It sucks to get a colossal hospital bill, but it's almost worth the pain (almost) for the chance to take advantage of the secret-handshake discount program operated by seemingly all medical billing offices. All you have to do is ask for a discount in exchange for paying the remaining amount in full upfront, and your bill will be magically shrink. Hospitals and doctors do this to grab your cash while they can out of fear that you'll ignore the bill and stiff them.
But the enemy is doing what it can to make things tougher on patients looking to slash their medical bills.
My son, Zack, was born three weeks ago, and the hospital sent me a bill yesterday. I found it odd that the bill's contact number had an (800) prefix, but still thought I wouldn't have too much trouble getting a discount like I did three years ago when Emma was born.
How wrong I was.
Not only did the first guy I spoke to turn me down, but so did his supervisor. They insisted the hospital didn't offer such a discount and never had. After I presented evidence to the contrary the supervisor admitted her operation was nothing more than a call center contracted out by the hospital. She recommended I call the mothership.
Once I did that — having to look up the number myself, because the call center didn't have it and couldn't or wouldn't transfer me — I got a 20 percent discount nice and easy. It's sad that those who don't have the perseverance to play billing office whack-a-mole will have to pay full price.
The lesson here, folks, is to never take "no" from an agency that lacks the power to make things right for you.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
Review: The Watch
There's a scene in watch in which the four leads are crammed into a car on a stakeout, complaining about how bored they are.
It's all too easy to identify.
A bizarro action comedy, the Watch squanders the ample talents of Ben Stiller, Vince Vaughn, Jonah Hill and Richard Ayoade, each of whom are so naturally funny that it takes a significant effort for any of them to not make you laugh. Most of the time the movie is well up to the task.
The slumming temporarily un-funnymen play four overenthusiastic, small-town morons who form a neighborhood watch after some guy's skin gets ripped off inside a Costco. It's most definitely a Costco, not Sam's Club or a generic stand-in, because the store's sign gets prominent display in half the movie's scenes and the characters call it by name, going the Adam Sandler route of justifying product placement by taking it to such an extreme that it becomes a joke.
Give the script, as well as Costco brass, credit for not being afraid to taint the warehouse store's image with murders and shootouts on the premises. That's impressive for a place that doesn't even let you bring your drinks inside.
That's about the extent of the praise this thing deserves. Other than a few can't-miss awkward sex gags -- for example, the part in which the guys compare their thoughts on the texture and taste of a certain bodily fluid -- the writing is lifeless and the movie has all the edge of a dull razor. It's almost as though screenwriter Seth Rogen, who teams up with Evan Goldberg and Jared Stern, is sick of Hill getting all the roles he used to get so he intentionally wrote something awful to bring him back down to earth.
To his credit, Hill fares the best, with his boisterous, inappropriate one-liners keeping things halfway watchable. Vaughn, who gets far too few chances to strut his stuff these days, gets carried away with his motormouth shtick and goes off on overlong monologues that enter diminishing returns territory that Robin Williams knows all too well. Ayoade is the noob of the bunch, not able to contribute in a meaningful way, while Stiller, the eternal put-upon straight man, has nothing consistent to work with.
The plot takes a ridiculous turn that you're probably aware of if you've read anything about the movie, but in case you're in the dark, I'll let it stay a secret. Not so much to avoid spoilers, but to spare you the indignity of having to suffer through brain-tainting dullness. Suffice it to say that the unwatchable watchmen end up facing a threat that's more dangerous than the egg-tossing kids they confront early on. What might have been a welcome shock turns out to be a groaner.
My best advice is to avoid wasting big money to see The Watch in the theaters. Wait a few months, and if you still feel driven to try your luck with the movie, look for the DVD, which is sure to snag some prime shelf space at Costco. Maybe you can take advantage of the store's legendarily lax return policy and return the movie as defective because its jokes don't work.
Starring Ben Stiller, Vince Vaughn, Jonah Hill and Richard Ayoade. Written by Jared Stern, Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg. Directed by Akiva Schaffer. 100 minutes. Rated R.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
It's all too easy to identify.
A bizarro action comedy, the Watch squanders the ample talents of Ben Stiller, Vince Vaughn, Jonah Hill and Richard Ayoade, each of whom are so naturally funny that it takes a significant effort for any of them to not make you laugh. Most of the time the movie is well up to the task.
The slumming temporarily un-funnymen play four overenthusiastic, small-town morons who form a neighborhood watch after some guy's skin gets ripped off inside a Costco. It's most definitely a Costco, not Sam's Club or a generic stand-in, because the store's sign gets prominent display in half the movie's scenes and the characters call it by name, going the Adam Sandler route of justifying product placement by taking it to such an extreme that it becomes a joke.
Give the script, as well as Costco brass, credit for not being afraid to taint the warehouse store's image with murders and shootouts on the premises. That's impressive for a place that doesn't even let you bring your drinks inside.
That's about the extent of the praise this thing deserves. Other than a few can't-miss awkward sex gags -- for example, the part in which the guys compare their thoughts on the texture and taste of a certain bodily fluid -- the writing is lifeless and the movie has all the edge of a dull razor. It's almost as though screenwriter Seth Rogen, who teams up with Evan Goldberg and Jared Stern, is sick of Hill getting all the roles he used to get so he intentionally wrote something awful to bring him back down to earth.
To his credit, Hill fares the best, with his boisterous, inappropriate one-liners keeping things halfway watchable. Vaughn, who gets far too few chances to strut his stuff these days, gets carried away with his motormouth shtick and goes off on overlong monologues that enter diminishing returns territory that Robin Williams knows all too well. Ayoade is the noob of the bunch, not able to contribute in a meaningful way, while Stiller, the eternal put-upon straight man, has nothing consistent to work with.
The plot takes a ridiculous turn that you're probably aware of if you've read anything about the movie, but in case you're in the dark, I'll let it stay a secret. Not so much to avoid spoilers, but to spare you the indignity of having to suffer through brain-tainting dullness. Suffice it to say that the unwatchable watchmen end up facing a threat that's more dangerous than the egg-tossing kids they confront early on. What might have been a welcome shock turns out to be a groaner.
My best advice is to avoid wasting big money to see The Watch in the theaters. Wait a few months, and if you still feel driven to try your luck with the movie, look for the DVD, which is sure to snag some prime shelf space at Costco. Maybe you can take advantage of the store's legendarily lax return policy and return the movie as defective because its jokes don't work.
Starring Ben Stiller, Vince Vaughn, Jonah Hill and Richard Ayoade. Written by Jared Stern, Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg. Directed by Akiva Schaffer. 100 minutes. Rated R.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
5 Expressions That Only Foreign People Can Get Away With
1. No worries - Only works for Aussies. SoCal folk have attempted to co-opt this but it's just not taking.
2. Cheers - Solely for Brits. Non-Brits attempting to sound worldly just come off as desperate Anglophiles when they use this.
3. Hola - If you're not a native Spanish speaker, stop kidding yourself. Same with 'no problemo.'
4. Gesundheit - Just go with 'bless you' unless you're German. Even if you're an atheist. The words have no meaning so you're not undermining your beliefs.
5. Aboot - It sounds adorable when Canadians say it. Out of anyone else's mouth it comes off condescendingly.
2. Cheers - Solely for Brits. Non-Brits attempting to sound worldly just come off as desperate Anglophiles when they use this.
3. Hola - If you're not a native Spanish speaker, stop kidding yourself. Same with 'no problemo.'
4. Gesundheit - Just go with 'bless you' unless you're German. Even if you're an atheist. The words have no meaning so you're not undermining your beliefs.
5. Aboot - It sounds adorable when Canadians say it. Out of anyone else's mouth it comes off condescendingly.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Review: The Dark Knight Rises
"Mmmph blrrg grug Batman glogg freedom raaar!"
-Bane, The Dark Knight Rises
The movie's gimp mask-wearing, MMA fighter-like villain no doubt has many profound things to say. But he talks like he's got an Egg McMuffin lodged in his trachia, so you're left to guess as to his motives for destroying a city, trapping every single police officer in a sewer, beating up Batman and rocking a smelly tanktop.
Bane stands as a symbol for his movie, which may as well be called The Dark Knight Bloats. Christopher Nolan followed up his two Caped Crusader masterpieces with a dud of a finale that, like Bane, is giant, slow-moving, talks too much and doesn't have a heck of a lot of reason to exist.
The movie runs a little long at nearly three hours, but I recommend taking a nap for an hour or so in the middle to make it pass quicker. Nolan helps you out with that by making the mid-section into a sort of cinematic lullaby that rocks you to sleep with board meetings, emo conversations and many, many, many scenes that do not show Batman being Batman.
This is not a movie to watch if you'd care to see Batman in action, doing Batman-like things like catching crooks or swooping down and punching people in the back of the head. The first act is mostly a poetry slam of one character after another reciting expositional monologues about how and why Batman has been away for eight years, and why that's a good thing or a bad thing.
