Sunday, December 28, 2008
This shit had dog death written all over it...literally
The other day, my dog-hating friend J-Sexy asked if I planned to go see Marley and Me. Specifically, she asked, "Are you going to see that movie? It has one of those disgosting dogs you like in it." She was making fun of me, because recently I had been telling her about the plot to the world's most upsetting cartoon, The Plague Dogs, and started choking up about it. A few tears even leaked out. J-Sexy laughed at me, because she's evil like that.
Mark my words: I will never, EVER see this movie. TRUST.
"Hell to the no!" I responded. "That dog is obviously going to die and I cannot deal." Apart from the fact that Jennifer Aniston and Owen Wilson's very existence offends me and I wouldn't see a "dramedy" (AKA shitshow by definition) about these two fucktards enduring the trials and tribulations of domestic life, dog death is a movie theme that I simply cannot cope with. I still have bad dreams about Where the Red Fern Grows. I start to sniffle if anyone brings up White Fang, and don't even MENTION Old Yeller around me. I cried during I Am Legend when the dog died. Hell, I cried during the remake of The Hills Have Eyes when one of the dogs died!
A while later, LL Cool Jew and I were Gchatting about how much Will Smith's new stinkbomb Seven Pounds is going to suck because that's all Will Smith does, and the topic came up again:
LL Cool Jew: that 7 pounds thing just looks so sure-to-be-shiteous
LL Cool Jew: i wonder which is worse, that or marley and me?
LL Cool Jew: although the latter might be worse because i sense it involves dog death
LL Cool Jew: which is obviously unacceptable
LL Cool Jew: the dog will inevitably die
Razzy: i KNOW that it involves dog death
LL Cool Jew: there is a part in the trailer where owen wilson is sitting in a field with a very graybearded marley
Razzy: i don't like that one bit
LL Cool Jew: and says to himself, "dogs don't care if you're rich or poor..."
LL Cool Jew: which indicates - dog death.
Razzy: "immortal marley without those two d-bags" sounds like a much better movie
Razzy: dude, dogs always die in movies
Razzy: i don't know why i think otherwise
LL Cool Jew: no, no way will i subject myself to that
LL Cool Jew: crying at a jennifer aniston movie
LL Cool Jew: NO THANKS
Razzy: hell to the FUCKING NO!
LL Cool Jew: too humiliating
LL Cool Jew: almost as embarrassing as it was crying at a will smith movie (i am legend)
Razzy: dude i cried at that shit too!
Razzy: jerseygirl leaned over to her boyfriend and was like, "dude, check it out...RAZZY'S CRYING!!"
Razzy: then they laughed at me!
Razzy: i was like "that dog is so sweet and caesary!"
LL Cool Jew: um yes
LL Cool Jew: graphic scenes of doggie violence!!!!
LL Cool Jew: marley and me would be worse
LL Cool Jew: because it would be more along the lines of how our dogs are going to go
Razzy: i know, at least the dog in "i am legend" died in the line of duty
LL Cool Jew: old and infrim
LL Cool Jew: buh
Razzy: can. not. deal.
LL Cool Jew:i can't even think about it
Needless to say, I have not gone to see Marley and Me and I likely never will given the high probability of canine mortality. However, thanks to some intrepid soul who selflessly braved this cinematic disaster so as to save the rest of us, I now know that this was a wise decision based on an accurate hypothesis:
Labels: doggity style, LL Cool Jew, movies, oh the horror, tragedy
Friday, October 31, 2008
Horrible movies
I like horror movies a lot. I'm into tits, violence, and nerdy shit, and horror movies usually have at least two out of those three key elements. Thus, I've been very happy about the proliferation of horror movies on the old idiot box leading up to Halloween. Unfortunately, with horror movies being on constantly for a month, channels like AMC run out of decent ones and have to resort to digging through the $0.99 DVD bin to fill up the time. In the course of watching craptastic shitshows like The Rage: Carrie 2 and Hellraiser: Inferno, I've learned a few things about horror movies that are SO fucking bad, they're not even unintentionally funny.
John Carpenter's _________ often=ASS
If a movie title begins with "John Carpenter's" ANYTHING and it doesn't involve Kurt Russell, there is a very good chance that it will suck cheesy balls. Have you ever been unfortunate enough to sit through John Carpenter's Vampires? It involved James Woods being an annoying, leathery old lech while one of the lesser Baldwin brothers banged Laura Palmer from "Twin Peaks" in the midst of some lame ancient-vampire-rising-and-we-have-to-stop-it plot. One time my buddy and fellow horror enthusiast and I spent a solid two hours watching John Carpenter's Shameless Creepshow Knockoff Body Bags and shouting obscenities and derisive jokes at the television. Then we got really, really high to erase our memory of the experience. John Carpenter's Prince of Darkness is only good because the protagonists are a bunch of grad students at the "University of Science" who inexplicably get charged with transcribing scientastic equation-looking gibberish emanating from a big jar of Satan that some priests were keeping in their basement. And don't get me started on the time I endured the audiovisual abortion known as John Carpenter's Ghosts of Mars, which was like the unholy child of Total Recall and a body modification conference sponsored by Hot Topic. Not even the combination of O'Shea "Ice Cube" Jackson, Pam Grier, and hot-ass Natasha Henstridge could salvage a mere second of that appalling shitshow. However, I was excited to see that the woman who plays Arnie's mom in John Carpenter's Christine is the same actress who played Steve Sanders's lesbian primetime drama TV mom Samantha in "Beverly Hills, 90210," which was an excellent non-Kurt Russell casting choice in my opinion. Not coincidentally, this is also one of the few decent Kurt Russell-free films John Carpenter has made.
Rabies does not make you want to drink human blood
David Cronenberg really should have hit the books harder in his microbiology class. That dude's understanding of rabies virus, parasitology, and infectious disease in general is lacking. Maybe science education in Canada is even crappier than here in the United States of Asskickery.
Go back to Hell, you overpierced losers
Hellraiser movies do not scare me at all. Seriously, you solve a fucking Rubik's cube and open a dimensional portal that lets in a bunch of piercing enthusiasts who look like they just knocked a few back at a S&M leather bar? I would leave that dumb Puzzle Box alone just to keep the pasty PVC-wearing Pinhead set from showing up to piss me off with their crappy style.
STFU, ROB ZOMBIE!
