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DVD: GENESIS - WHEN IN ROME 2007
In the beginning, GENESIS started life as an art-rock installation full of bold, in-your-face ideas and snooty, experimental posturing. After the defection of resident wierdo PETER GABRIEL, the band settled into a trio with pop-chart sensibilities and a genial, balding frontman/drummer PHIL COLLINS. The eighties were kindest to the band, as they scored several huge, bland hits and became unlikely MTV favorites.
Then, like most of the heroes from that decade, they got old, fat, lazy, and went away.
Fifteen years later, the band decides to reunite for a cross-continental tour despite the lack of a new album. Hmmm …
THE FILM
The concert itself spans two discs, and is captured wonderfully by director DAVID MALLET. He wisely stations his panning, wide-ranging cameras away from the stage, allowing the gaudy spectacle to speak for itself. The band - remember, it only consists of three members - is dwarfed by this bizarre, organic LED display behind them that impressively fills the void created by the music with a stunning series of video images. It actually takes a few minutes to adjust your eyes to the sight of this gargantuan monstrosity.
Of course, every video trick in the book is needed to enliven this band, which hasn’t broken a sweat since LIVE AID. Keyboardist TONY BANKS motionlessly hunches over his electronics like a corpse, while guitarist MIKE RUTHERFORD stumbles around with the bewildered look of an old English gentleman lost in the countryside. Collins and his once-natural presence is reduced to standing at his microphone, desperately attempting to reach notes that his vacationing voice will never hit again.
I will say this, though: the band attempted a set list that challenged fans of the band. Not content to simply play a string of hits, the aging pop stars threw in a few lesser-known songs like MAMA and DOMINO that likely caused a lot of head-scratching in the audience.
However, the fact that GENESIS reunited simply to make more money is evident throughout the show. From the bombastic lighting to the lazy, almost mechanical performances, this is a band that had little interest in doing anything but filling arenas and counting the money afterwards. They did this because they COULD, not because they wanted to.
EXTRAS
A clever feature of the two concert discs is the ability to look behind the scenes at the performances of each track. You get to watch the band prepare for each song.
Included as a third disc is a very long and exhausting documentary of the tour entitled COME RAIN OR SHINE. Virtually every moment of this tour, from inception to final curtain, is included here; mercifully we are spared the sight of Collins taking a shit, but beyond that, we see everything.
The one thing painfully obvious from this documentary is the lack of interest among the band. I wish I had a drop of gasoline for every shot of the various members staring into space or yawning - I would own OPEC. While I realize that these guys are quite old, it seems like they should be able to get the ol’ adrenals to kick in for a show in front of 500,000 people, ya know? And if not, then why do it at all, and then film it for us to watch???
A telling moment comes fairly early on when guitarist Rutherford mentions that he rarely plays guitar at all anymore, and how difficult it is to start rehearsing after all of the time off. Hey Mike, guess what? Don’t do a tour if you’re not interested in making music and playing live!!!! People like Chuck Berry play all the time because they love making music and entertaining people. On the other hand, “musicians” like GENESIS roll it out whenever they have a mortgage to pay off. Pretty pathetic.
OVERALL
For fans only. And even then, I wouldn’t give these lazy bastards any more of my money just based on principle.
CommentThe Last Of The Breed
True originality and greatness are fading quickly in the music world. As each year goes by, we lose more of musics great pioneers. This year we have already lost Bo Diddley, Eddy Arnold, and Buddy Miles and most of the ones left are to old to continue to record new music or even play live shows. Just over a week ago, however, I had an opportunity to see one of music last remaining music legends. The night before Father’s Day, I went to the Fabulous Fox Theatre in St. Louis to see the legendary Willie Nelson.
The show was an experience that’s hard to explain. It’s wasn’t a concert that you stand and scream all night or jump around, he did get a number of standing ovations and ruckus applause though. It wasn’t a concert that made you want to act crazy or dive off of the balcony. Instead, it was almost like a religious experience. As, you sat there you knew you were witnessing something special, something that you may never see again.