Bruce Wayne is holed up in his stately manor, which really should be called Wayne's World, limping around with a cane like Willy Wonka when he first appears in his 1970s movie. Bruce Wayne has made some questionable business decisions, such as hiring Catwoman (Anne Hathaway) as a maid and spent all his money on a nuclear fusion bomb that could either provide the world an eternity of free energy or explode the city, depending on who's got it at the time.
You know how Bruce Wayne always kept it a deep, dark, double secret that he was Batman? Well, he's pretty much done with that now, willing to have a heart to heart about it with a cop (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) he's just met. Bane also knows, probably because he's -- as Rush Limbaugh has cleverly deduced -- a stand-in for Mitt Romney, and figured it out because he's best pals with many billionaires. Also, I'm pretty sure Catwoman figures it out, unless Batman has a special Bat-kiss that differentiates his Bruce Wayne smooching experience.
It doesn't really matter that people know Bruce Wayne is Batman because he doesn't want to be Batman anymore. It takes a heck of a lot of boringness to get him back in his suit, and shortly thereafter something bad happens and he's no longer Batman again until just in time at the very end.
If I'm being a little hard on the movie, it's because I expected so much more from it, and because it does a great job of reminding you how good the other two were by flashing back to scenes from those films again and again. The point of the flashbacks is to restate profound philosophical points from those movies, I guess to avoid having to come up with any new ones of its own.
The Dark Knight Rises isn't awful and is perfectly watchable, but just doesn't make much sense or build upon the groundwork laid by the earlier movies. It's this series' version of The Matrix Revolutions, The Godfather Part III or Caddyshack 2. Nolan's other Batman movies were stylish, deep, exciting and shocking. This one is just content to sort of hang out on the porch and watch the cars pass by.
I'll close with a quote from Bane: "Mrkl mumf unite argyle frankensense blarg."
The words are as true today as they were during the midnight screening.
Starring Christian Bale, Anne Hathaway, Tom Hardy, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Gary Oldman, Marion Cotillard, Morgan Freeman and Michael Caine. Written by Jonathan Nolan and Christopher Nolan, based on a story by Christopher Nolan and David S. Goyer, using characters created by Bob Kane. Directed by Christopher Nolan. Rated PG-13. 165 minutes.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
-Bane, The Dark Knight Rises
The movie's gimp mask-wearing, MMA fighter-like villain no doubt has many profound things to say. But he talks like he's got an Egg McMuffin lodged in his trachia, so you're left to guess as to his motives for destroying a city, trapping every single police officer in a sewer, beating up Batman and rocking a smelly tanktop.
Bane stands as a symbol for his movie, which may as well be called The Dark Knight Bloats. Christopher Nolan followed up his two Caped Crusader masterpieces with a dud of a finale that, like Bane, is giant, slow-moving, talks too much and doesn't have a heck of a lot of reason to exist.
The movie runs a little long at nearly three hours, but I recommend taking a nap for an hour or so in the middle to make it pass quicker. Nolan helps you out with that by making the mid-section into a sort of cinematic lullaby that rocks you to sleep with board meetings, emo conversations and many, many, many scenes that do not show Batman being Batman.
This is not a movie to watch if you'd care to see Batman in action, doing Batman-like things like catching crooks or swooping down and punching people in the back of the head. The first act is mostly a poetry slam of one character after another reciting expositional monologues about how and why Batman has been away for eight years, and why that's a good thing or a bad thing.
Bruce Wayne is holed up in his stately manor, which really should be called Wayne's World, limping around with a cane like Willy Wonka when he first appears in his 1970s movie. Bruce Wayne has made some questionable business decisions, such as hiring Catwoman (Anne Hathaway) as a maid and spent all his money on a nuclear fusion bomb that could either provide the world an eternity of free energy or explode the city, depending on who's got it at the time.
You know how Bruce Wayne always kept it a deep, dark, double secret that he was Batman? Well, he's pretty much done with that now, willing to have a heart to heart about it with a cop (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) he's just met. Bane also knows, probably because he's -- as Rush Limbaugh has cleverly deduced -- a stand-in for Mitt Romney, and figured it out because he's best pals with many billionaires. Also, I'm pretty sure Catwoman figures it out, unless Batman has a special Bat-kiss that differentiates his Bruce Wayne smooching experience.
It doesn't really matter that people know Bruce Wayne is Batman because he doesn't want to be Batman anymore. It takes a heck of a lot of boringness to get him back in his suit, and shortly thereafter something bad happens and he's no longer Batman again until just in time at the very end.
If I'm being a little hard on the movie, it's because I expected so much more from it, and because it does a great job of reminding you how good the other two were by flashing back to scenes from those films again and again. The point of the flashbacks is to restate profound philosophical points from those movies, I guess to avoid having to come up with any new ones of its own.
The Dark Knight Rises isn't awful and is perfectly watchable, but just doesn't make much sense or build upon the groundwork laid by the earlier movies. It's this series' version of The Matrix Revolutions, The Godfather Part III or Caddyshack 2. Nolan's other Batman movies were stylish, deep, exciting and shocking. This one is just content to sort of hang out on the porch and watch the cars pass by.
I'll close with a quote from Bane: "Mrkl mumf unite argyle frankensense blarg."
The words are as true today as they were during the midnight screening.
Starring Christian Bale, Anne Hathaway, Tom Hardy, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Gary Oldman, Marion Cotillard, Morgan Freeman and Michael Caine. Written by Jonathan Nolan and Christopher Nolan, based on a story by Christopher Nolan and David S. Goyer, using characters created by Bob Kane. Directed by Christopher Nolan. Rated PG-13. 165 minutes.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
Thursday, July 05, 2012
Review: Brave
After Cars 2 and the middling but still enjoyable Brave, Pixar has proven it's no longer the immortal dynamo it seemed to be for its first decade and a half of feature film production. The studio has fallen to earth, and seems more interested in grinding out a film a year rather than strictly releasing animated perfection.
The result of this outing is an entertaining family film with an idiotic plot and horrible yet still somehow likable protagonist who spends most of the running time fixing a terrible, irresponsible decision she makes early on. Forget that the title makes no sense, because bravery isn't apparent in any of the personality attributes expressed by Princess Merida (Kelly Macdonald), who refuses an arranged marriage that her parents tell her is necessary to preserve peace throughout factions they're associated with.
If the movie has anything that kids can can away, it's that whining and stubbornly sticking to your own self-absorbed opinions no matter what will pay off. Eventually your parents will fear you, and you'll always get your way. Not exactly a positive lesson, but frighteningly truthful.
The movie is beautiful and exciting, and nothing less should be expected from such cinematic wizards. When Merida befriends an anthropomorphic bear, whose identity I won't spoil in the off chance you haven't watched a trailer or read an article about the movie, the screenplay has a lot of fun with the comical cross-species interplay.
At the end of the day, you're left with 90 minutes or so burned in favor of heedless, forgettable fun. Faint praise is all that this movie is worth, but that's much more than you could say about Cars 2.
The result of this outing is an entertaining family film with an idiotic plot and horrible yet still somehow likable protagonist who spends most of the running time fixing a terrible, irresponsible decision she makes early on. Forget that the title makes no sense, because bravery isn't apparent in any of the personality attributes expressed by Princess Merida (Kelly Macdonald), who refuses an arranged marriage that her parents tell her is necessary to preserve peace throughout factions they're associated with.
If the movie has anything that kids can can away, it's that whining and stubbornly sticking to your own self-absorbed opinions no matter what will pay off. Eventually your parents will fear you, and you'll always get your way. Not exactly a positive lesson, but frighteningly truthful.
The movie is beautiful and exciting, and nothing less should be expected from such cinematic wizards. When Merida befriends an anthropomorphic bear, whose identity I won't spoil in the off chance you haven't watched a trailer or read an article about the movie, the screenplay has a lot of fun with the comical cross-species interplay.
At the end of the day, you're left with 90 minutes or so burned in favor of heedless, forgettable fun. Faint praise is all that this movie is worth, but that's much more than you could say about Cars 2.
Monday, July 02, 2012
Review: The Amazing Spider-Man
"Is this Spider-Man 4?" my 5-year-old son, Luke, whispered as the movie started.
"No, it's Spider-Man 1," I replied, bracing myself for the inevitable follow-up.
"But there already was a Spider-Man 1," he shot back, dissatisfied. "And Spider-Man 2 and Spider-Man 3."
"Yeah, well, some people didn't like the other Spider-Mans so they're starting over."
"But..."
"Shhh, time to watch Spider-Man" I said, relieved that there was no more time to ponder the ridiculousness of a series reboot so soon after the last set of webslinger flicks.
Shhh, Time to Watch Spider-Man may as well as been the title given to this one by the studio powers, desperate to make everyone forget the 2007 series-scuttling abomination known as Spider-Man 3.