Robert Barlett "Rob Zombie" Cummings (snicker) is probably the most irritating horror movie personality ever. Not only is he constantly accompanied by his vapid skank of a wife, he has this smug attitude that makes me want to gag him with his own unshorn stank dreadlocks. Suffering through even a minute of Sheri Moon Zombie's giggling, monosyllabic critical analysis of the movie Willard is bad enough, but I would rather be trapped in an abandoned knife factory with Michael Myers than topping that off watching Rob Zombie congratulate himself for his fanboy-turned-auteur genius at ruining (John Carpenter's) Halloween. I had enough when Rob Zombie made his first movie House of 1,000 Corpses (which by my count was around 989 corpses short of the body count advertised), a film that amounted to a ninety minute White Zombie video retelling of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Since then, I've had to suffer Rob Zombie shooting off his mouth like he's the next Wes Craven every time he gets to go on camera. If he wants to do something really useful, he could put a sock in it and go get a fucking haircut.
What's really scary? The Oxygen network
I have seen the most horrifying thing on television, and it wasn't even a scary movie. I made the mistake of switching to an episode of "Coolio's Rules," and there is definitely something to be said concerning the adage about curiosity being potentially fatal. Shudder.
So is the E! channel
As long as I'm talking about not-intentionally-scary-but-actually-terrifying pop culture trends, if you're looking for a homicide spree trigger, I highly recommend watching the episode of "The Girls Next Door" where Girl Next Door #2 Bridget plans a "haunted murder mystery" party.
Die, Mac dude, DIE!
Every time I watch Jeepers Creepers, I just pray for the imminent consumption of the douchebag Drew Barrymore-fucking Vassar dropout Justin Long guy who plays the Mac in all Apple commercials. Sadly, this doesn't happen until the very end of the movie. Sorry if I just ruined Jeepers Creepers for those of you who haven't seen this exercise in cinematic assfuckery, but don't worry: the ending is actually more horrifying than just the eye-explanting demise of the Mac dude. After ninety minutes of being a complete dumbass who will not cease with alternate juvenile sibling bickering and obnoxious attempts at collegiate wit coupled with repeated STUPID fucking attempts to get killed (ie: sliding down the pipe which acts as a monster body dump conduit out of a misguided desire to play Hardy Boys), this asshole's shrewish harpy of a sister doesn't get killed as well.
Late sequels are crap
Freddy's Dead: The Final Nightmare is quite possibly one of the stupidest fucking movies I've ever seen. Seriously, the premise of the film is that the world's hottest foster kid psychiatrist, who happens to be Freddy Krueger's long-lost daughter, decides that it will be beneficial for her psychotic sleep-deprived patient to take a vanload of ragtag misfits back to Elm Street for a nice visit. Once there, they find the creepiest, most cockroach-and-smoking-clown-infested local fair in the history of small town horror movies. The genius visitors observe that conditions are so grim because there aren't any kids around (which sounds like paradise to me, except for the fact that Roseanne and Tom Arnold make a hilarious cameo to explain that this is on account of Freddy, who takes time out of his child-murdering schedule to chalk self-portraits on the town sidewalks.) After a lot of retarded wandering around through the world's lamest high school class/pathetic attempt at bringing whatever sorry fools somehow saw this movie who somehow didn't know the premise ("Freddy 101") and Freddy fucking around with people's demonic dream hearing aids until their heads explode, playing an evil variation of Pitfall on a satanic Atari, and blasting Iron Butterfly simply to provide a context for clumsy peri-homicidal puncraft, these geniuses figure out that the solution is to bust out some dream kung fu on Freddy's ass, which the street kids are luckily proficient in. The main thing we learn from this movie besides "don't go to sleep if you happen to be somehow related to either Freddy or his fucked-up hometown" is that after many sequels, most horror franchises really do need to go the way of the main villain's victims. When Freddy has to resort to terrorizing people with gigantic maps that say "you're fucked," it's time to hang up the knife-fingered glove, get some skin grafts, take up shuffleboard, and hopefully invest in a new sweater. This one is right up there with Friday the 13th VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan, in which Jason actually spends most of the movie murdering retarded horny teenagers on a Circle Line cruise rather than anywhere on the fair isle where I reside, in terms of bullshit unintentionally hilarious movie premises.
Mommy issues don't scare me
Ed Gein is only good when you listen to his scary mom say "you'll be nothin' but a blubberin' pantywaist for the RESTA YER LIFE!" or "KILL THE EVIL-TALKER, BOYYYYYYYYY!" and watch flashbacks of her whipping him for reading sexually suggestive comic books in the bathroom. Otherwise, I'm just reminded of how not-scary mama's boy slashers (in other words, 99.99999% of them) are. Frankly, in the original, Jason's MOM was fucking scary. However, once Pamela Voorhees passed the machete she was decapitated by on to her undead son, Jason himself was pretty lame, slow, and lucky to have the dumbest bitches imaginable to easily dispatch. His only stroke of genius or style was his adoption of the hockey mask, but in every other respect Jason completely sucks. I could probably outrun his slow ass, if I were stupid enough to take a job as a summer camp counselor at Crystal Lake in the first place. Given the high (100%) unrepentant slut murder rate there, I imagine that even as an inexperienced and annoying teenager I would probably look elsewhere for employment. Ed Gein's irritatingly cliched control freak of an evangelical Christian mother doesn't hold a candle to Pamela Voorhees. For that matter, Ed Gein doesn't hold a chainsaw to the mama's boy horror villain based on himself. Leatherface hung screaming bitches on meathooks while wearing a patchwork mask of human skin. Ed Gein just shot a bitch after talking to himself a lot, drove her to his house while she feebly slapped at him, acted creepy while she slowly died of sepsis from the non-fatal gunshot wound, and then made some ladies' accessories and a titty vest with her fatass carcass. God, what a fucking pussy. Not scared of you, loser. NEXT!
Pelicula de terror
Halloween Seis: La Maladición de Michael Myers is not nearly as scary as Halloween VI: The Revenge of Michael Myers. "Esta la casa de Michael Myers, es verdad? Serio." This does not keep me up at night, although now that I think about it, it didn't keep me up at night when I saw it in English, either.
Good thing it's Halloween, and as of tomorrow, I'll be back on the football and not throwing stuff at whatever idiotic trash AMC is showing. Happy Halloween, fools!
Labels: movies, nerd alert, retard rage, spooktiness, TV
Friday, October 17, 2008
A dangling C.H.U.D.