When Willie first stepped onto the stage, the place went crazy. He received a long and loud standing ovation from the sold out crowd and Willie acknowledged it even though he acted as if he didn’t know what the fuss was about. The applause lasted until the first note of Whiskey River, and the crowd quieted and sat almost in amazement. Willie never missed a beat, he played as many hits as he could cram into his 75 minute set. He played songs he wrote that were made famous by other people.
He played songs that he wrote for himself himself.
He played songs that he didn’t write, but made famous.
And he played a few new songs, before closing the night with the gospel classic I’ll Fly Away.
Willie’s guitar work was dead on and his slow, lazy vocal delivery was as beautiful as ever. The best part about this concert was the fact that I finally got a chance to see another music legend (Chuck Berry being the other). The worst part, is knowing that these opportunities are becoming fewer and fewer. There just aren’t many left like Willie.
I recommend to anybody who is a fan of music, don’t pass up a chance to see Willie. If you can, take your kids. Let them see a real artist at work, maybe they will learn to respect music more and listen to less shit like Fergie, Jay-Z, Rascal Flatts, or what ever shitty actress has a new album out next week.
Willie Nelson is simply one of the greatest songwriters, singers and performers to ever grace a stage. He’s one of the few artist that has been able to transcend his genre of music and just be considered cool, by everyone. He has dueted with everybody from Johnny Cash to Ray Charles and now even Snoop Dogg. Willie Nelson is sadly the last of a breed.
8 CommentsI Love Fred
Some internet phenomenons come and go. Remember Tay Zonday and his creepy Chocolate Rain song? Remember Chris Crocker?
Yeah, I didn’t think so. These guys and many others have become Insta-Hits on YouTube mostly due to their glaring LACK of talent. They make the mistake in thinking that having the whole world laugh AT you is a good thing.
But a recent rising star on YouTube has earned his place due to his suprisingly subtle comedic timing and clever improvisation. He is only 14 years old, and he is simply known by adoring millions as Fred.
Fred is the creation of a talented young actor named Lucas Cruikshank who has, over the last two years, been making comedy videos on the site with his twin cousins. Most of these videos were childish and goofy, much like the rest of the content littering every channel on YouTube. However, inspiration struck earlier this year when Lucas began to form the Fred character in a series of shorts. Quickly, the rapid cutting and manic expressionism evolved into a comedic goldmine that has transfixed legions of fans.
In its current incarnation, Fred is a six year old boy plagued with a short attention span and an even shorter fuse. He’s in love with the girl next door named Judy, and tormented by the neighborhood bully Kevin. His mother is an alcoholic, and his father left town years ago to, as Fred imagines, become a rock star. His wild imagination and constant loneliness fuels many of the episodes, as Fred’s energy threatens to spin wildly out of control.
This is an episode from a month ago. It has been viewed over 3.6 million times.
One of my favorite episodes is called “Fred Loses His Meds.” Some of the timing here is absolutely perfect:
That has been seen almost 5 million times.
This remarkable kid has some real talent here. He’s cartoon-cute, smart, and quite a nuanced performer. He might be the best thing YouTube has ever produced. I hope he manages to parlay this instant burst of fame with something enduring, because he is the real deal. This might be the best child character in any form of media since Pee Wee Herman back in the eighties, or the South Park kids in the nineties.
Yes, he’s that good.
The big question: Is there a future for this character as successful as the preceding examples?
I hope so. GO FRED!!!!!
5 Comments
R.I.P. Bo Diddley
The music world has once again lost a legend. Rock n Roll pioneer Bo Diddley has died, after months of bad health. Last August, Diddley health problems began after suffering a heart attack. Three months later, he had a bad stoke that affected his ability to speak. After returning to his home in Florida Diddley health problems continued has he tried to rehabilitate from the stroke and heart attack. Diddley died in his home today at the age of 79.
Diddley was known the world over for his homemade square guitar, dark glasses and black hat, as he was his music. His trademark sound has influence many. You don’t have to look far to hear his signature rhythm of, bomp ba-bomp bomp, bomp bomp, in many of rocks great guitarists. The Who, Bruce Springsteen, Elvis Costello and Buddy Holly are just a few who were influence by Diddley.
