How about Global Thermonuclear War?"
"Wouldn't you prefer a nice game of COME UP WITH A NEW IDEA AND STOP PILFERING IDEAS FROM MY CHILDHOOD IN A DESPERATE BID TO AVOID GLOBAL THERMONUCLEAR CREATIVE BANKRUPTCY?"
"You make a strong case. Let's play THAT GAME."
Film Corner!
Below is the trailer for the new film Footloose, which is a remake of the old film Footloose, except without any of the good stuff, like Kevin Bacon, Kenny Loggins, Dianne Wiest, John Lithgow, and hey look it's Sarah Jessica Parker dancing around with Chris Penn! The new version, which didn't even have the sense to cast Kevin Bacon in the Mean Old Conservative role (or maybe he just had the sense not to accept the offer), basically looks just like the old version, except pointless and terrible.
Teenagers being played by adults are dancing at a party in a barnyard. They are also drinking beer from kegs. A car full of them takes off. The male driver leans over to kiss his girlfriend while he is driving. There is a honk, headlights, and a crash. RIP reckless teens. And, naturally, RIP dancing—as the City Council responds to a drunk-driving accident by criminalizing "public dancing among Bomont's minors." Sure.
Already this movie needs to be thrown in the garbage, and we're 30 seconds into the trailer.
In the original Footloose, there's no elaborate set-up for the dance-ban that is central to the story. It's just a stupid rule supported by a prominent preacher in a small town who's desperately worried about hisproperty getting ruined daughter getting pregnant. (I haven't seen Footloose in awhile, so there may have been a plot thread about Reverend Lithgow's anti-dance fervor partially being a reaction to some tragedy, but, if so, it was limited to his character's motivation, not something shared by the whole town.) And in 1984, that was an entirely believable premise; in fact, the story was loosely based on real events in a town in Oklahoma.
Almost thirty years later, though there are certainly small, rural towns in which stuff like that still happens, they tend to be towns so cloistered and isolated and anachronistic that teenage residents don't even have access to the pop culture that's being banned. The whole concept doesn't really work anymore. So, okay, new variation on the concept needed. Fair enough. But if you don't want everyone with a brain barfing on your movie, you've got to do better than "fuddy-duddies overreact to car crash—and entire town inexplicably goes along with BANNING DANCING." Nope!
Don't insult us, Footloose 2011.
Anyway, Ren arrives in Bomont, pop. 19,300, according to the welcome sign, way too many people for how small-town this small town is supposed to be, further undermining the incredible premise that the City Council could unilaterally ban underage dancing. He has come to live with his aunt and uncle and two little girl cousins, who think he's the coolest cat, no doy.
His uncle gives him a broken-down VW Beetle, the same one that everyone has laying around their garages in the movies, and tells Ren it's all his if he can fix it up. Which, naturally, he can, because all teenage boys are mechanics.
Ren goes to school. The preacher's daughter's friend thinks he's cute. Because of his Boston, or possibly Australian, accent, his soon-to-be-BFF Willard thinks Ren talks funny. (Wait—is this really a remake of Grease 2? Because that would cool.) Montagery. Ren and the preacher's daughter observe each other from various distances and make "witty" observations about each other. She takes him to a secret dance, where they bump and grind.
There is not the sound of a scratching record, because none of the people in this movie or likely to buy tickets to this movie have ever seen a record ("What is that—a Blu-Ray for dinosaurs?"), but THERE SHOULD BE! Because the Reverend Dennis Quaid (yup) has shown up at the totally-not-remotely-secret dance party where everyone is dancing SO HARD! The Reverend Quaid looks disappointed.
He takes his daughter home and asks her what he's going to do with her. She back-talks him and slams her bedroom door in his face. He stands there impotently. Good job, Reverend Dad!
Ren learns about the car crash. A cop tells him to get his "cheap thrills" (sure) "outside of Bomont." As if cars drive that far!
Ren becomes a pro-dance activist. The Reverend Quaid tells his daughter he's heard Ren is trouble. The cop who hassles Ren seems to agree. Gosh, this town stinks!
Ren dances angry. Hello there, iconic scene from the original Footloose! Psst, if you are going to invite comparisons to the classic film you're remaking, you'd better be sure that your new star is at least as charismatic as the old star. Whoooooooooooooops! All I can think of is Kevin Bacon and how he is not being lived up to!
Also: I'm a little bit thinking of Bret McKenzie. In any case, I am NOT thinking, "This movie looks really good."
Blah blah the kids are uprising. They're teaching the adults a thing or two about life, yo. And, just like conservative religious reactionaries in real life, the fake conservative religious reactionaries in this movie are totally going to listen to reason and repeal that dance ban. It's like some real cinéma vérité shit.
Montage of scenes from the movie. Fighting. Kissing. Iconic maroon prom jacket. Etc. There is literally no mystery or surprise. It's not a trailer—it's a synopsis. Normally, I would make some snarky comment here about how I don't even need to see the film now, except this is a remake of a film that is still constantly shown on television and everyone has seen dozens of times, so NO ONE NEEDS TO SEE THIS FILM. At all. Ever. Just watch the original. The end.
Teenagers being played by adults are dancing at a party in a barnyard. They are also drinking beer from kegs. A car full of them takes off. The male driver leans over to kiss his girlfriend while he is driving. There is a honk, headlights, and a crash. RIP reckless teens. And, naturally, RIP dancing—as the City Council responds to a drunk-driving accident by criminalizing "public dancing among Bomont's minors." Sure.