I've gotten a couple e-mails regarding a certain SUPER hot photo from the master debate the other evening. It seems that despite the widespread circulation of this shot on the internets, my mom, GayMan, and a couple of random Razzyphiles just had to e-mail me to make sure it didn't escape my notice that the officer and a hot piece known as Senator John McCain (R-AZ) looked like he was being transmogrified into one of the creatures dwelling in the fell city of Minas Morgul after catching a glimpse of old Pointy Pelvis Obama's ass:
I don't know how I missed McCain doing this live, because I certainly watched the debate. It may have something to do with the fact that I watched it at a bar and had already knocked back a Dos Equis or fifty. I also was thrown off because during the debate there had been a lot of cheering for McCain, and I thought maybe I was in good company. Then, however, when the cheering continued after the debate I realized that everyone was getting excited about the Phillies game on one of the other bar TVs, and as usual I was the only McCainiac around. In any event, I had other things on my mind than spotting fleeting moments when McCain apparently gave in–if only for a moment–to his insatiable craving for smug, condescending Illinois senator flesh. I wish I had seen it, though, because I've been saying for a long time that we need a C.H.U.D. in the White House. For one thing, a cannibalistic, possibly undead president would strike a lot more fear into the hearts of evildoers everywhere than a brainy law professor. For another, I'd like to see those socialist homos in Europe complain about our warmongering ways while facing the threat of being ravenously devoured by our fearless leader for their gall. My election preference continues to be validated by Senator McCain's total awesomeness. JOHN! MC! CAIN! JOHN! MC! CAIN!
*RAZZY Edit: No sooner did I publish this than I was asked, "What the f is a C.H.U.D.?" Apparently I am the only one around here with any appreciation for the cinematic masterpieces of the 1980s. C.H.U.D. is a movie about some John McCain-looking things with glowing eyes that live under New York City in the abandoned subway tunnels and occasionally venture up from their subterranean digs to eat hot 80s chicks with spiral perms. It's a really realistic movie, because I can't tell you how many narrow escapes I have made from hungry C.H.U.D.s since moving to New York six years ago. Take a gander at the awesome trailer for C.H.U.D. and I guarantee that not only will you IMMEDIATELY rush to Blockbuster and rent it, you will see my reasoning that a C.H.U.D. would make a better president than a community organizer. TRUST.
Labels: Barack Obama, John McCain, movies, oh the horror, politics
Monday, August 04, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Irukandji jellyfish
DOB: who knows when they evolved, but they were first documented in 1952
Occupation: stinging the fuck out of Australian tourists and inhibiting production of shitty romantic comedies
Hometown: the ocean off of Cairns, Queensland, Australia
Current residence: a special place in my heart
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I was just reading an article about how jellyfish swarms have been screwing with popular swimming beaches, and how this is a sign that the oceans are in distress. While I yawned at the article's implications that jellyfish are yet another harbinger of certain ecological doom (as are any biological anomalies in this age of Al Gore-facilitated Chicken Little paranoia), I did notice a mention of the "rare but deadly Irukandji jellyfish." I had never heard of this jellyfish before, and decided to investigate further.
Since phylum Cnidaria (and, for that matter, anything else big enough to be seen without the aid of an electron microscope) isn't within my realm of professional expertise as a virologist and I am unfamiliar with any scientific review journals addressing the topic of lethal jellyfish, I asked Wikipedia for the details. Although the article was short, it did tell me that Irukandji jellyfish are tiny, potently venomous, especially dangerous because they have stingers on their bell as well as their tentacles, cause a whole host of life-threatening symptoms, and I don't have to worry about them unless I go to Australia. What I was most interested in was the "Irukandji jellyfish in pop culture" section of the entry.
Specifically, I was interested in the following bullet point:
This jellyfish was the cause for the delay in filming for a Hollywood film, Fool's Gold, starring Kate Hudson. Filming was taking place in Queensland, Australia, when the jellyfish was spotted, and a marine biologist was called in to assist.
If only a marine biologist hadn't been handy. I dream of the day that Kate Hudson (and her co-star Matthew McConaughey) will cease and desist making movies that seem to be solely designed to piss me off. I haven't seen Fool's Gold, but I have written not one but TWO separate posts condemning this film anyway. Fool's Gold hits it out of the park in terms of things I will assuredly loathe. It contains bitchy, sex-starved prudish women, hippies, lame sex scenes between the aforementioned, absurdly historically inaccurate treasure hunts, marital bickering, and poorly written, timed, and executed jokes about all of the above. I don't need to see Fool's Gold to know that this film was a waste of everything: money, time, tasty craft services food that could be used to feed better actors in a better movie, viewer's patience and sanity, etc. I think that tonight I will dream pleasant dreams about Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey sinking into the Australian seas after being stung everywhere by small yet lethal Irukandji jellyfish.
I can only hope that, thanks to global warming and the general declining health of the oceans, that if Hollywood is arrogant enough to greenlight Fool's Gold 2, the proliferating Irukandji jellyfish makes them pay for their hubris.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, movies, sexy delicious animals
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
DOB: November 21, 2008
Occupation: ruling your face off
Hometown: London, England (oh, oops, it looks like some of this was filmed in Norway too)
Current residence: post-production
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I am completely and totally unashamed about the fact that I love Harry Potter in a serious way. When book 7 dropped, JerseyGirl, FalloniusMonk, and I went to the Lincoln Center Barnes and Noble to pick up our pre-ordered copies of HP and the DH, and were so eager that we cut in front of not one but TWO groups of children so as not to delay our gratification. Yeah, I know it's kind of an asshole move to cut in front of kids, but their arguments are easily quelled by some grown-up bitchery and as far as I am concerned, it's just Darwinism in action. It's not my problem if those dumb ten-year-olds with fake glasses, drawn-on lightning bolt scars, and Warner Brothers' sanctioned Gryffindor robes can't adapt to the selection pressures of the Harry Potter book release line.
Sadly, since there aren't any more Harry Potter books coming out, I've got to get excited about the movies coming out. Luckily, there are three more to look forward to (HP and the DH has been split into two movies), so I have plenty of Harry Potter geekery to look forward to for the next few years. Last summer when HP and the OOTP came out, Rack, TheOldGuy, FalloniusMonk, and I ate some really awesome special brownies and saw it in 3-D IMAX, and it was truly amazing. I even went to see it again with JerseyGirl later, and I never go see movies twice in the theater. I didn't even see Lord of the Rings: Return of the King in the theater more than once, and that's my favorite movie ever (although in fairness, I didn't have a spare eight hours to kill after the first time I saw it to accommodate a repeat theater visit for LOTR: ROTK).
Anyway, to ensure my unbridled excitement over the next few months, the trailer for HP and the HBP has been released and I'm fucking thrilled. Okay, they don't show the part where Dumbledore's homo ass bites it courtesy of Severus Snape, but I guess that wouldn't make it much of a teaser trailer. And oops, did I say that? Yeah, Dumbledore totally gets avada kedavre-d by Snape at the end. Sorry to spoil it, but if you haven't read the book by now, that's what you get for slacking. Also, the chick in The Crying Game is really a dude, and Bruce Willis is dead the whole time in The Sixth Sense. If you can't get on this shit when it's hot, then get over it!