Bo Diddley was an American original, but luckily his music will live on in every rock and blues guitarist that has followed. This impact on music began with a simple beat and continued through a passion and integrity that many of today’s artist couldn’t touch. Do Diddley’s originality and love for music will be missed, but fortunately he inspired generations and left us will hours and hours of great music and memories. Rest In Peace Mr. Diddley.
Here is a look at some of Bo Diddley’s best work.
Here’s a medley of his hits, Road Runner/Bring It To Jerome/Mona
2 CommentsWhen Is Enough, Enough ?
In 1994, The Eagles reunited. They did this despite the fact that they still hated each other. The group decided that enough money could make a reunion tour worth having to be around each other. They openly reunited just for the money and made a ton of it on the Hell Freezes Over Tour.
Since The Eagles reunion, many of bands have reunited. Some have actually managed to revive there career (Black Sabbath, Judas Priest, The Police), but most disappeared back to their jobs at Wal-Mart. Some bands have even decided that they should reform with new sings (The Doors, Alice In Chains, Queen, Blind Melon, Boston) and tarnish the bands original legacy. The one thing that keeps this trend going is money.
It’s seems that people always want that one last chance to see their favorite band or even a band that reminds them of their youth. This allows these groups one chance to make themselves important again and it gives the aging baby boomers a chance to feel young again. The sad thing is that the reunion tour is bigger (not better) than ever, just look at last years Police, Van Halen and Genesis tours.
This year is no exception and may have even more shitty reunions than ever. The biggest may be Stone Temple Pilots and Motley Crue. Motley Crue are back, even though Tommy Lee said he would never play with the band again and Mick Mars is still alive so prop him up and let the fun begin. Stone Temple Pilots, on the other hand, will be a crap shoot. It could put on a great show every night, but with Scott Weiland’s history the chance of that is small. The smart thing that both of these bands are doing is making each show like a festival, that way you may get your money’s worth.
The worst reunion news has to be New Kids On The Block. It blows my mind that anybody would care to see this. I watched them perform on the Today show last week and it was terrible. Their horrible dancing made then looked like fools and they sounded off key and flat. Yet, somehow they are selling out shows in minutes (Chicago sold out in 10 minutes) and have added a full summer of shows.
If that wasn’t bad enough. Their is also talk of an Extreme reunion, a Jackson 5 reunion (that rumors comes up every year) a Led Zeppelin tour. Who gives a shit about Extreme? The Jackson 5 have tried it before and nobody cared and please, please, please somebody stop the Led Zeppelin tour. This would do nothing but suck. These are old men, well Jimmy Page looks like an old woman now, and it just won’t be good. Does anybody really think that 60 year old men singing Black Dog and Rock and Roll will do anything but embarrass the band?
Also, reuniting this year are The Black Crowes, The Breeders, Yes and The B-52’s. The Black Crowes are a good band and are always worth checking out, but I’m not sure I see any reason for the other ones, especially B-52’s.
When will this stop? When will people stop paying to seeing band that only sound have as good as they should? When is enough, enough?
7 CommentsThe Red Banded Happening
The titanic ego of M. NIGHT SHYAMALAN has cursed his every move in recent years. The blossoming promise shown in his earliest films has disintegrated before the bewildered eyes of moviegoers everywhere. The trust is broken, replaced by a palpable resentment. It’s like admiring a charismatic uncle as a young person, only to go behind the shed one day to see him sodomizing a dead cat; the relationship never quite recovers.
It’s an understatement to say that Shyamalan has a lot riding on his newest pseudo-intellectual horror film THE HAPPENING. After the twin disasters THE VILLIAGE and LADY IN THE WATER, this new film needs to really click, or Shymalan will find himself trying to sell his patented twist-ending stories on streetcorners for nickels.
Unfortunately he decided to title this make-or-break endeavor THE HAPPENING, one of the worst titles I have ever heard or imagined. Depending on my mood, the title sounds either pretentious, boring, or pointless. What the fuck is a “happening” anyway???? This title means so very little that it threatens to evaporate right off of the one-sheet.