Forget that it's as patently ridiculous to remake Spider-Man (2002) as it would be to rehash The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring or Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, which came out the year before. The series needed a rapidfire do-over. Director Sam Raimi's Spidey movies were pandering, lowest-common denominator puffballs that trampled over the continuity of the comic books and committed the heresy of eschewing live-action stunts for pathetic, herky-jerky CGI.
Worse, Tobey Maguire's Spider-Man was a whining twerp who wanted to be pitied for his super powers and the responsibilities that came with them.
Newcomer Marc Webb, who made the impossibly, ludicrously amazing (500) Days of Summer, seems to hate those movies just as much as I did, and is determined to zig wherever the previous Spider-Man movies zagged. His spandexed web-slinger, played by Andrew Garfield, ditches the woe-is me emo nonsense for a joyful, wise-cracking exuberance that's contagious. Webb's story sticks close to the comic's roots, even on ridiculous yet adorable points such as Peter Parker inventing his own wrist-mounted web shooters.
Garfield, who nailed the emotional core of The Social Network as Mark Zuckerberg's betrayed best pal, captures the vulnerability of the bullied geek turned spandexed vigilante. The rest of the casting is just as inspired, starting with Martin Sheen and Sally Field as Peter's crotchety guardians, on through Emma Stone's brainy-hot Gwen Stacy and Denis Leary as her skeptical-of-Spidey cop dad.
Webb and his screenwriters also deserve credit for their restraint, taking time to introduce the characters and ease methodically through Peter's evolution into his destiny in the manner of Batman Begins. By the way, how perfect is it that the Spider-Man director's last name is Webb? It's like having a Superman movie directed by a guy named Cape or a Ghost Rider movie made by someone named Crap.
Ah, but this Webb does become tangled, eventually becoming (500) Cliches of Summer Superhero Flicks. The villain, a rampaging scientist/lizard man played by (Rhys Ifans), is cursed with a non-existent motivation and rarely has something more profound to say than "Raar!" It's also head-scratching how often Spidey insists on sharing his not-so-secret identity with all comers, stripping off his mask like he's desperate for beads at Mardi Gras.
This new Spider-Man 1 that isn't Spider-Man 1, but is, may not be amazing, but after those last three mediocre-to-horrid movies, I'll take The Adequate Spider-Man and run.
Starring Andrew Garfield, Emma Stone, Rhys Ifans, Denis Leary, Martin Sheen and Sally Field. Written by James Vanderbilt, Alvin Sargent and Steve Kloves, based on a story by Vanderbilt, which was adapted by the comics by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko. Directed by Marc Webb. Rated PG-13. 136 minutes.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
"No, it's Spider-Man 1," I replied, bracing myself for the inevitable follow-up.
"But there already was a Spider-Man 1," he shot back, dissatisfied. "And Spider-Man 2 and Spider-Man 3."
"Yeah, well, some people didn't like the other Spider-Mans so they're starting over."
"But..."
"Shhh, time to watch Spider-Man" I said, relieved that there was no more time to ponder the ridiculousness of a series reboot so soon after the last set of webslinger flicks.
Shhh, Time to Watch Spider-Man may as well as been the title given to this one by the studio powers, desperate to make everyone forget the 2007 series-scuttling abomination known as Spider-Man 3.
Forget that it's as patently ridiculous to remake Spider-Man (2002) as it would be to rehash The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring or Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, which came out the year before. The series needed a rapidfire do-over. Director Sam Raimi's Spidey movies were pandering, lowest-common denominator puffballs that trampled over the continuity of the comic books and committed the heresy of eschewing live-action stunts for pathetic, herky-jerky CGI.
Worse, Tobey Maguire's Spider-Man was a whining twerp who wanted to be pitied for his super powers and the responsibilities that came with them.
Newcomer Marc Webb, who made the impossibly, ludicrously amazing (500) Days of Summer, seems to hate those movies just as much as I did, and is determined to zig wherever the previous Spider-Man movies zagged. His spandexed web-slinger, played by Andrew Garfield, ditches the woe-is me emo nonsense for a joyful, wise-cracking exuberance that's contagious. Webb's story sticks close to the comic's roots, even on ridiculous yet adorable points such as Peter Parker inventing his own wrist-mounted web shooters.
Garfield, who nailed the emotional core of The Social Network as Mark Zuckerberg's betrayed best pal, captures the vulnerability of the bullied geek turned spandexed vigilante. The rest of the casting is just as inspired, starting with Martin Sheen and Sally Field as Peter's crotchety guardians, on through Emma Stone's brainy-hot Gwen Stacy and Denis Leary as her skeptical-of-Spidey cop dad.
Webb and his screenwriters also deserve credit for their restraint, taking time to introduce the characters and ease methodically through Peter's evolution into his destiny in the manner of Batman Begins. By the way, how perfect is it that the Spider-Man director's last name is Webb? It's like having a Superman movie directed by a guy named Cape or a Ghost Rider movie made by someone named Crap.
Ah, but this Webb does become tangled, eventually becoming (500) Cliches of Summer Superhero Flicks. The villain, a rampaging scientist/lizard man played by (Rhys Ifans), is cursed with a non-existent motivation and rarely has something more profound to say than "Raar!" It's also head-scratching how often Spidey insists on sharing his not-so-secret identity with all comers, stripping off his mask like he's desperate for beads at Mardi Gras.
This new Spider-Man 1 that isn't Spider-Man 1, but is, may not be amazing, but after those last three mediocre-to-horrid movies, I'll take The Adequate Spider-Man and run.
Starring Andrew Garfield, Emma Stone, Rhys Ifans, Denis Leary, Martin Sheen and Sally Field. Written by James Vanderbilt, Alvin Sargent and Steve Kloves, based on a story by Vanderbilt, which was adapted by the comics by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko. Directed by Marc Webb. Rated PG-13. 136 minutes.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
5 Gawker Blogs I Wish Existed
1. Shitkicker — A smarmy, wise-ass take on cow herding, crop dusting and barn painting.
2. Clockwatcher — A smarmy, wise-ass take on meeting attending, cubicle decorating and time wasting at work.
3. Plagiarist — A smarmy, wise-ass take on news aggregation, aggregating news from other aggregators without giving proper credit.
4. Smutnik — A smarmy, wise-ass take on the adult film industry.
5. TaleSpin — An earnest, unironic evaluation of news you can use and fan-fic dedicated to the early-1990s animated series that starred Baloo the Bear as a rascally pilot. I really miss that show. Subtitle: "All the trouble we get in with another tale to spin."
2. Clockwatcher — A smarmy, wise-ass take on meeting attending, cubicle decorating and time wasting at work.
3. Plagiarist — A smarmy, wise-ass take on news aggregation, aggregating news from other aggregators without giving proper credit.
4. Smutnik — A smarmy, wise-ass take on the adult film industry.
5. TaleSpin — An earnest, unironic evaluation of news you can use and fan-fic dedicated to the early-1990s animated series that starred Baloo the Bear as a rascally pilot. I really miss that show. Subtitle: "All the trouble we get in with another tale to spin."
Friday, June 29, 2012
Review: Ted
Seth MacFarlane is a clever bastard. He knows that only way to get away with transferring his Peter Griffin voice to a walking, talking teddy bear in a movie is to acknowledge the party foul with a self-deprecating joke. So he uses one line two-thirds of the way into the movie and he's suddenly excused him from any accusations of laziness.
The animation mastermind behind Family Guy, American Dad and The Cleveland Show, MacFarlane has made a career out of that sort of circular humor. He has an ear for the absurd, and flings outrageous references up against the wall. It doesn't matter that only half of them stick, because the ones that do are funny enough to excuse the misfires. Ted may make you groan as much as it will make you laugh, but when it's on, the comedy gets you so giddy it makes you forget the awful stuff and halfway tricks you into thinking it's thoroughly perfect.
Part Child's Play, part Family Guy, part Wilfred and part fart joke marathon, Ted is all MacFarlane, for both better and worse. But mostly better.
MacFarlane voices the title character, a boozing, carousing plush doll who was dreamed into life back in the 1980s by John (Mark Wahlberg). Ted and John have grown into a pair of Flash Gordon reruns-watching, pot-smoking burnouts, much to the chagrin of John's ears-steaming girlfriend, Lori (Mila Kunis).
Lori drags John by the ear into adulthood, while Ted longs to lure John into suspended adolescence. That leaves Ted in the middle of the tug-of-war, juggling the only fart-joke-filled life he's known against a future of constant sex with a girl who looks like Mila Kunis. Both Wahlberg and Kunis play adequate straight parts, but they're really just the backup dancers for Ted's one-teddy show. The relationship stuff is dull, existing only to post up some framework for Ted's sickening-in-great-ways escapades.
Ted can rock a party like Charlie Sheen. He can hold his bong smoke, drink grown men under the table and is capable of seducing supermarket checkout girls, strippers and jazz singers with equal ease. He's got a knack for ironically racist wisecracks, a mean right hook and an inexplicable confidence in his awful driving ability. And boy, does he hate that Teddy Ruxpin.