So back to Harry Potter...this movie looks like it's going to totally rock everyone's face off, as per usual. If only it had Daniel Radcliffe's barely legal weiner in it, it would be perfect. I guess I'll have to go see Equus for that and content myself with the fact that Harry Potter is awesome enough to accommodate the lack of teenage male nudity and the presence of a few despicable children in the audience with me.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, destroy all children, Harry Potter, I LOVE IT, movies
Monday, July 28, 2008
This all kinds of WRONG
I was horrified to see THIS on the celebrity gossip internets over the weekend:
NOOOOOOOOO! How DARE you, Robert Rodriguez and Rose McGowan? HOW FUCKING DARE YOU?!?!?! I am used to arrogant Hollywood assholes thinking that they can improve classic movies that did not in any way need an update, but doing this to Red Sonja is my breaking point.
If you haven't seen the original Red Sonja, then you are a communist, terrorist, or some other type of all-around freedom-hating dickwad degenerate with absolutely no taste. I can't tell you what Red Sonja is really about, except that Brigitte Nielsen runs around in a chain-mail negligee with Arnold Schwarzenegger in full Conan regalia and star of the woefully underappreciated series "Sidekicks" Ernie Reyes, Jr. (capitalizing, no doubt, on the Short Round-induced demand for Asian boy actors with both comic timing and martial arts skills in the early-mid 80s) swordfighting with a variety of ill-favored barbarian types, giant robotic dragon "security systems," and skanky lesbian witch-prostitutes who look fresh off the set of the Mötley Crüe "Looks That Kill" video. It's also produced by Dino de Laurentiis, who is not only responsible for David Lynch's Dune and Blue Velvet, the Conan franchise, Serpico, Death Wish, Orca, and Army of Darkness, but also founded gene pool that spawned my brother's main Food Network would-be girlfriend "Everyday Italian" host Giada de Laurentiis. Red Sonja hardly needs a coherent or memorable plot when it's working with that basic framework of extreme awesomeness.
I cannot see for the life of me how Rose McGowan is going to somehow breathe fresh new life into the role Brigitte Nielsen totally owned. Brigitte Nielsen's film career may have been short, but I nonetheless fully thought that her work as Red Sonja (as well as her roles as Mrs. Ivan Drago in Rocky IV and a hot 80s power lesbian bank robber in Beverly Hills Cop II) is worthy of a fucking Oscar. Furthermore, have you ever suffered through an instance of Rose McGowan performing her craft? Since I didn't bother sitting through the Lord of the Rings-length (and not caliber) Grindhouse, the only thing I can think of are the few episodes of "Charmed" I've seen snippets of on TNT while flipping channels. "Charmed" was generally a televised abortion and a black mark on Aaron Spelling's grand legacy that couldn't even be salvaged by a grossly overdressed Alyssa Milano or Julian McMahon's hot ass. I never really knew what it was about save some lame witches or something, but I can tell you unequivocally that Rose McGowan was no fucking Shannen Doherty, who she replaced. Hell, she wasn't even close to fellow Aaron Spelling drama Shannen Doherty replacement Tiffani-Amber Thiessen on a little (greatest show in the history of television) program known as "Beverly Hills, 90210." Lucky for her she was banging Robert Rodriguez (after twatmatizing him sufficiently to get him to leave his wife and four kids) when casting was going on for Red Sonja, because Rose McGowan couldn't act her way into my grade school's production of "Jack and the Beanstalk." She's going to make Brigitte Nielsen look like Katharine fucking Hepburn with the extent of her theatrical butchery of Red Sonja, and I hope she gets AIDS from the bloody sword she's licking in the promo poster.
This news is so upsetting that I almost forgot about another disturbing development in the world of reviving 80s cinema classics: Darren Aronofsky is on board to direct a sequel/remake to one of the finest action films of all time:
NOOOOO!!!! Not RoboCop, too! This doesn't bode well. Rather than making movie magic, Hollywood has turned into an abattoir engaged in the wholesale slaughter of its own classic material. I have a very bad feeling that any day I'm going to hear I can look forward to a remake of Red Dawn starring Justin Timberlake, Shia LaBoeuf, Brody Jenner, Miley Cyrus, and Lindsay Lohan in my local multiplex. That day will be the day I purchase a samurai sword and start looking for the sweet spot on my gut. Trust.
Labels: movies, ranting, retard rage, scathing indictments, sluts
Monday, June 02, 2008
Daily Douchebag: Sex and the City
DOB: May 30, 2008
Occupation: making women look like a bunch of desperate, haggard, vapid idiots
Hometown: New York, New York
Current residence: a theater near you
Douchebaggery: I've gone off on Sex and the City before, and thought that I exorcised my annoyance with this show then. Now that this trash has been made into a movie, I've realized that I have a bottomless well of hatred for Carrie Bradshaw et al.
"But Razzy," you might say. "This show is all about women having lots of sex! Isn't that exactly what you are all about?"
Perhaps, if these women were having lots of sex and being awesome about it, I would raise a glass of scotch in honor of this show. However, any sex that actually gets had on the show does little to mitigate the abhorrent characters that, as a woman, I'm supposed to relate to. While I'm currently sitting on my bed in my New York City apartment typing away at my MacBook like Carrie Bradshaw always does, and while certainly some readers will suggest that I'm also a geriatric, unattractive, withered 29-year-old prune, that is where the similarities end. I'm not thinking a bunch of trite thoughts about my "woman's right to shoes" or pondering the ins and outs of how men and women relate to one another in a heavy-handed way, and I'm certainly not doing voice-over in my head about what I'm writing.
Sure, every once in awhile I post my dumb girl thoughts about being a dumb girl, like about the boys I like, boys I liked, boys I liked once but now hate, etc. However, those introspective, oh-yeah-I-guess-I-am-a-girl posts are usually few and far between. I certainly am not going to waste anyone's time regularly debating whether or not I like so-and-so and trying to present my own personal drama as a microcosm of how all relationships are or should be. First off, God help the world if a completely incompetent relationship-haver like either myself or Carrie Bradshaw is considered some sort of sage with great philsophical insight into love or relationships. Carrie Bradshaw is all hung up on Mr. Big--who is WAY better when he's playing Detective Mike Nolan--the same way I'm hung up on my former paramour the R-uh. I don't talk about that much, because nobody wants to hear me vacillating about my feelings concerning old relationship skeletons in the closet. Besides, HotLawyer once pointed out that when I talk about the R-uh, I go to "a very dark place" and that's certainly no good for me. Therefore, all you're ever going to hear about regarding the R-uh are gross stories about anal sex bloopers, not a bunch of sad stories about the many, many reasons things between us got fucked up (or were fucked to begin with) and trying to make emotional sense out of it. I'll save that for my shrink. If only Carrie Bradshaw's lame ass would follow a similar policy regarding Mr. Lameass Big. I could care less whether she ever finds her peace about that douchebag, and I certainly don't care to watch a movie that features their presumably doomed attempt at nuptials.