Then uber-genius Shyamalan releases a trailer that features the characters using the word “happening” over and over again. “Something is happening,” says a news reporter. “What is happening?” asks star MARK WAHLBERG. “Something has begun to happen,” is the reply he receives. It feels like a lame attempt to embed this blobular, meaningless word into our heads, but the net effect of this repetition is to reinforce how fucking insipid the title sounds. Nice job, dipshit.
Thanks to the absolutely poisonous advance word on the film from previews, we now have a red band trailer for the film. This is Shyamalan attempting to appeal to the hardcore geeks out there by showing gruesome images. This trailer just screams: “See guys? I’m fucking radical and hardcore like Eli Roth! Dude!”
Unfortunately, Shyamalan managed to slip into this trailer one disastrous scene featuring Mark Wahlberg. In it, Wahlberg says, “There are forces at work beyond our understanding.” He intones this terrible line like an unholy cross between Forrest Gump and a two pound package of ground beef. It’s easily the worst line reading since Anakin and Padme stood on that balcony in REVENGE OF THE SITH and talked about being in love. Instantly, all of the tremendous work Walhberg did over the years to make us forget that he used to have “Marky” in front of his name suddenly disappeared. Nice job, Wahlberg; go back to modelling underwear for a living.
Here is the trailer. It’s not for the faint of heart, but not in the way you might expect:
If not for SPEED RACER, this thing would be my obvious pick for worst film of the summer. I still have hope that Shyamalan can beat SPEED to the bottom of the barrel; if there’s one thing we know, it’s that geniuses who think they are geniuses are usually the ones who end up looking the dumbest.
4 CommentsA Clone Too Far
Let me tell you a story about my first love.
It was June 4th, 1977. That Saturday, like most summer days in St. Louis, steamed under a blanket of oppressive humidity. Polyester leisure suits gave way to polyester tank tops, while feathered Farrah Fawcett hairstyles wilted in the unrelenting airlessness. Trans Ams shimmied on the blacktop like mirages.
Not even the cruel climate could have ruined my day that Saturday. Freshly released from fourth grade, I bounced happily in the backseat of our white ‘73 Caprice (which I called the Mach Five) and unconcerned about the lack of luxuries like air conditioning and decent stereo sound. Even my little sister Debbie’s presence, which would normally produce an effect similar to waving a red flag in front of a bull, could not diminish my enthusiasm in the slightest.
We pulled into the Carol House furniture store parking lot around 1pm. I knew we only had two hours until the show started, and every other pursuit in life seemed to be a pointless distraction from the truly important quest in life - seeing this movie. I tugged and twisted on my mother’s arm, begging her to hurry my father through the mattresses as quickly as possible. He stared vacantly at the wide assortment, as if his gaze might somehow alter the price. Then came the inevitable haggling session with the clueless sales clerk, which ended as it always did - with a stern and determined walkout. PERFECT!
We finally arrived at Creve Coeur Cinema with little time to spare. We whisked past the long lines at the ticket window like celebrities, having already secured our seats in advance; news reports were showing round-the-block lines waiting for this new cinematic experience. After going through the concession stand, I plopped down into my seat with my large Coke and waited breathlessly.
And then it happened. “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away” appeared in blue letters. A crash of trumpets. The title STAR WARS receding into a field of stars. Three paragraphs about a rebel alliance crawled into infinity. A planet with a lonely moon. And then, a little spaceship races away, while being pursued and fired upon by the most incredibly monstrous spaceship ever seen.
My mom describes my reaction this way:
“His mouth dropped open. He crawled to the edge of the seat, put the soda down, and sat there motionless the rest of the movie.”
And so it was that STAR WARS entered my life and altered it forever.
I was not alone that summer. By the end of 1977, everyone had STAR WARS fever. We collected and traded the bubblegum cards (the blue series will always be the best), played Meco’s ridiculous disco version constantly, and acted out our own STAR WARS mini-dramas in the backyard. The following year was even better, as STAR WARS toys flooded a dehydrated market. My basement floor became a STAR WARS museum, cluttered with little plastic figures and replicas of landspeeders and the Millenium Falcon.