Like Family Guy, Ted has its share of awkwardness, both intended and otherwise. Stars make surprise, self-mocking cameos that aren't quite as funny as intended, there are uncomfortably long pauses after punchlines that aren't as great as MacFarlane intended and then there's that Peter Griffin voice, which makes it tough to separate Ted from the character who's spent way too much time in your living room.
But overall, Ted is a ginormous victory for MacFarlane. Proof that his silly, so-stupid-it's-smart shtick can hold up over 106 minutes. Haters beware, because MacFarlane shows he's going to be just as popular a filmmaker as he is at TV animation. Lord help us all.
Starring Mark Wahlberg, Mila Kunis, Seth MacFarlane's voice, Giovanni Ribisi and Patrick Warburton. Written by MacFarlane, Alec Sulkin and Wellesley Wild, based on a story by MacFarlane. Directed by MacFarlane. 106 minutes. Rated R.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
The animation mastermind behind Family Guy, American Dad and The Cleveland Show, MacFarlane has made a career out of that sort of circular humor. He has an ear for the absurd, and flings outrageous references up against the wall. It doesn't matter that only half of them stick, because the ones that do are funny enough to excuse the misfires. Ted may make you groan as much as it will make you laugh, but when it's on, the comedy gets you so giddy it makes you forget the awful stuff and halfway tricks you into thinking it's thoroughly perfect.
Part Child's Play, part Family Guy, part Wilfred and part fart joke marathon, Ted is all MacFarlane, for both better and worse. But mostly better.
MacFarlane voices the title character, a boozing, carousing plush doll who was dreamed into life back in the 1980s by John (Mark Wahlberg). Ted and John have grown into a pair of Flash Gordon reruns-watching, pot-smoking burnouts, much to the chagrin of John's ears-steaming girlfriend, Lori (Mila Kunis).
Lori drags John by the ear into adulthood, while Ted longs to lure John into suspended adolescence. That leaves Ted in the middle of the tug-of-war, juggling the only fart-joke-filled life he's known against a future of constant sex with a girl who looks like Mila Kunis. Both Wahlberg and Kunis play adequate straight parts, but they're really just the backup dancers for Ted's one-teddy show. The relationship stuff is dull, existing only to post up some framework for Ted's sickening-in-great-ways escapades.
Ted can rock a party like Charlie Sheen. He can hold his bong smoke, drink grown men under the table and is capable of seducing supermarket checkout girls, strippers and jazz singers with equal ease. He's got a knack for ironically racist wisecracks, a mean right hook and an inexplicable confidence in his awful driving ability. And boy, does he hate that Teddy Ruxpin.
Like Family Guy, Ted has its share of awkwardness, both intended and otherwise. Stars make surprise, self-mocking cameos that aren't quite as funny as intended, there are uncomfortably long pauses after punchlines that aren't as great as MacFarlane intended and then there's that Peter Griffin voice, which makes it tough to separate Ted from the character who's spent way too much time in your living room.
But overall, Ted is a ginormous victory for MacFarlane. Proof that his silly, so-stupid-it's-smart shtick can hold up over 106 minutes. Haters beware, because MacFarlane shows he's going to be just as popular a filmmaker as he is at TV animation. Lord help us all.
Starring Mark Wahlberg, Mila Kunis, Seth MacFarlane's voice, Giovanni Ribisi and Patrick Warburton. Written by MacFarlane, Alec Sulkin and Wellesley Wild, based on a story by MacFarlane. Directed by MacFarlane. 106 minutes. Rated R.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
5 Pop Stars With Negligible Singing Ability
1. Katy Perry. She knows three notes: Talk, yell and shout.
2. Rihanna. She recognizes that "ella" rhymes with "ella," and can dance, but she's monotone.
3. Ke$ha. I don't even think her "rapping" voice. It sounds computer-manipulated in the vein of Johnny Bravo.
4. Miley Cyrus. She seems to be following the career trajectory of Hilary Duff, meaning she'll be working at Sonic by 2015.
5. Justin Bieber. Maybe I'm missing something, but it seems that Selena Gomez most of the talent in the relationship. And we're not talking about all that much talent to go around.
2. Rihanna. She recognizes that "ella" rhymes with "ella," and can dance, but she's monotone.
3. Ke$ha. I don't even think her "rapping" voice. It sounds computer-manipulated in the vein of Johnny Bravo.
4. Miley Cyrus. She seems to be following the career trajectory of Hilary Duff, meaning she'll be working at Sonic by 2015.
5. Justin Bieber. Maybe I'm missing something, but it seems that Selena Gomez most of the talent in the relationship. And we're not talking about all that much talent to go around.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Review: Seeking A Friend For The End Of The World
It would really suck if we found out a meteor was careening toward earth, set to end all life in a matter of days. But as Seeking a Friend for the End of the World teaches, there would be a silver lining for lonely dudes. Ladies would get crazy desperate, dropping their standards lower than they would at a dive bar on New Year's Eve at 11:59.
That's great news for Dodge (Steve Carell), a newly-single 50-year-old insurance salesman, who can suddenly get picky when it comes to romance. In the movie's first few scenes, he turns away middle-aged women who throw themselves at him, holding out for 20-something stunner Penny (Keira Knightley), who leaps through his apartment window and into his arms in the first of many scenes that make you go "hmm."
Never mind that Dodge's facial expression is permanently set to "constipated" or that he's got the personality of a dead dung beetle. Thanks to the meteor, he's a prime hunk of man meat in the eyes of Penny. Dodge is a suitable partner for an end-of-days travelogue, in which the couple wanders aimlessly through a realm of impromptu beach parties, Doritos-munching survivalists, bar-and-grill orgies, suicidal truckers and red-hot sex inside a car. Meteor, you are totally the best wing man ever.
Turns out the coming obliteration of creation not only distorts the judgment of romantic leads, but also filmmakers.
First-time writer/director Lauren Scafaria really wants you to root for her doomed lovebirds as she sends them through a gauntlet of tired screenwriting tropes, but the most sympathetic character ends up being the meteor, whom you wish will hurry the heck up and squash all these idiots. Dodge and Penny's plan seems to be to bore the meteor to death.
The movie is the type that gives think-piece indies a bad name. The parade of quirky characters are meant to be cute and unpredictable, but turn out as irritating and nonsensical. The script calls for Carell to spend too much time staring into the abyss, his craggy, vacant eyes revealing not only his character's regret for having wasted his time, but the actor's decision to sign up for this mess.
Knightley shows a little more life, and she deserves credit for resisting the urge to wince whenever she leans in to smooch Carell, but there's not much for her to do other than whining about wanting to fly to England to visit her parents.
Scafaria could have had a some more fun showing how urban areas would shut down if there was no tomorrow, but she keeps her characters out in the country, fleeing the riots and looting.
The concept would have had a better chance of success if it let Carell flex his comedic muscles, seeking out gallows humor in the end of existence, rather than sticking with its slow, somber vibe. With the talent onhand, the world could have ended with a bang, not a whimper.
Starring Steve Carell and Keira Knightley. Written and directed by Lorene Scafaria. Rated R. 104 minutes.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
That's great news for Dodge (Steve Carell), a newly-single 50-year-old insurance salesman, who can suddenly get picky when it comes to romance. In the movie's first few scenes, he turns away middle-aged women who throw themselves at him, holding out for 20-something stunner Penny (Keira Knightley), who leaps through his apartment window and into his arms in the first of many scenes that make you go "hmm."
Never mind that Dodge's facial expression is permanently set to "constipated" or that he's got the personality of a dead dung beetle. Thanks to the meteor, he's a prime hunk of man meat in the eyes of Penny. Dodge is a suitable partner for an end-of-days travelogue, in which the couple wanders aimlessly through a realm of impromptu beach parties, Doritos-munching survivalists, bar-and-grill orgies, suicidal truckers and red-hot sex inside a car. Meteor, you are totally the best wing man ever.
Turns out the coming obliteration of creation not only distorts the judgment of romantic leads, but also filmmakers.
First-time writer/director Lauren Scafaria really wants you to root for her doomed lovebirds as she sends them through a gauntlet of tired screenwriting tropes, but the most sympathetic character ends up being the meteor, whom you wish will hurry the heck up and squash all these idiots. Dodge and Penny's plan seems to be to bore the meteor to death.
The movie is the type that gives think-piece indies a bad name. The parade of quirky characters are meant to be cute and unpredictable, but turn out as irritating and nonsensical. The script calls for Carell to spend too much time staring into the abyss, his craggy, vacant eyes revealing not only his character's regret for having wasted his time, but the actor's decision to sign up for this mess.
Knightley shows a little more life, and she deserves credit for resisting the urge to wince whenever she leans in to smooch Carell, but there's not much for her to do other than whining about wanting to fly to England to visit her parents.
Scafaria could have had a some more fun showing how urban areas would shut down if there was no tomorrow, but she keeps her characters out in the country, fleeing the riots and looting.