I also truly hate the generalizations about women that Carrie's dumb ass makes as she writes her shiteous columns. If she's any indication, then all bitches are like her: superficial, frivolous fag hags with careers that are secondary to their shopping habits and their boy problems. Sure, I like new clothes and cute shoes, and I sometimes get distracted by drama in my love life. However, there is NO FUCKING WAY I would drop everything and move to Paris to be with some snobby, old Russian ballerina, just like there's no fucking way I would drop everything and move back to be with an asshole like Mr. Big. Of course I know many women who have changed their plans to accommodate their relationships, and this is fine. In most of those cases, my female friends made some sort of compromise with their partner, which you have to do to make a relationship (or a marriage) work. However, when Carrie acts like it's a perfectly normal female response to ask "how high?" when a douchebag says "jump," she does women everywhere a disservice. This show doesn't demonstrate that a woman can have a career and a relationship at the same time; it demonstrates that a woman can have a career until some dude shows up, dickmatizes her, and makes her throw it all away so that she can be with him. Even Samantha, the only bitch on this show I remotely like, eventually falls into the trap of accommodating her gay-looking model boyfriend unconditionally.
It's hard enough to get through one paltry 30 minute "Sex and the City" episode, much less a two hour movie. If they cut out every part except where Samantha is screwing around, then maybe I would consider illegally downloading it. However, one of my neighbors told me that she saw it and there was hardly any sex in it, so that's all I need to know in order to not see this trash. My friend JerseyGirl once said of my movie taste, "If there's not murder, explosions, or people getting fucked, Razzy's not going to like it." Since I suspect that there aren't any murder or explosions in Sex and the City, and since there's apparently minimal people getting fucked, I'll pass on these dried-up old shoe whores permanently. Unless by some miracle the sequel to this movie (which has already been given the go-ahead) is called Sex and the City vs. Predator, I'm staying the hell away from these cosmo-swilling grannies.
Labels: Daily Douchebag, movies, retard rage, Sex and the City, sluts
Friday, May 30, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Harvey Korman
DOB: February 15, 1927
DOD: May 29, 2008
Occupation: actor, hot piece
Hometown: Chicago, Illinois
Current residence: a funeral home in Los Angeles, California
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Not being a necrophile, I'm not really interested in hitting it with Harvey's corpse. I am, however, interested in lauding his career, since he was in one of the greatest movies of all time: Mel Brooks's Western parody and masterpiece Blazing Saddles.
Blazing Saddles is probably one of the most politically incorrect movies I've ever seen, and it's awesome. I think it explains a lot concerning my inherent offensiveness level now that I grew up quoting lines like "Wait a minute while I whip it out" and "You said rape twice...I like rape." Nowadays, a movie like Blazing Saddles would probably never be made, because nobody not named Dave Chapelle could get away with dressing a black man in Klan robes and presenting this as humorous. Nor would modern day audiences find dialogue such as "Alright, we'll give land to the niggers and the chinks, but we don't want the Irish!" to be side-splittingly funny. The genius of Blazing Saddles lies in its script taking some of the most offensive, despicable societal customs (ie: flagrant racism and bigotry) and satirizing them in a manner that is completely and unabashedly hilarious. I've probably seen Blazing Saddles 50 times, and I still laugh out loud hard when I watch it.
Harvey Korman plays corrupt political boss Hedley Lamarr in this movie, and he's brilliant. I never saw any of Harvey Korman's other work (with the possible exception of his voice-overs in "Tom and Jerry" cartoons), but his work in Blazing Saddles alone is an achievement of the highest order. When he says florid lines like, "My mind is a raging torrent, flooding with rivulets of thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives" it's the perfect set-up for his henchman to say, "Goddammit, Mr. Lamarr, you use your tongue prettier than a $20 whore." Nobody else could call stampeding cattle through the Vatican "kinky" with quite the same panache as Harvey Korman. If you don't believe me, watch this classic scene:
My only regret is that I couldn't find one of my favorite clips on YouTube, specifically where Hedley Lamarr's hired muscle Taggart is explaining what he's going to do to the people of Rock Ridge who have failed to socially implode upon assigning them a black sheriff and thus are blocking his efforts at expanding the railroad ("unfortunately there is one thing standing between me and that property: the rightful owners").
My only regret is that I couldn't find one of my favorite clips on YouTube, specifically where Hedley Lamarr's hired muscle Taggart is explaining what he's going to do to the people of Rock Ridge who have failed to socially implode upon assigning them a black sheriff and thus are blocking his efforts at expanding the railroad ("unfortunately there is one thing standing between me and that property: the rightful owners").
Taggart: We'll work up a "number 6" on 'em.I salute Harvey Korman for his outstanding skills as a thespian, and hope that his soul has found repose being totally hysterically funny in the afterlife alongside Madeline Kahn's. Rest in hilarity, Harvey.
Lamarr: "Number 6?" I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that one.
Taggart: Well, that's where we go a-ridin' into town, a whampin' and whompin' every livin' thing that moves within an inch of its life. Except the women folks, of course.
Lamarr: You spare the women?
Taggart: Naw...we rape the shit out of 'em at the Number 6 dance later on!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hilarious shit, I LOVE IT, movies, people who died
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Beverly Hills Chihuahua
DOB: September 26, 2008
Occupation: 50% warrior, 50% lover, 100% chihuahua
Hometown: Walt Disney Studios
Current residence: during previews at a theater near you
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Normally kids movies are something I avoid like the plague, since I hate both children and the cutesy storylines that appeal to them. Furthermore, any movie with a talking animal (especially where said talking animal plays an integral role bastardizing the culture and history of a magnificent ancient civilization like the Aztecs) gets a big thumbs down in my book. I also generally avoid movies starring dogs, because there's almost always at least one dog death, and I can't handle that emotionally. I started crying during I Am Legend, and not just because it was a godawful time-squandering piece of trash, but because I just couldn't tolerate watching Will Smith strangle his sweet Caesar-y German Shepherd. I can't even talk about Old Yeller, White Fang, or Where the Red Fern Grows without choking up, and you had better believe that I unplugged the damn TV within watching the first 10 minutes of Amores Perros. In every respect, Beverly Hills Chihuahua seems like the kind of movie I would hate for myriad reasons, which is why I'm so shocked that I kind of want to see it.