My imagination ignited, I ravenously followed the development of the next movie in Starlog and Fantastic Films magazines. We saw THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK on opening weekend in the best theater in town, which was adorned with a gigantic poster of Darth Vader’s imposing mask. We were enthralled by the second chapter, and positively stunned at Vader’s revelation near the end. His FATHER? Could that be possible??
Recesses on the playground became fiery sessions of debate. Notebooks meant for notetaking instead became sketchbooks of spaceship design. We even conducted contests in which each participant had to write their version of the third chapter in the STAR WARS saga.
By the time RETURN OF THE JEDI arrived, I had developed pubic hair and a slight distraction with masturbation, but my love of STAR WARS remained strong. That opening weekend saw us together in the theater to witness the final chapter, and the answers to questions that had plagued us for three long years.
But something peculiar happened during that screening. Whiz-bang energy and inventiveness had seemingly disappeared, replaced by yet another Death Star and yet another rebel attack on it. Rubber puppets, used to great effect in the previous films, now looked palpably Muppet-like. Harrison Ford looked like he wanted to crawl under a bush and go to sleep. The Ewoks had zippers.
Still, Darth Vader’s last-minute rescue of Luke from the grip of the Emperor, accompanied by John Williams’ choral power, sent chills through my spine. I left the theater that afternoon satisfied, X-wings rocketing fireworks in the sky and the sounds of “Yub Yub” chanting in my head. With that movie, my childhood ended and I went on with the process of becoming a man.
Over the following years, I kept track of the little STAR WARS information that leaked out from Lucasfilm. My STAR WARS card collection gathered dust as it moved farther and farther into the recesses of my closet. My plastic figurine carrying case became a resting stop for my baseball cleats, and then later, my work shoes. Over the years, my growing circle of friends and girlfriends led me in new cinematic directions, often in movies with a much harder edge than the beloved saga of my youth.
Then came the mid-nineties announcement of a prequel trilogy to the original STAR WARS films. My heart, hungry for the exuberance of the original films, leaped with joy. By this point, I was actively involved with the young kids in my church, all of whom were new-generation STAR WARS fans. I took them to the 1997 theatrical re-releases of the films, which allowed them to truly appreciate the widescreen mastery missing from their worn-out VHS copies and television viewings.
The first trailer blew me away. There was the familiar Force Theme, giving way to the classic trumpet blast from so long ago. But instead of Luke, Han, and Leia, the trailer exploded with a kaleidoscope of unbridled imagination. My friends and I watched it repeatedly, asking each other in amazement: “Did George Lucas really pull this off??”
As I sat in the theater at midnight on May 23rd of 1999, I felt an anticipation similar to the adrenaline-fueled rush back in 1977. I couldn’t believe I was about to rejoin the galaxy far, far away that had entranced me so many years ago. And then it began. The same blue letters. The same blast of trumpets. The same title receding into a field of stars.
And then, numbness. The crawl talked of trade disputes and blockades. Everything seemed glossy and not-quite real. The Niemoidians looked like puppets and talked like lobotomized idiots. Jar Jar stepped in shit. Creatures farted. My inner child went sadly back to sleep.
I left the theater quietly. I reassured myself that George Lucas was trying to make movie for today’s children, much like the original trilogy had been for me. I tried to distract myself by marveling at the special effects and the effectiveness of Darth Maul. Still, I couldn’t shake the undeniable feeling that Lucas went back to make these films simply to milk the trilogy for more money. I threw my Taco Bell collector’s cup in the trash on the way to my car.
The following years brought two more films in the prequel trilogy. Each one teased us with galvanizing images in well-cut trailers, only to deliver torpid, uninspired dialogue and recycled situations. The films became a collection of oppressive CGI, ridiculous soap-opera melodrama, and coincidental character cameos from a constantly-shrinking galaxy far, far away. While Lucas insisted that these films were for children - and not the generation that initially supported STAR WARS - I knew in my heart that the original films were not stupefyingly dull and immature affairs. The original films had life and vision and drama at their core, powered by respectable performances and fueled by thematic cohesion. By contrast, the new films felt lifeless and silly, lacking the charm and imagination that inspired a generation so long ago.