The concept would have had a better chance of success if it let Carell flex his comedic muscles, seeking out gallows humor in the end of existence, rather than sticking with its slow, somber vibe. With the talent onhand, the world could have ended with a bang, not a whimper.
Starring Steve Carell and Keira Knightley. Written and directed by Lorene Scafaria. Rated R. 104 minutes.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
The 5 Greatest Things About 108 Degree Weather
1. Pants pocket sweat destroys your old, outdated phone, giving you an excuse to get a new one.
2. The inside temperature of your car matches that of a kiln, making it easy and convenient to complete ceramics projects.
3. Air conditioning bills surpass your paycheck, which is great because Jesus said it's tough for rich people to get into heaven.
4. You get the tan of your dreams in just four seconds of sun exposure. Although five will give you both a third-degree sunburn and heat stroke, while six will incinerate you on the spot.
5. The feared Yeti decides not to terrorize your populace, being that he prefers snow.
2. The inside temperature of your car matches that of a kiln, making it easy and convenient to complete ceramics projects.
3. Air conditioning bills surpass your paycheck, which is great because Jesus said it's tough for rich people to get into heaven.
4. You get the tan of your dreams in just four seconds of sun exposure. Although five will give you both a third-degree sunburn and heat stroke, while six will incinerate you on the spot.
5. The feared Yeti decides not to terrorize your populace, being that he prefers snow.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Review: That's My Boy
Way back in the olden days, Adam Sandler was the funniest man alive. He was so talented that he actually made Saturday Night Live a show that you looked forward to each week. Then he went and made Happy Gilmore, Billy Madison, Bulletproof, The Wedding Singer and Big Daddy, which were all phenomenal enough to leave audiences with cracked ribs and damp pants.
Back then, 20 million or so fans, including me, vowed to watch anything this guy was in throughout the rest of time, no matter how awful things got. We would stick around through hell, high water and I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, holding a vigil in hopes that the master would awake from his sleepwalk. One day, we prayed into our popcorn, Sandler would stop with the terrible The Longest Yard Remakes, the Just Go With Its, the Grown Ups and the Bedtime Stories and find the seat cushion that he accidentally lost his genius underneath.
By the time Sandler starred in a movie called Funny People, it seemed ironically titled. It just wasn't gonna happen for us. But the dumber of us 20 million still stuck around, and with That's My Boy, we've finally been rewarded for our ignorance, stubbornness and general stupidity.
The movie is a hurricane of disgustingly wrong sight gags, so-dated-they're-fresh references and dialogue that's must have been copied out of the teacher's edition of the Cruelly Funny One-Liners 101 textbook.
Sandler plays Donny, who impregnated his middle school teacher when he was a teenager and became a celebrity who wasted all his money, hung with the likes of Vanilla Ice and the two Coreys and ended up falling from grace just like those guys. Facing prison unless he can come up with back taxes, he wants to reconnect with his estranged son, Todd (Andy Samberg), whom he figures he can coax into a big-money reality shoe reunion with him and his mom.
Todd, who is about to get married to bossy bridezilla Jamie (Leighton Meester), is so embarrassed of Donny that he makes him pretend to be an old friend. Donny tries to re-forge the father-son bond while trying not to alienate Jamie's family and destroy the wedding. Which means, of course, that Donny will alienate the family and destroy the wedding as much as possible before eventually setting everything right, or not.
It's a blueprint for disaster, but Sandler -- armed with an anything-goes R rating and a sicker-than-usual mind -- is back in 1990s form, when he wasn't interested in trying to please everyone. He's made a vulgar, disgusting movie that joyfully tries to make the stodiger viewers file out of the theater, leaving more room for everyone who gets it to roll in the aisles. It seems as though he and his filmmaking team came up with a ton of great jokes that the money guys would deem unacceptable and cut out, leaving only the bland stuff. Then he took everything that had been cut and made that into the movie, trashing all the bland junk.
Samberg proves to be an able Robin to Sandler's Batman, turning what could have been a thankless straight-man role into a Ben Stiller-like sponge for indignities. Vanilla Ice, who gets a surprising amount of screentime as Donny's partner in crime, is game to mock himself and show some comedic acting chops that eclipse his questionable talent as a rapper. And bless the sweet yet deranged soul of 89-year-old Peggy Stewart, who manages to upstage Sandler, Samberg, Vanilla Ice and everyone else to appear to be Betty White's funnier younger sister.
That's My Boy turns out not only to be the title of the movie, but something Sandler's poor, suffering fans can gleefully say to each other as they acknowledge that their hero is back.
At least until Grown Ups 2 comes out.
Starring Adam Sandler, Andy Samberg, Vanilla Ice, Leighton Meester and James Caan. Written by David Caspe. Directed by Sean Anders. 114 minutes. Rated R.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
Back then, 20 million or so fans, including me, vowed to watch anything this guy was in throughout the rest of time, no matter how awful things got. We would stick around through hell, high water and I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, holding a vigil in hopes that the master would awake from his sleepwalk. One day, we prayed into our popcorn, Sandler would stop with the terrible The Longest Yard Remakes, the Just Go With Its, the Grown Ups and the Bedtime Stories and find the seat cushion that he accidentally lost his genius underneath.
By the time Sandler starred in a movie called Funny People, it seemed ironically titled. It just wasn't gonna happen for us. But the dumber of us 20 million still stuck around, and with That's My Boy, we've finally been rewarded for our ignorance, stubbornness and general stupidity.
The movie is a hurricane of disgustingly wrong sight gags, so-dated-they're-fresh references and dialogue that's must have been copied out of the teacher's edition of the Cruelly Funny One-Liners 101 textbook.
Sandler plays Donny, who impregnated his middle school teacher when he was a teenager and became a celebrity who wasted all his money, hung with the likes of Vanilla Ice and the two Coreys and ended up falling from grace just like those guys. Facing prison unless he can come up with back taxes, he wants to reconnect with his estranged son, Todd (Andy Samberg), whom he figures he can coax into a big-money reality shoe reunion with him and his mom.
Todd, who is about to get married to bossy bridezilla Jamie (Leighton Meester), is so embarrassed of Donny that he makes him pretend to be an old friend. Donny tries to re-forge the father-son bond while trying not to alienate Jamie's family and destroy the wedding. Which means, of course, that Donny will alienate the family and destroy the wedding as much as possible before eventually setting everything right, or not.
It's a blueprint for disaster, but Sandler -- armed with an anything-goes R rating and a sicker-than-usual mind -- is back in 1990s form, when he wasn't interested in trying to please everyone. He's made a vulgar, disgusting movie that joyfully tries to make the stodiger viewers file out of the theater, leaving more room for everyone who gets it to roll in the aisles. It seems as though he and his filmmaking team came up with a ton of great jokes that the money guys would deem unacceptable and cut out, leaving only the bland stuff. Then he took everything that had been cut and made that into the movie, trashing all the bland junk.
Samberg proves to be an able Robin to Sandler's Batman, turning what could have been a thankless straight-man role into a Ben Stiller-like sponge for indignities. Vanilla Ice, who gets a surprising amount of screentime as Donny's partner in crime, is game to mock himself and show some comedic acting chops that eclipse his questionable talent as a rapper. And bless the sweet yet deranged soul of 89-year-old Peggy Stewart, who manages to upstage Sandler, Samberg, Vanilla Ice and everyone else to appear to be Betty White's funnier younger sister.
That's My Boy turns out not only to be the title of the movie, but something Sandler's poor, suffering fans can gleefully say to each other as they acknowledge that their hero is back.
At least until Grown Ups 2 comes out.
Starring Adam Sandler, Andy Samberg, Vanilla Ice, Leighton Meester and James Caan. Written by David Caspe. Directed by Sean Anders. 114 minutes. Rated R.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
5 Jobs I Could Never Do
1. Construction. I'm bad with my hands, don't follow directions well, don't like heat or cold and all the bending over and lugging heavy crap around would kill my back.
2. Car salesman. If I worked at a new car dealership, I would tell everyone to go away and buy a used vehicle, because it makes more financial sense. If I worked in used cars, I'd tell people to use Craigslist because the stuff we sell is overpriced.
3. Any job without a computer in front of me. Sure, I could check stuff on my phone, but it runs out of battery too quickly, isn't convenient and I need to stay updated on stuff.
4. Waiter. I would forget what people ordered and not respond well to rude customers. Also, I don't get how they managed to carry food or stacked plates without dropping it all over the floor.
5. Surgeon. My hands aren't steady enough not to unintentionally cut peoples' aortas and whatnot. Best to keep me out of hospitals altogether.
2. Car salesman. If I worked at a new car dealership, I would tell everyone to go away and buy a used vehicle, because it makes more financial sense. If I worked in used cars, I'd tell people to use Craigslist because the stuff we sell is overpriced.