Part of the reason for this may be due to the fact that when LL Cool Jew and I were roommates in 2005, I lived with her little long-haired Chihuahua, Dulcinea. Although Dulcinea (aka "the D") is not without her challenges (in particular, frequent medical problems, a tendency to urinate uncontrollably when startled or terror-stricken, and a sneaky habit of furtively shitting on various furniture and/or carpets), she is a very, very sweet, funny little dog and I am extremely fond of her. Obviously, LL Cool Jew is too, since she went and got ANOTHER long-haired wawa, Sergio, to keep the D company. Even if you hate dogs, you can't say that these two aren't pretty fucking cute:
LL Cool Jew told me that when she recently saw the trailer in the theater, she embarrassed her husband BigBagel because she actually started clapping delightedly. While I don't think I'd get so excited as to burst into raucous applauding, I wouldn't be embarrassed by LL's enthusiasm. If she's in New York when that shit drops, I'll go see Beverly Hills Chihuahua with her, even if it means sitting in a theater full of hateful children. After watching the trailer, I'm convinced that this movie might not make me homicidally crazed. In fact, in spite of the fact that it has none of the three elements I consider critical to a good movie (murder, explosions, people getting fucked), and many of the elements I consider terrible (possible dog death, musical numbers, shameless revisionist history) I think I might actually like it.
It's at least got to be more exciting than Beverly Hills CHONGAY, which would be approximately ninety minutes of this:
It's at least got to be more exciting than Beverly Hills CHONGAY, which would be approximately ninety minutes of this:
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, destroy all children, doggity style, LL Cool Jew, movies, the D
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Most hilarious Presidential biopic EVER
I usually don't like Oliver Stone movies. In fact, the only ones I can think of that I did like were Platoon and Born on the Fourth of July. Oh, I also liked Wall Street. I guess JFK had its moments, but I got bored and all I remember is that Kevin Bacon was some kind of gigolo butt boy for closeted homo politicians. I think. I would have liked Any Given Sunday if it weren't for the constant annoying presence of Jamie Foxx, and when I was in high school my ex-boyfriend was always listening to the Natural Born Killers soundtrack, but otherwise Oliver Stone can lick my twat. I would rather let Dick Cheney buttfuck me with a birdshot-loaded hunting rifle than watch that 9/11 movie he made, and if one of his movies doesn't have something to do with the Vietnam War or young Michael Douglas playing an asshole yuppie, I'm not really interested.
However, I can't fucking WAIT to see his new movie W., about none other than our current commander-in-chief. First, he cast Josh Brolin as Dubya, and I've had a hard-on for Brolin ever since he was the hottest Pony Express employee in the history of mail carriers on "The Young Riders."
Also, a script leaked to Cindy Adams of the peerless New York Post indicates that this movie is going to be absolutely fucking hilarious. Choice snippets of dialogue include:
- Bush to General Tommy Franks: "I don't want to fire no $2 million dollar missile at a $10 dollar empty tent and hit a camel in the ass."
- Bush on Silver Fox President William Jefferson Clinton: "My mother waddles faster than that lardass."
- Bush on Gitmo: "We'll move these terr'ists to Guantanamera."
- Bush on being corrected by Cheney that the place in Cuba is actually called "Guantanamo": "Vice, when we're in meetings, I want you to keep a lid on it. Keep your ego in check. Remember, I'm the president."
- Bush, Sr. to a college age Dubya: "You never kept your word once...you're only good for partying, chasing tail, driving drunk."
- Bush during his decision to go to war in Iraq: "Wolfowitz, got any Maalox on you? And trim your ear hairs while you're at it."
- Bush on Saddam Hussein: "Saddam's been dicking us around for 11 years. I told my father to get rid of the sucker."
- Bush to education reformers: "Rarely is the question asked, 'Is our children learning?'"
The Post has all sorts of other details about the film, including descriptions of scenes featuring Dick Cheney stepping in cow shit while visiting the ranch in Crawford and Bush eating his favorite meal (a bologna sandwich) in the White House. I would watch this movie just to see Brolin call Colin Powell "Balloonfoot" and bitch at him for not being more punctual. It sounds like it's going to be The Naked Gun of presidential biopics. Compared to films like All the President's Men (which I fell asleep during) and JFK (which, again, the only part I remember is Kevin Bacon's turn as a gay man-whore), this sounds like a rollicking good time. Props to Oliver Stone for striking comedy gold. Come opening day, I'm going to eat some "special" brownies and prepare to laugh until my stomach hurts.
Labels: hilarious shit, intentional buffoonery, movies, politics, ridiculous absurdity
Monday, April 21, 2008
Death and the City
I was not at all excited for the new Sex and the City movie due out next month. Apart from Samantha's adventures in sluttery, I could care less about new storylines involving these superficial, ugly old broads going shoe shopping and banging ugly old dudes. However, thanks to a recent interview by the ugliest of the ugly old broads, Cynthia Nixon, I now have something to get excited about. Supposedly, one character is going to bite the big one in the new movie.
As far as I'm concerned, as long as one character is getting killed off, why not take them all out (except Samantha)? The producers have labored under the delusion that any of these characters (again, except Samantha) are likable or fun. These women are a bunch of obnoxious old shrews with little character apart from their love of overpriced footwear and their tendency to act like junior high retards regarding the men in their life. I think any of the following scenarios would be good, or to use the SatC ladies' favorite adjective--FABULOUS:
1. Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha sit down to a table of cosmopolitans at some upscale lounge. Samantha goes to fuck the bartender in the bathroom and while she's gone, a meteorite crashes through the roof right onto their table, killing them instantly in a blaze of cosmic dust and shattered martini glasses.
2. Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha attend a prestigious gallery opening. While Samantha is off banging some artist type in the bathroom, Mr. Big walks in with an Uzi and takes everyone out because it's the only way to get Carrie's fickle, whiny ass to quit him once and for all. Then he kills himself, both for much-needed closure and because he's way hotter when he's Detective Mike Logan on various "Law and Order" franchises.
3. Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha go shoe shopping. While Samantha steps out of the Manolo Blahnik store to bang some random guy in the bathroom of the Starbucks next door, a freak shelf collapse kills the remaining three women via impalement by stiletto heels.
4. Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha visit the spa. While Samantha is banging one of the facial technicians, Carrie, Charlotte, and Miranda are boiled to death when the sauna's thermostat goes inexplicably haywire.
5. Carrie goes bankrupt due to spending far beyond the means of an unemployed columnist, gets evicted from her Upper East Side apartment, and contracts drug-resistant tuberculosis. While crashing with Charlotte and Miranda, she gives them the consumption as well, and they all die. Samantha is spared because she is too fabulous to hang out with Carrie after she joins the ranks of the homeless, and she's probably banging some dude in a bathroom somewhere.