When the rushed, tie-up-loose-ends finale of REVENGE OF THE SITH arrived, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The entire story was finished. In the months leading up to the premiere of SITH, Lucas told every newspaper on earth that he was gratefully leaving STAR WARS behind to pursue art films. I gladly welcomed this news, as I had, in my adult years, learned to appreciate Lucas’ pre-STAR WARS films like THX-1138. I couldn’t wait to see him move on, and use his vast wealth and resources to create something new, visionary, and unique.
And then came STAR WARS: The Television Show.
With the release of the trailer for STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS this month, fans have gathered anew in anticipation for this upcoming film and television show. The all-CGI production, which finally frees Lucas from the dreaded director’s chair, revisits the prequel trilogy in the time period between ATTACK OF THE CLONES and REVENGE OF THE SITH. In other words, the time period of least interest to fans of the series.
But not me. I’ve had enough. I refuse to give Lucas another dime of my money. Like a crack addict begging in the street, Lucas continues to panhandle his STAR WARS wares in a curiously obvious attempt to pad his already obscene bank account balance. Instead of flexing his creative powers, Lucas has returned to the nest of commercial viability, afraid to fly into the open skies of the unknown.
I will not support this anymore.
George, you can repackage the trilogy any way you want; you can release Blu-Ray versions of the movies containing lockets of Natalie Portman’s pubic hair, and I still won’t buy it. You can create ten television seasons of Yoda’s lost years on Dagobah, and I won’t watch it. You can offer an all-expenses paid shuttle trip to Coruscant and I wouldn’t even give it a second glance. I don’t want your movie tie-ins, George. I don’t want your merchandise, your movies, or your madness anymore.
Like a lover who has long overstayed their welcome, the STAR WARS universe has devolved into an object of scorn and ridicule. Gone is the magic. Gone is the inspiration. Gone is the love.
Goodbye, STAR WARS. It was fun while it lasted.
5 CommentsHunkered In The Barack
As we all know, Hillary Rodham Clinton has lost the best chance to secure the Democratic nomination. In response, all of visible and invisible creation sighs in relief.
Clinton had several monumental hurdles in front of her. First, she’s an unfuckable woman. Secondly, she is the physical embodiment of evil. In other words, she is the Democratic John McCain, sans tortured, low-hanging balls.
This video gives us a glimpse of the torment behind the tormented cackle in her final campaign hours:
Extra credit: name either the movie or the actor playing Hillary/Hitler.
2 CommentsAnother Dumb Ass List
of Yahoo recently took the time to put together the 25 Worst Hair Metal bands of all time, for his List Of The Day blog. The great thing about list is the fact that they almost always seem to spark some sort of debate or discussion. This list though, comes across as being written by somebody who doesn’t really know much about the subject and that makes the list come across as stupid.
The biggest problem of the list is putting Poison #1.
That seems to be the safe pick, for everybody. You mean to tell me that Poison were worse than Trixter or Slaughter or Winger? Winger isn’t even on the list, but I’ll get to that later. By putting Poison #1, it proves that he really knows nothing about the type of music. Yet the average music fan listens to this opinion, because he must know what he’s talking about. After all it’s his job to know, right?
The next huge mistake was putting Skid Row #2.
Yes, Sebastian Bach is an arrogant egotistical jack-off, but Skid Row aren’t a hair metal band. I know they get lumped into the category, but they shouldn’t. It’s kind of like in the mid 90’s when every band that came out of Seattle was grunge. Seriously, who in the hell really thought that Candlebox or the Screaming Trees were grunge. So again to say that Skid Row is “hair metal” is wrong and to say that they were worse than Bad English, Bullet Boys or Slaughter is ridiculous.
The other problem I have with the list is the bands that were left off. How does Winger miss making the list.
