Rant and roll…
Not that you asked…
…but here ya go. Welcome to my world. Here is the place to go when you want to get really pissed off about something completely inconsequential. This is the brain-dump area so be forewarned, my brain can get pretty messy. I'll try to keep the cursing to a bare minimum (and may occasionally surprise with a rant-less rant!). Remember, I warned you…

021030 | wednesday

Angelina Jolie is completely nuts. Not that this is the biggest news to ever hit the streets but the IMDb reported recently that the Ms. Ex-Billy Bob is relieved to know that her adopted kid is not going to enter the film biz. Apparently, he has settled on a career as a professional soccer player and has even selected the team for which he will play (Liverpool, in case you were remotely interested).

Now the antics of Jolie and Thornton are pretty much common knowledge and few would say that they acted normally throughout their brief coupling but this is really above and beyond. "Don't be so tough on her. Give her the benefit of the doubt." I can hear you all say. What I failed to mention is that Maddox is ONLY THIRTEEN MONTHS OLD!!! I am not making this up. Sometimes, this stuff just writes itself.

Now, I have really been trying to stay on the up and up. Don't cater to the lowest common denominator. Don't partake in the trafficking of sordid Hollywood gossip but please; I am only human and this story is so damned funny I felt that depriving you of its bounty would be nothing short of criminal. Thirteen MONTHS!!! Holy cow. I swear. Just when you thought the wackiness had peaked along comes this. Too, too good.

021020 | sunday

Hollywood will do anything for a buck. Witness the latest news that soon, movie viewers will be treated to a sequel to Ocean's Eleven: Last year's crappy remake of a crappy original. (Read my review here.) The American public will never cease to amaze me for allowing itself to be force-fed mindless tripe. Honestly.

Take the original. A half-assed excuse for the Rat Pack to go to Vegas, drink themselves silly, and get paid. Ok, certainly stranger things have happened and, with the presence of Frank and the boys, one wouldn't have to be a psychic to see that the film would do more than simply survive at the box office. But a good film? Hardly.

Fast forward to 2001… a new group of hipsters, a somewhat (actually, much) weaker story and even better box office results. Movie-goers ate it up. Critics were, for the most part, appreciative of the effort as well and, as usual, producers are clamoring for the "next" Ocean's Eleven. Soderberg et al, not wishing to disappoint the public (or miss an opportunity to make a trunk-full of cash) will deliver the updated product, replete with a full ensemble of "flava de jour" casting and the requisite "To Be Continued?" ending at some point soon. And the public will eat it up. And Hollywood will earn its buck. Just watch out for Beneath the Planet of the Apes: II..

020902 | monday

Steve's come in many shapes and sizes. Some worthless additions to the world of cinema actually make it to the big screen (undeservedly so... see last week's rant) while others, like the vastly underrated and misunderstood Cold Blooded never see the dark of the theatre. These (on both accounts), I prefer to call Steves. Straight To Video.

There have been a number of films over the years advertised in the cineplex which I have dedicated myself to see. If that were only possible. Many of these, like the aforementioned Priestley vehicle, simply disappear into the cinematic ether. Only to resurface in the local video store months later and begin to gather dust. Many suck. Others are gems. Hey, no one ever said movie watching was easy.

The latest potential abomination to skip my local theatre was The Salton Sea starring Mr. Hit or Miss himself, Val Kilmer. Is it good? Don't ask me, I am still waiting for it to make its cinematic debut on my television. Doubtful, however. Something about the trailer for the film intrigued me nonetheless. So one of these days, my beloved Netflix will deliver said film to my mailbox and I will proceed to waste yet another two hours.

020827 | tuesday

The IMDb reported today that (gasp) last weekend was the worst summer weekend for film viewage in over 4 years. Shocking? Hardly. (And yes, I know I just said "viewage". I make up words, get used to it.)

Ladies and gentlemen, we have entered that time of year (once again) where the major studios release only the worst of the worst. So what do they expect? I suppose late summer/early fall is relegated to the distinction of crap-central as far as film goes because audiences have their minds on other things: back-to-school hell, packing that one last vacation into the Labor Day vacation-fest, belly-button lint removal. Who knows…. The only film released this time of year I can recall that warranted any attention whatsoever was last year's Hedwig and the Angry Inch (a fine film by the way, rent it today!). So studio execs are crying in their martinis over last weekend's paltry take of $62 million? Boo hoo. You want people to show up to your films? Try releasing something that merits our spending $9 ($22.75 once you toss in the 'corn and cokes). Until then, don't get your checkbook in a twist when we all hit the beach or Target instead of the local megaloplex. (And, in case you were holding your breath… stop. Not much appears to be on the horizon as far as decent film goes but I'll keep you posted.)

020819 | monday

Well, this weekend's activities took me to The Summit Course at Cordierra in Edwards which proceeded to kick my sorry ass and let me know that I am not only a poor excuse for a golfer but a bit of a fish-out-of-water when it comes to hangin' with the social elite. I was deemed the first person to sport a chain wallet and earrings (gender: male) to grace the links at Cordierra and am certain that I would have been booted from the joint post-haste had I not been among the company of aforementioned "social elite". It was like caddy "day" at the pool in Caddyshack. Without the boobs and Baby Ruth, of course.

I shot about 150 (if you don't count the 73 Mulligans) and managed to donate about 36 balls to the surrounding wilderness. I am definitely no Danny and try as I might, I simply couldn't bring myself to "be the ball". I did carve some wicked divots, however… so the groundskeeper is assured a job for a few more weeks at least.

After doing my damnedest to bring shame to my family (both Ma and Pa are excellent golfers), I took in the new film Blue Crush which is not going to win any awards (unless, of course, the Academy is adding "Best Fat Man in a Speedo" or "Teeny-Weeniest Bikini" to their agenda). Which, come to think of it, might not be such a bad idea…

020810 | saturday

What's the story with the ratings system? Seriously, I want to know. Now I am not too squeamish about anything that filmmakers dish out so really, this discussion doesn't apply to me. BUT, I find it a little hard to sit back and take it when I see film with sexual situations getting the proverbial shaft when compared to violent drivel which consistently gets off without a second look. What has become of this society that runs away like a frightened bunny whenever scenes get steamy (or, gawd forbid, a breast is bared) but brings out the parades when some serious ass-whoopin' hits the screen? Pitiful.

Now I certainly understand that the U.S. was founded by Puritans but c'mon people, that was several centuries ago. Get over it. It will never cease to amaze me how far the Right Wing has gone to censor sexuality while at the same time promoting senseless violence (both on and off the big screen). What is wrong with you people (not that you are reading this…)?

So what is my plan of action? I dunno. But I do know that sumpin' ain't right. I suppose I'll just go rent some porn.


Critter Critique: This week's review brought to you by Gavin.
Fatal Attraction:  Yet another example of Hollywood schlock served up in a double boiler. Though Fatal Attraction starts innocently enough, I was shocked and appalled to witness the on-screen atrocity put forth as entertainment in act three. Trust me, this one is not fit for man nor beast. Ginger Pants