6. Miranda finally nags Steve to his breaking point. While they are at some function where Samantha is banging some dude in the bathroom, Steve walks in with a bomb strapped to his chest and blows the place up. Only the bathroom where Samantha is skanking it up survives the explosion.
7. Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha are forced to take the subway somewhere. Samantha changes her mind upon venturing into the dirty subterranean realm of the common folk and retreats to a nearby bathroom where she bangs some guy. Carrie, Charlotte, and Miranda are unaccustomed to how the subway works, and accidentally step into the path of an oncoming F train, thinking that's how they are supposed to board it.
8. Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha go to a sushi restaurant. While Samantha is banging the sake delivery man in the bathroom, Carrie, Charlotte, and Miranda eat an improperly cut piece of blowfish and die when their hearts explode. Actually, I don't know if improperly cut blowfish really makes your heart explode, but that happened on an episode of "The Simpsons" once, so it's likely.
9. Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha throw a botox party. Samantha is banging the plastic surgeon in the bathroom while Carrie, Charlotte, and Miranda all die from acute botulinum poisoning thanks to the massive amounts of botox required to youth up their craggy-ass faces.
10. Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha take a road trip to the Hamptons. Upon arrival, Samantha promptly gets down to business banging the pool boy at their rental. Carrie, Charlotte, and Miranda just spontaneously drop dead because they suck.
However this goes down, it's going to be awesome. Anything that will put these hags out of their misery and relegate them to late-night reruns on TBS where they belong is right on in my book.
Labels: movies, people who died, retard rage, Sex and the City
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Daily Douchebag: Ben Stein
DOB: November 25, 1944
Occupation: lawyer, law professor, Nixon and Ford White House speechwriter, comedian, Darwin hater
Hometown: Washington, DC
Current residence: Malibu, California and Sandpoint, Idaho
Douchebaggery: I'd like to start by saying that I've always liked Ben Stein. He seems smart and I enjoy his dry sense of humor. Up until now, I've never had any issues with Ben Stein. However, I just saw an ad for his new documentary, EXPELLED: No Intelligence Allowed. Initially I thought this was going to be a film about Ben Stein making fun of academics being assholes. So I went to his blog. I was seriously annoyed at what I read:
I’m Ben Stein – many of you know me from the classic film, “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” or from my Comedy Central show “Win Ben Stein’s Money”. Still others of you may know me as a speechwriter, for presidents Richard Nixon and Gerald Ford. You may even have read my books, attended one of my lectures at The American University, Washington DC, or seen me on the talk shows.
I’m glad you found this site, because I want to share with you my thoughts from time to time here about a subject that is very near and dear to me: freedom. EXPELLED: No Intelligence Allowed is a controversial, soon-to-be-released documentary that chronicles my confrontation with the widespread suppression and entrenched discrimination that is spreading in our institutions, laboratories and most importantly, in our classrooms, and that is doing irreparable harm to some of the world’s top scientists, educators, and thinkers.
America is not America without freedom. In every turning point in our history, freedom has been the key goal we are seeking: the Mayflower coming here, the Revolution, the Civil War, World War II, the Cold War. Tens of millions came here from foreign oppression and made a life here. Why? For freedom. Human beings are supposed to live in a state of freedom. Freedom is not conferred by the state: as our founders said, and as Martin Luther King repeated, freedom is God-given.
A huge part of this freedom is freedom of inquiry.
Freedom of inquiry is basic to human advancement. There would be no modern medicine, no antibiotics, no brain surgery, no Internet, no air conditioning, no modern travel, no highways, no knowledge of the human body without freedom of inquiry.
This includes the ability to inquire whether a higher power, a being greater than man, is involved with how the universe operates. This has always been basic to science. ALWAYS.
Some of the greatest scientists of all time, including Galileo, Newton, Einstein, operated under the hypothesis that their work was to understand the principles and phenomena as designed by a creator.
Operating under that hypothesis, they discovered the most important laws of motion, gravity, thermodynamics, relativity, and even economics.
Now, I am sorry to say, freedom of inquiry in science is being suppressed.
Under a new anti-religious dogmatism, scientists and educators are not allowed to even think thoughts that involve an intelligent creator. Do you realize that some of the leading lights of “anti-intelligent design” would not allow a scientist who merely believed in the possibility of an intelligent designer/creator to work for him… EVEN IF HE NEVER MENTIONED the possibility of intelligent design in the universe?EVEN FOR HIS VERY THOUGHTS… HE WOULD BE BANNED.
In today’s world, at least in America, an Einstein or a Newton or a Galileo would probably not be allowed to receive grants to study or to publish his research.Since when has Ben Stein appointed himself the honorary Kansas Board of Education anti-evolution spokeswhore? Granted, I thought the whole "Bueller...? Bueller...?" was genius, but his portrayal of a public school teacher didn't make me think that he was qualified to tell them what to teach.
They cannot even mention the possibility that–as Newton or Galileo believed–these laws were created by God or a higher being. They could get fired, lose tenure, have their grants cut off. This can happen. It has happened. EXPELLED: No Intelligence Allowed comes to theaters near you in February 2008. To learn more, check out my blog here often … and explore the rest of our site for new developments, or to volunteer to help spread the word.
Sincerely,
Ben Stein
I agree with Ben that freedom is the essential American tenet, and that freedom of inquiry is one of the most basic aspects to human advancement. I also agree that this is essential to science. However, when he gets into complaining about the "anti-religious dogmatism" aspect of his argument, I start to roll my eyes. While Ben Stein is surely knowledgeable in matters of law, political speechwriting, and conservative economics, I absolutely disagree that any kind of religion has any place in the realm of science or science education.
I am a scientist. In spite of what people might think about my sex life or my ridiculousness or my attention whorishness or my writing, my actual job is experimental science. I know my shit and I am good at it. I have been working in a lab since I was sixteen. That's almost FOURTEEN YEARS at the fucking bench. I think that, in spite of my unfortunate tendency to generate negative data since I've gotten into the mouse business, I am very proficient at this task. I respect my PI, and I know that he would not have welcomed me into his lab or tolerated my many non-scientific scandals if he didn't think I was a competent and talented scientist who would be a credit to his legacy. My competency is inexorably linked to my ability to design and execute experiments effectively.
I am also a religious person. I am Catholic, and though I wasn't confirmed and I'm tremendously lousy at living up to church rules (particularly those regarding sexuality), I believe in God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit and the Immaculate Conception and the Virgin Birth and all that dogmatic crap. I believe that God is the ultimate creator, and life would not be here without God.