How about Nelson, Faster Pussycat, or Kix? These bands not only should have made the list, but they should have been way above Poison, Skid Row and Whitesnake. I wish when people make a list they would actually put a little thought into it and not just take the easy route and throw the safe picks at the top.
I’m sure Rob O’Connor is a knowledgeable guy, but this list would suggest otherwise.
3 CommentsFalling Down On Her Face
The new music video and debut single for the song Falling Down by actress Scarlett Johansson has been released.
That’s right she’s now a singer and is releasing an album, Anywhere I lay my head. The video’s stupid, to me it seems as if she’s complaining about being a famous actress. If she doesn’t want to be a big movie star, then stay out of movies.
As far as the song goes, I’m not really getting it. Her voice sounds odd and not in a good way for me. She kind of resembles a week version of Sinead O’Connor. Hearing this, makes me think that like most actresses turned singer, her vocals needed a lot of help. It’s like they thought the best way to help her was by making the music overpower her and and giving her voice an odd sound. This may have worked in the 80’s (remember Martika), but it’s just not very good for this era of music. People are tired of shitty music
I’m not a big fan of Johansson to begin with and find her to be funy looking, so maybe I’m biased. I feel that I gave the song a fair try though and I still think it sucks. This is just another blow to the music industry. There are plenty of good aspiring artists that are never given a break and yet this funny looking Hollywood bitch, gets to put out an album. So now, Scarlett Johansson, Hillary Duff, Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Miley Cyrus, Brooke Hogan and countless of other Hollywood “Hotties” have released albums. This is why the people don’t pay for Cd’s anymore.
I just wish at the end of the video Michael Doughlas would have come and beat her with a baseball bat.
4 CommentsWacko + His Kids = Distraction
Michael Jackson has banned his adopted white kids children from the recording studio while he works on his comeback album. Interestingly enough, the ban is for his kids and never mentions anybody else’s kids. After all, he has to get inspiration somewhere.
Now That’s A Wild Ass
If you think that ass is wild, check out the newest wild ass to enter the world.
2 CommentsHoly Shit!!!! The House Is Shaking
This morning as a laid peacefully in my bed, sound asleep, I was suddenly awoken to find that my house was shaking. First I though, my wife must have jumped out of bed and ran though the house. Then I realized she was still in bad and the house was moving, I didn’t know what the hell was going on. Turns out it was an earthquake. I live in St. Louis, not California. We are supposed to be concerned with tornadoes, floods and meth labs, not earthquakes.
The earthquake that rumbled through the Midwest early this morning registered at 5.2 on the Richter scale. That may not seem that bad to some of you that live in California, but here in the Midwest that’s pretty strong.
So, needless to say the earthquake has been the topic of conversation everywhere I’ve been today. The news channels have talked about it all day and it was the big topic with neighbors, friends and family even people I never met before. All of this talk got me thinking about all of the ways the earthquakes have impacted the entertainment world. The eathquake is allways featured in natual disaster movies, but here are the most memorable ones.
The first one that always comes to mind for me is the Loma Prieta earthquake of 1989. This was the first earthquake to ever be televised on national television. It, of course took place during game 3 of the Oakland A’s/San Francisco Giants World Series that year (God knew the A’s were cheating and he was trying to stop them from winning). The quake being on National T.V. allowed people to immediately know what was happening/or coming there way and may have saved thousands of lives. Here is a video taken moments after the quake hit.
Then there is the blockbuster 1979 film Earthquake. The movie was stacked full of stars and became one of the biggest hits of the year. It capitalized on peoples natural fears of a earth shaking catastrophe. The movie showed people what a major quake could do and even though the special effects look bad now, they were effected at the time. The quake destroyed Los Angeles and showed the fear of people just trying to survive, something that everybody can relate to.
The most recent use of earthquakes in a movie (at least that I can think of at the moment) is the earthquake destruction of Metropolis in the film Superman Returns. This is also one of the worst earthquakes ever on film and maybe why it is so memorable to me.
Movies are not the only forms of entertainment to pay homage to earthquakes. Carole King had a pretty big hit with the song I Feel The Earth Move. Where do you think she got that idea?