3. Any job without a computer in front of me. Sure, I could check stuff on my phone, but it runs out of battery too quickly, isn't convenient and I need to stay updated on stuff.
4. Waiter. I would forget what people ordered and not respond well to rude customers. Also, I don't get how they managed to carry food or stacked plates without dropping it all over the floor.
5. Surgeon. My hands aren't steady enough not to unintentionally cut peoples' aortas and whatnot. Best to keep me out of hospitals altogether.
Friday, June 08, 2012
Review: Prometheus
A note to future space explorers: When searching out the galaxy for intelligent life, steer away from planets filled with aliens with mouths inside of mouths who like to pop out of peoples' bellies. Stuff your ship's air ducts with enough insulation to prevent creatures from scurrying around and dropping on your head.
And for heaven's sake, bring your giant flamethrower with you into dark alien caves, even if your shipmates try to discourage you.
These (except for the air duct thing) are just a few of the lessons that come from Prometheus, which is a prequel to all the Alien/Aliens movies. It's set in the late 21st century, long before the aliens got so hard up for roles that they agreed to team up with the Predators for those regrettable AVP movies that were the monster movie equivalents of The Surreal Life.
Director Ridley Scott, who started the series back in 1979, absolutely flips out with crazy-convincing 3D special effects this time out, making the alien belly-busters, exploding heads and crash landings seem like they were shot on location in the brain of a Red Bull-addled 15-year-old. Scott no doubt used so much of the studio's money on effects that there was no cash left over for the costumes budget, which is why Noomi Rapace and Charlize Theron must wear spandex rags when they're not frolicking about in their space suits.
The crew is aboard a trillion-dollar expedition, funded by a guy who appears to be the holographic ghost of the decrepit Biff Tannen from 2015. The goal may or may not be to land on a strange planet, get in arguments with each other, then run around like crazy as aliens explode their bellies one by one, but that's certainly what happens.
Although the crew is made up of the super elite in the fields of various ologies such as geology, archaeology and psychology, it's missing an expert in holycrapletsgethehellouttahere-ology. That guy would have been helpful, having seen that the Aliens murdered a bunch of giant humanoid spacemen in the Alien Cave and recommended an immediate evac.
Since he isn't around, what we get is an old-fashioned clash of humans who just ignore you when you yell "DO NOT go into that Alien Cave/contaminated spaceship room/ because there are Aliens in there!" at the screen versus Aliens. As is the case in all previous Aliens movies, daring and gusto are little match for super sharp teeth and belly-burrowing, so the result is as lopsided as this year's Stanley Cup Finals.
The movie works despite its collection of characters that you sort of want to die. Theron is a cold-blooded boss lady who thinks nothing of flame-throwing colleagues who disobey her do-not-board orders. Michael Fassbender is obnoxious as a condescending android who is probably secretly pulling for the Aliens. Even Rapace and Guy Pearce, the core heroes, often act like bickering idiots who deserve to become Alien Alpo.
The grand accomplishment of Prometheus is that it takes all these hateful characters, Aliens, amazing effects and lack of clothing, mashes them together and keeps everything fun, exciting and unpredictable. The movie even does something its forebears never did, halfway trying to explain why Aliens exist and why they don't like us so much. The title refers to the Greek mythology titan who brought fire down to earth, and the movie certainly brings the fire. As well as the thunder, the blood and the spandex.
Starring Noomi Rapace, Charlize Theron, Michael Fassbender, Idris Elba and Guy Pearce. Written by Jon Spaihts and Damon Lindelof. Directed by Ridley Scott. Rated R. 124 minutes.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
And for heaven's sake, bring your giant flamethrower with you into dark alien caves, even if your shipmates try to discourage you.
These (except for the air duct thing) are just a few of the lessons that come from Prometheus, which is a prequel to all the Alien/Aliens movies. It's set in the late 21st century, long before the aliens got so hard up for roles that they agreed to team up with the Predators for those regrettable AVP movies that were the monster movie equivalents of The Surreal Life.
Director Ridley Scott, who started the series back in 1979, absolutely flips out with crazy-convincing 3D special effects this time out, making the alien belly-busters, exploding heads and crash landings seem like they were shot on location in the brain of a Red Bull-addled 15-year-old. Scott no doubt used so much of the studio's money on effects that there was no cash left over for the costumes budget, which is why Noomi Rapace and Charlize Theron must wear spandex rags when they're not frolicking about in their space suits.
The crew is aboard a trillion-dollar expedition, funded by a guy who appears to be the holographic ghost of the decrepit Biff Tannen from 2015. The goal may or may not be to land on a strange planet, get in arguments with each other, then run around like crazy as aliens explode their bellies one by one, but that's certainly what happens.
Although the crew is made up of the super elite in the fields of various ologies such as geology, archaeology and psychology, it's missing an expert in holycrapletsgethehellouttahere-ology. That guy would have been helpful, having seen that the Aliens murdered a bunch of giant humanoid spacemen in the Alien Cave and recommended an immediate evac.
Since he isn't around, what we get is an old-fashioned clash of humans who just ignore you when you yell "DO NOT go into that Alien Cave/contaminated spaceship room/ because there are Aliens in there!" at the screen versus Aliens. As is the case in all previous Aliens movies, daring and gusto are little match for super sharp teeth and belly-burrowing, so the result is as lopsided as this year's Stanley Cup Finals.
The movie works despite its collection of characters that you sort of want to die. Theron is a cold-blooded boss lady who thinks nothing of flame-throwing colleagues who disobey her do-not-board orders. Michael Fassbender is obnoxious as a condescending android who is probably secretly pulling for the Aliens. Even Rapace and Guy Pearce, the core heroes, often act like bickering idiots who deserve to become Alien Alpo.
The grand accomplishment of Prometheus is that it takes all these hateful characters, Aliens, amazing effects and lack of clothing, mashes them together and keeps everything fun, exciting and unpredictable. The movie even does something its forebears never did, halfway trying to explain why Aliens exist and why they don't like us so much. The title refers to the Greek mythology titan who brought fire down to earth, and the movie certainly brings the fire. As well as the thunder, the blood and the spandex.
Starring Noomi Rapace, Charlize Theron, Michael Fassbender, Idris Elba and Guy Pearce. Written by Jon Spaihts and Damon Lindelof. Directed by Ridley Scott. Rated R. 124 minutes.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
5 TV Shows I Regret Watching
1. Survivor — I could fill this list with reality shows, but I'll save myself from embarrassment by stopping with this one. I spent too many hours of my early 20s in suspense over utter stupidity. The fact that the show is still on and apparently people still watch it amazes me.
2. Lost — The final two seasons were as awful as the first four were great. The exhilarating ramp-up only made the face-plant all the more devastating.
3. She-Ra: Princess of Power — The He-Man spin-off tricked me into watching a girls' show, no more masculine than Rainbow Brite or Strawberry Shortcake. Only now am I coming to terms with how severely I was bamboozled and emasculated.
4. King of the Hill — Because it came from Beavis and Butt-Head creator Mike Judge, I expected greatness. When it didn't come, I kept on watching, assuming it would eventually become funny or at least spout some redeeming quality. Never happened, at least in the show's first 10 years, after which I grudgingly gave up all hope and stopped watching.
5. Home Improvement — Tim Allen, terrible though he is, was far from the worst part of the show. There was the stupid half-face Wilson gimmick, the awful child actors, Al's oafishness and, well, Tim Allen. I think I watched every episode. Woe unto me.
2. Lost — The final two seasons were as awful as the first four were great. The exhilarating ramp-up only made the face-plant all the more devastating.
3. She-Ra: Princess of Power — The He-Man spin-off tricked me into watching a girls' show, no more masculine than Rainbow Brite or Strawberry Shortcake. Only now am I coming to terms with how severely I was bamboozled and emasculated.
4. King of the Hill — Because it came from Beavis and Butt-Head creator Mike Judge, I expected greatness. When it didn't come, I kept on watching, assuming it would eventually become funny or at least spout some redeeming quality. Never happened, at least in the show's first 10 years, after which I grudgingly gave up all hope and stopped watching.
5. Home Improvement — Tim Allen, terrible though he is, was far from the worst part of the show. There was the stupid half-face Wilson gimmick, the awful child actors, Al's oafishness and, well, Tim Allen. I think I watched every episode. Woe unto me.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Review: Men in Black III
Men in Black 3 is not only a time travel movie, but a time machine that takes you back to when a Men in Black movie could actually be good. Too bad it can't erase Men in Black 2. But it does manage to counteract that movie's awfulness, sealing up the franchise's spot in the ranks of series known by the scientific classification of "mostly good."
Had the threequel been awful, MIB would have been thrust into the dungeon of the damned, with Resident Evil, The Mummy and Underworld. Instead, it's up in the clubhouse, knocking down martinis and setting up tee times with Harry Potter, Mission: Impossible and the Bourne movies.