Already this movie needs to be thrown in the garbage, and we're 30 seconds into the trailer.
In the original Footloose, there's no elaborate set-up for the dance-ban that is central to the story. It's just a stupid rule supported by a prominent preacher in a small town who's desperately worried about his
Almost thirty years later, though there are certainly small, rural towns in which stuff like that still happens, they tend to be towns so cloistered and isolated and anachronistic that teenage residents don't even have access to the pop culture that's being banned. The whole concept doesn't really work anymore. So, okay, new variation on the concept needed. Fair enough. But if you don't want everyone with a brain barfing on your movie, you've got to do better than "fuddy-duddies overreact to car crash—and entire town inexplicably goes along with BANNING DANCING." Nope!
Don't insult us, Footloose 2011.
Anyway, Ren arrives in Bomont, pop. 19,300, according to the welcome sign, way too many people for how small-town this small town is supposed to be, further undermining the incredible premise that the City Council could unilaterally ban underage dancing. He has come to live with his aunt and uncle and two little girl cousins, who think he's the coolest cat, no doy.
His uncle gives him a broken-down VW Beetle, the same one that everyone has laying around their garages in the movies, and tells Ren it's all his if he can fix it up. Which, naturally, he can, because all teenage boys are mechanics.
Ren goes to school. The preacher's daughter's friend thinks he's cute. Because of his Boston, or possibly Australian, accent, his soon-to-be-BFF Willard thinks Ren talks funny. (Wait—is this really a remake of Grease 2? Because that would cool.) Montagery. Ren and the preacher's daughter observe each other from various distances and make "witty" observations about each other. She takes him to a secret dance, where they bump and grind.
There is not the sound of a scratching record, because none of the people in this movie or likely to buy tickets to this movie have ever seen a record ("What is that—a Blu-Ray for dinosaurs?"), but THERE SHOULD BE! Because the Reverend Dennis Quaid (yup) has shown up at the totally-not-remotely-secret dance party where everyone is dancing SO HARD! The Reverend Quaid looks disappointed.
He takes his daughter home and asks her what he's going to do with her. She back-talks him and slams her bedroom door in his face. He stands there impotently. Good job, Reverend Dad!
Ren learns about the car crash. A cop tells him to get his "cheap thrills" (sure) "outside of Bomont." As if cars drive that far!
Ren becomes a pro-dance activist. The Reverend Quaid tells his daughter he's heard Ren is trouble. The cop who hassles Ren seems to agree. Gosh, this town stinks!
Ren dances angry. Hello there, iconic scene from the original Footloose! Psst, if you are going to invite comparisons to the classic film you're remaking, you'd better be sure that your new star is at least as charismatic as the old star. Whoooooooooooooops! All I can think of is Kevin Bacon and how he is not being lived up to!
Also: I'm a little bit thinking of Bret McKenzie. In any case, I am NOT thinking, "This movie looks really good."
Blah blah the kids are uprising. They're teaching the adults a thing or two about life, yo. And, just like conservative religious reactionaries in real life, the fake conservative religious reactionaries in this movie are totally going to listen to reason and repeal that dance ban. It's like some real cinéma vérité shit.
Montage of scenes from the movie. Fighting. Kissing. Iconic maroon prom jacket. Etc. There is literally no mystery or surprise. It's not a trailer—it's a synopsis. Normally, I would make some snarky comment here about how I don't even need to see the film now, except this is a remake of a film that is still constantly shown on television and everyone has seen dozens of times, so NO ONE NEEDS TO SEE THIS FILM. At all. Ever. Just watch the original. The end.
Set Phasers to Squeeeeeeeeeeee!
Shaker allgoodtees just sent me the link to the first pictures of Martin Freeman as Bilbo Baggins. I won't post them here because I don't want to accidentally spoil anything for anyone who's studiously avoiding all Hobbit-related stuff until they've got the popcorn in their hands and the lights have gone down, but EVERYONE ELSE GO LOOK! IT'S MARTIN FREEMAN AS BILBO BAGGINS!
* * *
Three honest-to-Maude true Hobbit-related facts about me:
1. I have seen the Rankin-Bass animated version of The Hobbit more than 100 times, and I own a 12-inch vinyl audio version of it that I listened to incessantly when I was a kid. I practically know it by heart.
2. I was so terrified of Gollum when I was a kid that I had recurring nightmares about him and MamaShakes had to tear a picture of Gollum out of a Hobbit coloring book I had because it scared me so badly.
3. When I was 17, I and another female classmate were wearing sandals in class one day, and a male classmate noticed we each had a few wispy hairs on our big toes, which naturally was the Grossest Thing Ever OMG!!!!1!!eleventy!!1! ... I responded to the crescendoing mockery with the first thing that came to my head: "FUCK OFF WE'RE HOBBITS!"
* * *
Three honest-to-Maude true Hobbit-related facts about me:
1. I have seen the Rankin-Bass animated version of The Hobbit more than 100 times, and I own a 12-inch vinyl audio version of it that I listened to incessantly when I was a kid. I practically know it by heart.
2. I was so terrified of Gollum when I was a kid that I had recurring nightmares about him and MamaShakes had to tear a picture of Gollum out of a Hobbit coloring book I had because it scared me so badly.
3. When I was 17, I and another female classmate were wearing sandals in class one day, and a male classmate noticed we each had a few wispy hairs on our big toes, which naturally was the Grossest Thing Ever OMG!!!!1!!eleventy!!1! ... I responded to the crescendoing mockery with the first thing that came to my head: "FUCK OFF WE'RE HOBBITS!"