That said, there is no way that God can be tested experimentally. Ben Stein might bitch that scientists might not be able to get grants addressing the role of the divine in creation, but has this fucker ever tried to get a RO1 grant? It's almost impossible to get a damn grant in this current economy and NIH budget even with the most direct, promising project. My PI is such an expert in his field that he wrote a damn textbook. He did his postdoc with a very famous Nobel laureate, he has the distinction of being the first in his field to achieve a major milestone when he cloned and sequenced a virus in the late seventies, and you ought to see his Wikipedia page. He is an endowed full professor at Columbia and nonetheless, he had trouble securing his last grant. Grants are hard to come by these days thanks to the Bush administration's emphasis (or lack thereof) on supporting scientific research. How on earth could a review committee (or "study section," in NIH parlance) justify a grant addressing the role of a higher power in creation? How do you design experiments to test something like that? If anyone has any ideas as to what controls you could include in such an experiment, I would love to hear them. Einstein, Newton, and Galileo may have been men of faith, but that doesn't mean they incorporated their religious beliefs into the methods they used to evaluate their theories experimentally. Just because Einstein, Newton, and Galileo believed in God doesn't mean they included that in all the ball-dropping or stargazing or number-crunching that characterized their greatest scientific achievements.
I went to Catholic school for twelve years. In high school, I was taught both the theory of evolution and scientific creationism (this was before "intelligent design" was employed to give the latter more intellectual credibility). We were taught that they aren't incompatible. Catholics don't interpret the Bible literally, so it's not like I'm bound by my faith to believe that the world was created in seven days exactly as the Old Testament says. I definitely do not think that the theory of evolution excludes the possibility of a divine creator. I can (and do) believe that evolution was God's means of creating life as we know it. However, I have no idea how I could go into lab and test this hypothesis. Science is a method for understanding the physical truth of our world. Science is not a substitute or a competitor for religious faith, and it's irresponsible to suggest that a religious element needs to be added to science education in public schools if only because it distracts from teaching kids about the scientific method as the divine falls outside the realm of testable hypotheses.
Ben Stein is smart when it comes to economics and political commentary and making fun of dumbasses. However, until he throws on a lab coat and executes a well-designed, properly-controlled experiment, he needs to quit bitching about "Big Science" conspiring like Big Tobacco to systematically eliminate God from the classroom. Science doesn't exclude the possibility of God, and operating under any kind of assumption about the influence of the divine isn't "intelligent" or faithful to the rational methods of inquiry that Galileo, Newton, and Einstein themselves employed. Stick to awarding titles like "America's Most Smartest Model," Ben.
Labels: Daily Douchebag, Dear God, movies, retard rage, science
Monday, March 17, 2008
Daily Douchebag: George Lucas
DOB: May 14, 1944
Occupation: pompous asswipe, extremely wealthy douchebag, ruiner of great franchises
Hometown: Modesto, California
Current residence: Los Angeles, California
Douchebaggery: I love the Indiana Jones movies (or at least the ones about Judeo-Christian relics and not odd rituals and the gross edible vermin that exist in remote parts of India) and I love Star Wars Episodes IV-VI, but I can't stand George Lucas. Today I read an article on CNN.com reminding me why.
Recently, George Lucas was pimping out his new computer-animated movie AND television series Star Wars: The Clone Wars, and had a few things to say about how completely destroying one of the most beloved film franchises ever made has been going.
"You've got the whole assembly line built, and then you say, 'Hey, we can make up something," George said regarding the creative process behind what undoubtedly represents yet another ass-raping of everything that originally made Star Wars great. George Lucas thinks he can replace the compelling plot from the first three movies with a lot of disjointed, nonsensical plotlines that are mainly excuses to show off his large CGI budget. Even good parts of the new movies, like where Yoda has a light saber fight with Saruman the White from LOTR, are aggravating because there's such a pervasive sense of George Lucas's masturbatory delight in his cutting edge special effects. These special effects also create a major problem in the chronology of these movies: how did technology get WORSE? In episodes I-III, there are all sorts of fancy spaceships, robot armies, clone farms, etc., and in episode IV they build a Death Star that looks like it was made out of papier mache and packing material staffed with Storm Troopers wearing outfits made out of ventilation ducting and giant Legos? What happened to all the fucking robot armies and high tech body armor?
Another problem with all the new Star Wars stuff is that it plays up all the things that sucked about the original Star Wars movies (annoying robots, Ewoks/other similarly useless species existing solely as a shameless ploy to sell toy crap to kids, incompetent assholes--ie: C3P0 and Jar Jar Binks--who create plot complications via stupidity, etc.). It's like George Lucas sat around thinking up ways to piss me off. I can just see him now, twirling his greased pompadour on his porch at Skywalker Ranch, saying, "And I think we need to include more children...yes, that's the ticket...more kids. And let's explain the origin of the Force as an intracellular rickettsial infection. That seems plausible as a source for the dualistic spiritual energy controlling the fates of the main characters of this film. And make sure all the robots make beeping noises that are as stupid as possible."
Adding insult to injury is that George Lucas talks about the new work as though it's on par with the Bible in terms of social impact, or that his heavy-handed messianic characterization of Anakin Skywalker brings new meaning to the word "profound." I liked the original Star Wars movies a lot, but not so much that I would consider converting to Jedi or believing in the Force as an actual higher power; yet to hear George Lucas talk, you'd think he came up with better shit than Jesus. In the interview I read today, he is remarkably humble, saying, "It's like 'Band of Brothers' in space, with Jedi." Amazingly, Lucas actually only compared his "Clone Wars" TV series to the Golden Globe and Emmy-winning miniseries about World War II rather than the New Testament. Maybe his ego is actually diminishing in his older age along with his volume of heavily shellacked hair.
Finally, there is pretty much no way I'm going to like anything with the name Star Wars lacking one of these three key things:
1. Lando Calrissian being totally smooth
2. Han Solo being a fine-ass scoundrel
3. Princess Leia in a gold bikini
I'm sorry, but Hayden Christensen looking like he just stepped away from a Christopher Street glory hole, Ewan MacGregor rocking softball dyke hair, and Natalie Portman dressed like a space-age geisha doesn't even remotely compare to the original hot pieces of Star Wars. In fact, it cheapens and disgraces it, and not even an entire planet full of Chewbaccas can make up for it.
Since I already got suckered into seeing episodes I-III, TRUST that after being fooled three times and shame on me, I won't be repeating history and joining all the dorks in Darth Vader masks at the multiplex for The Clone Wars. This is an assembly line that needs to be shut the fuck down.
Labels: assholes, Daily Douchebag, movies, nerd alert