Do you realize it's been an entire election cycle since Will Smith starred in an action movie? Or any movie at all? In 2008 he popped up in Hancock and Seven Pounds. Since then, he's spent most of his time turning his children into Karate Kids and songstresses who whip their hair back and forth. MIB3 again proves its time machine qualities by zapping the megastud back into existence as if there were no gap in the timeline.
Smith is as young-seeming and boisterous as ever, and his partner, Tommy Lee Jones, is older and craggier, settling for part-time work in this outing. For much of the movie his character is played by his 1969 version, courtesy of Josh Brolin. He's so scarily excellent at matching Jones's crotchety ways that throngs of moviegoers will demand Brolin and Jones remake Freaky Friday.
There are as many ways a time travel movie can go wrong as there are unwatchable NBA playoff games, and MIB3 avoids most of them by keeping things simple, stupid and splashy. It copies off Back to the Future's paper by injecting daddy issues, sad-but-reversible deaths and a time travel method (plunging off the tops of buildings and pressing a button when you almost hit the ground) every bit as plausible as DeLorean gunning.
Men in Black's specialty has always been trotting out a parade of aliens that seemed to have been designed by 11-year-olds, rendered by 15-year-old CGI editors. The awfulness of the animation would be distracting if the image of the hideous Johnny Knoxville-faced alien from the last movie, 10 years ago, wasn't seared into the brain of anyone who suffered through that one. About at the midway point of MIB3 you stop questioning the sight of hairballs launching scorpion boomerangs from their wrists or sushi shopkeepers dropping their trousers to reveal they're Teddy Ruxpin's pal, Grubby.
The plot, such as it is, involves Big Will BASE-jumping back to 1969, to save the world, Tommy Lee Jones who was Josh Brolin when he was younger, hang out with Andy Warhol, see that the Mets win the World Series and fight a future and past bad guy in a tag team battle royale ladder match as Apollo 11 launches, secretly filling outer space with a blue laser grid that will protect us forever and ever.
Just lost you there, right? Try and forget about the story and focus on Smith's buddy cop act with two iterations of Brolin/Jones. Oh, and know that there will be gyro cycles and humongous jetpacks. And most importantly, pie.
Now that Men in Black is officially a mostly good series, maybe Smith will get back to work and stop making Rebecca Blacks off his offspring. If not, we may have to sic that blue laser grid on him.
Starring Will Smith, Tommy Lee Jones and Josh Brolin. Written by Etan Cohen, David Koepp, Jeff Nathanson and Michael Soccio, based on the comic by Lowell Cunningham. Directed by Barry Sonnenfeld. Rated PG-13. 106 minutes.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
Had the threequel been awful, MIB would have been thrust into the dungeon of the damned, with Resident Evil, The Mummy and Underworld. Instead, it's up in the clubhouse, knocking down martinis and setting up tee times with Harry Potter, Mission: Impossible and the Bourne movies.
Do you realize it's been an entire election cycle since Will Smith starred in an action movie? Or any movie at all? In 2008 he popped up in Hancock and Seven Pounds. Since then, he's spent most of his time turning his children into Karate Kids and songstresses who whip their hair back and forth. MIB3 again proves its time machine qualities by zapping the megastud back into existence as if there were no gap in the timeline.
Smith is as young-seeming and boisterous as ever, and his partner, Tommy Lee Jones, is older and craggier, settling for part-time work in this outing. For much of the movie his character is played by his 1969 version, courtesy of Josh Brolin. He's so scarily excellent at matching Jones's crotchety ways that throngs of moviegoers will demand Brolin and Jones remake Freaky Friday.
There are as many ways a time travel movie can go wrong as there are unwatchable NBA playoff games, and MIB3 avoids most of them by keeping things simple, stupid and splashy. It copies off Back to the Future's paper by injecting daddy issues, sad-but-reversible deaths and a time travel method (plunging off the tops of buildings and pressing a button when you almost hit the ground) every bit as plausible as DeLorean gunning.
Men in Black's specialty has always been trotting out a parade of aliens that seemed to have been designed by 11-year-olds, rendered by 15-year-old CGI editors. The awfulness of the animation would be distracting if the image of the hideous Johnny Knoxville-faced alien from the last movie, 10 years ago, wasn't seared into the brain of anyone who suffered through that one. About at the midway point of MIB3 you stop questioning the sight of hairballs launching scorpion boomerangs from their wrists or sushi shopkeepers dropping their trousers to reveal they're Teddy Ruxpin's pal, Grubby.
The plot, such as it is, involves Big Will BASE-jumping back to 1969, to save the world, Tommy Lee Jones who was Josh Brolin when he was younger, hang out with Andy Warhol, see that the Mets win the World Series and fight a future and past bad guy in a tag team battle royale ladder match as Apollo 11 launches, secretly filling outer space with a blue laser grid that will protect us forever and ever.
Just lost you there, right? Try and forget about the story and focus on Smith's buddy cop act with two iterations of Brolin/Jones. Oh, and know that there will be gyro cycles and humongous jetpacks. And most importantly, pie.
Now that Men in Black is officially a mostly good series, maybe Smith will get back to work and stop making Rebecca Blacks off his offspring. If not, we may have to sic that blue laser grid on him.
Starring Will Smith, Tommy Lee Jones and Josh Brolin. Written by Etan Cohen, David Koepp, Jeff Nathanson and Michael Soccio, based on the comic by Lowell Cunningham. Directed by Barry Sonnenfeld. Rated PG-13. 106 minutes.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
The Top 10 NES Games
Note: I believe this list played a large part in my position as videogames editor being eliminated at GuySpeed. I wrote this list for the site, saved it and received this feedback from management:
Base Wars and Bayou Billy are extremely odd choices – and wouldn't be on most people's top 100 new game lists. There's a lot of classic games (I.e. Punch Out, Contra, Metal Gear, Ghosts N Goblins, Metroid, Kid Icarus, River city Ransom, etc etc etc) that are hands down better than those 2 games. We should also replace those 2 games, as well as Blades of Steel, with 3 games that are more universal favorites like the ones I mentioned above.I refused to substitute the games -- this was my top 10 list, not one designed by committee -- instead offering to withdraw the post and deduct it from my invoice. Four hours later, I received an email telling me that my position had been eliminated (although I would still be allowed to cover E3 and submit posts for reduced pay) because there wasn't much interest in GuySpeed's videogame coverage. This was odd because I had recently been told to switch from doing news posts to top 10 lists for the same reason. This would have been my first top 10 to post at GuySpeed. Bayou Billy, I took one for you, sir:
If your childhood was anything like mine, the Nintendo Entertainment System was your babysitter, social conduit and cruel dominatrix. Its chiptune soundtracks, blocky-yet-beautiful graphics and uniformly evil difficulty level -- not to mention its wrist-ripping controller -- made it tough to go back to the likes of Pac-Man and Donkey Kong at the crusty, soon-to-be-extinct arcade.
There were so many brilliant, ground-breaking successes on the system that it would be easy to list my favorite 100 NES games. Here are the best of the best of the best.
10. Base Wars (Ultra, 1991) -- Baseball isn't such a slow-moving, leisurely sport when it's played by armed robots. Games were as much a war of attrition as they were about runs, because each play on the base paths was decided by one-on-one battles. You could customize your lineup with a mix of heavy bruisers, spry hoverbots and laser-cannoned snipers. There's no telling how many arm punches little brothers suffered from older siblings when they dared beaned the opponent's star batter, destroying him and forcing the game to end in forfeit.
9. Tetris (Nintendo, 1989) -- Forget Reagan and Gorbachev. This Russian import is what really ended the Cold War. The hypnotic, falling-blocks puzzle game set the standard for all others in the genre to strive for. If you didn't play this so much in your youth that when you closed your eyes you saw falling blocks, you aren't human. There have been countless Tetris updates since, but none feel quite as right as this one.
8. Super Mario Bros. (Nintendo, 1986) -- Saving the princess was a rite of passage that proved you had come of age as a young man. Even if you couldn't beat level 8-4, you lied and said you could as you snuck up late at night, practicing, failing and smashing your controller in frustration. The game plays a little stiff now, but at the time of release there was nothing like it. Filled with secrets such as the Minus World, warp zones and hidden 1-up blocks, Super Mario Bros. was the gateway-drug game for every child of the1980s.
7. Blades of Steel (Konami, 1987) -- Another arm-puncher. The hockey sim's on-ice fights were the rough template for Street Fighter and Mortal Kombat. And it somehow made sense that the loser got sent to the penalty box. It was also totally mind-blowing how the electronic voice announced the title. It was a sign that you were about to entire the big-time.
6. Mega Man 3 (Capcom, 1990) -- The first two Mega Man releases were great, but the third outing was when the series hit perfection, nailing just the right balance of incredibly frustrating challenge, stunningly cartoonish graphics and jubilant boss fights. Finally managing to pummel those bastards Snake Man and Needle Man after hours of failure felt like great accomplishments.
5. Castlevania III: Dracula's Curse (Konami, 1990) -- There was something about NES-era threequels that allowed the developers to refine promising concepts into thriving perfection. That was the case with this hack-and-slash tangle with the creatures of the night. You could suit up as whip-wielding hero or one of his three pals as you set to take down Count Dracula. Branching paths with different endings made you want to play through again and again.
4. The Adventures of Bayou Billy (Konami, 1989) -- Playing as a Crocodile Dundee clone slugging his way through the Deep South to rescue his captured girlfriend, Bayou Billy evolved the brawler genre by changing up the gameplay. One level you'd be punching crocs in the face, the next you'd steer a Jeep through an obstacle course, lobbing grenades at choppers. Then you'd pull out the NES Zapper and do a drive-by on enemies who chucked stuff at you. And that ending was pure magic.
3. Super Mario Bros. 3 (Nintendo, 1990) -- Here's the ultimate example of threequel perfection. The Mario formula shifted to an overworld navigation layout that added depth to the act of chugging through each world. In between levels, you could tangle with roaming Hammer Brothers or try a matching card games to stock your inventory with power-ups. You could save your progress and come back for more later, and there was even a head-to-head competitive multiplayer minigame to blow of steam. Just as Mario finally gained the ability to fly in the game, his series hit its loftiest heights.
2. Tecmo Super Bowl (Tecmo, 1991) -- We still prefer this game and its Super Nintendo remake to modern Maddens. The simplified football action may not have been realistic, but it's pad-popping, player-tumbling flourishes captured the spirit of the game better than anything not named NFL Blitz. There were eight plays the offense and defense could select, leading to pre-snap, rock-paper-scissors-like mindgames that were every bit as important as your reaction time and button-mashing ability on the field.
1. The Legend of Zelda (Nintendo, 1987) -- The cruelest of mistresses, the swords-and-sorcery exploration-fest tossed you into a brutal, monster-teeming open world with no direction or hand-holding. In the days before online walkthroughs existed, you had to rely on Nintendo Power walkthroughs and jungle gym secret swaps to make your way through the unforgiving fantasy realm. With its puzzles, items and upgrades, Zelda was the first action role-playing game in the lives of a generation of gamers.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Review: 6 Bullets
It's no longer sad that Jean-Claude Van Damme's career is reduced to direct-to-video movies. It's been so long since the days of Bloodsport and Kickboxer that it seems almost quaint to think back to the days in which Van Damme was a bona fide action star rather than a self-satirical joke.
The beauty of 6 Bullets is that Van Damme isn't in on the joke. Even at age 51 and with approximately one third of the muscle mass he rocked in his salad days, he plays the role of stone-cold enforcer with as much ferocity as he did Lyon in Lionheart.
Allow me to quote the Internet Movie Database's dead-on tagline for his latest movie:
6 Bullets does not fit the definition of what most would call a good movie, but screw most people. I had a great time with the movie, all the way up to the resonant finale, in which Van Damme unleashes a catch phrase contrasting his ability to forgive sins with that of God. Oh, Van Damme, you've still got it.
The beauty of 6 Bullets is that Van Damme isn't in on the joke. Even at age 51 and with approximately one third of the muscle mass he rocked in his salad days, he plays the role of stone-cold enforcer with as much ferocity as he did Lyon in Lionheart.
Allow me to quote the Internet Movie Database's dead-on tagline for his latest movie:
"An ex-mercenary known for finding missing children is hired by a mixed martial arts fighter whose daughter has been kidnapped."That says it all, doesn't it? Van Damme, of course, is the ex-merc, and he surrounds himself with actors far more obscure than him so he can still emit 1990s-style star power. Although the editing room seems to be doing Van Damme some favors in showing him dispatch roomfulls of enemies with his flashy fists and stone cold glare, he still shows that he's spry and physically imposing. The fight scenes are fun to watch, and the scenes that are intended to be serious inspire some good laughs because they're so self-serious.
6 Bullets does not fit the definition of what most would call a good movie, but screw most people. I had a great time with the movie, all the way up to the resonant finale, in which Van Damme unleashes a catch phrase contrasting his ability to forgive sins with that of God. Oh, Van Damme, you've still got it.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Review: The Dictator
A lot of brilliant movie comedians blow their loads early in their careers with their best stuff, collecting enough fans to stick by them as they get less funnier with each movie. It's happened to Adam Sandler, Will Ferrell and Seth Rogen, and now, with the OK-but-not-mind-blowing The Dictator, Sacha Baron Cohen.
One thing that's killing Cohen is his own fame. No longer will he be able to ambush people as Borat or Bruno for the sake of a documentary. Now he'll have to play regular characters with plain three-act scripts. Take away Cohen's ability to trap idiots into making fools of themselves is like stripping Superman of his ability to soar. Sure, he can still punch through walls, but he can no longer fly.
Weird accents and speech patterns can only take you so far when you're not exploiting hapless victims for shock effect, and Cohen beats all the forced comedy he can out of his north African dictator creation, Aladeen.
Cohen is subtly making his case to be known as the Charlie Chaplin of our time by echoing Chaplin's Hitler satire, The Great Dictator. Like the creaky 1940 movie, Cohen's film mixes up a delusional dictator with a lookalike he also plays. And just as in the older movie, the not-so-great Dictator ends awkwardly, with a long, semi-serious speech that makes blunt political points.
The biggest difference in the two movies is sex jokes. Cohen tries to play pubic hair, masturbation, misunderstandings about rape and homophobia -- not to mention loads of racial humor -- for his biggest laughs. He's skilled enough to make most of the jokes work, but they come off more as stand-alone rimshots than snowballing jokes that build into something bigger and more consistent.
Anna Faris pops up as Cohen's straight man and romantic interest, playing a hyper-politically correct Brooklynite caterer who takes Aladeen under her wing after he winds up in the U.S. and can't get anyone to believe that he's the real dictator after an underling has swapped him out for a body double.
The forced romance sucks a lot of the wind out of the comedy sails. Even though she's playing a character not meant to be taken seriously, Faris is too inherently sweet to be the continual butt of jokes that Cohen makes her, calling her mannish/boyish and overweight. Instead of rooting for the unlikely love to blossom, it's too easy just to feel bad for the Faris character. Their relationship seems to have seeped in from some other, dumber movie, just plopped in to give structure to a shapeless brain dump of one-off laughs.
When The Dictator is funny, it's funny enough to make you forgive it when it's awful. But when it's awful it makes you wonder whether or not it will ever get funny again. And whether Cohen will ever be as great as he once was.
Starring Sacha Baron Cohen, Anna Faris and Ben Kingsley. Written by Cohen, Alec Berg, David Mandel and Jeff Schaffer. Directed by Larry Charles. Rated R. 83 minutes.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
One thing that's killing Cohen is his own fame. No longer will he be able to ambush people as Borat or Bruno for the sake of a documentary. Now he'll have to play regular characters with plain three-act scripts. Take away Cohen's ability to trap idiots into making fools of themselves is like stripping Superman of his ability to soar. Sure, he can still punch through walls, but he can no longer fly.
Weird accents and speech patterns can only take you so far when you're not exploiting hapless victims for shock effect, and Cohen beats all the forced comedy he can out of his north African dictator creation, Aladeen.
Cohen is subtly making his case to be known as the Charlie Chaplin of our time by echoing Chaplin's Hitler satire, The Great Dictator. Like the creaky 1940 movie, Cohen's film mixes up a delusional dictator with a lookalike he also plays. And just as in the older movie, the not-so-great Dictator ends awkwardly, with a long, semi-serious speech that makes blunt political points.
The biggest difference in the two movies is sex jokes. Cohen tries to play pubic hair, masturbation, misunderstandings about rape and homophobia -- not to mention loads of racial humor -- for his biggest laughs. He's skilled enough to make most of the jokes work, but they come off more as stand-alone rimshots than snowballing jokes that build into something bigger and more consistent.
Anna Faris pops up as Cohen's straight man and romantic interest, playing a hyper-politically correct Brooklynite caterer who takes Aladeen under her wing after he winds up in the U.S. and can't get anyone to believe that he's the real dictator after an underling has swapped him out for a body double.
The forced romance sucks a lot of the wind out of the comedy sails. Even though she's playing a character not meant to be taken seriously, Faris is too inherently sweet to be the continual butt of jokes that Cohen makes her, calling her mannish/boyish and overweight. Instead of rooting for the unlikely love to blossom, it's too easy just to feel bad for the Faris character. Their relationship seems to have seeped in from some other, dumber movie, just plopped in to give structure to a shapeless brain dump of one-off laughs.
When The Dictator is funny, it's funny enough to make you forgive it when it's awful. But when it's awful it makes you wonder whether or not it will ever get funny again. And whether Cohen will ever be as great as he once was.
Starring Sacha Baron Cohen, Anna Faris and Ben Kingsley. Written by Cohen, Alec Berg, David Mandel and Jeff Schaffer. Directed by Larry Charles. Rated R. 83 minutes.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
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