Then there is wrestling. Who could forget the Earthquake. I remember the shocking morning, as a child when Earthquake squashed Jake The Snake’s snake Damien. What a terrible thing this was.
Anyway it was kind of cool living through my first real earthquake, but I think I’ll pass on any future opportunities to experience another.
9 CommentsThe Midgets Will Get You
Two of my favorite things are midgets and reading the police blotter and nothing is better than having a midget in the police blotter. Check out this police blotter and scroll down to the first blotter under Rockaway. People in New Jersey are even more fucked up than I thought. I just hope it wasn’t the midget above that was hiding.
4 CommentsV For Vacuous
I understand the desire … I really do. I often look back at those breezy spring evenings in the early eighties, and fondly remember everyone curling up around the television to watch the newest “event” show. I remember talking to my friends about Roots the next day on the playground, or huddling with my family and friends and sharing the fear of nuclear attack while watching The Day After.
It’s easy to be wistful and nostalgic about those days gone by, and the television programs and movies that shaped the memories of an entire generation. Unfortunately, that nostalgia has overtaken present-day Hollywood, and blinded them into remaking everything from their formative years in a feeble and misguided attempt to cash in or recapture the moment.
The latest announced remake comes from SlashFilm via The Dead Bolt: A remake of the eighties miniseries V, replete with sequels. Here’s the quote:
“… since I own the motion picture rights to V, we’re in the process to do a remake of the original mini-series first as a theatrical feature, which I’m so jazzed about because it will give me an opportunity to really realize it and execute it in a way that was impossible to do back then. Then that will lead to the obvious sequel, because it is a franchise, and then we’ll get into The Second Generation and I’m hoping we’ll be able to do two movies, because there’s certainly enough material in the novel to warrant two separate sequels. That’s my goal at this point and that’s what we’re in the process of doing. I just literally came from a meeting, 15-20 minutes ago with a fellow in Beverly Hills who really says that we’re gonna do it.”
For those of you either imprisoned in a cave or unborn at the time, V was a very successful miniseries broadcast in May of 1983. It concerned a turbulent near future on Earth, when fifty giant spaceships encircle the planet and “make contact” with humans. The aliens quickly infiltrate Earth’s society by the use of propaganda and slimy politics. Series creator Kenneth Johnson intended the series to mirror the Nazi attempt at world domination during the Second World War, complete with bold red uniforms and insignias. Eventually, humans form a resistance movement (denoted by a spray-painted “V”) that finally topples the invasion. While quaint today, the series flashed impressive special effects and an epic storyline.
Of course, by 1983, we had already seen approximately 5 million “aliens invade Earth” movies; the television series took off primarily due to its “event” status on a free television station, and had little to do with any revolutionary storytelling. Since 1983, we have seen another 5 million movies and television shows with a virtually identical plot. Among this group is the definitive take on this genre: Independence Day. It may not be a great movie, but it’s hard to come up with imagery to top aliens zapping the White House.
So, after everything that’s been done with this storyline, the question remains: WHY REMAKE IT? For Johnson, it’s a chance to poke the pinata and see if there’s any more candy in it. For the studio, it’s a chance to stick a finger into the memory hole of the general public and click it on, ringing cash registers in the process. For movie lovers, though, it’s simply another bloody cough in the interminable death scene of cinema.
NOTE TO HOLLWOOD: You can’t go back. You can’t turn back the hands of time and become little kids again, no matter how much shit you recreate from your childhoods. It’s over. Grow up and make new memories for the next generation, rather than stick them with the regurgitated copies of yours.
For anyone who thinks this is a good idea - which is proof that you wouldn’t know a good idea if it fucked you in the ass - then I leave you with this lovely clip from the original miniseries:
Is CGI really going to be able to save THAT???
5 CommentsHow She Move - Ray’s Review
Directed by: Ian Iqbal Rashid
Written by: Annmarie Morais
Starring: Tre Armstrong, Rutina Wesley, and Dwain Murphy
Film: [rating:2]
DVD: [rating:2]
THE FILM
I live in St. Louis, which has been labelled “America’s Most Violent City” in recent years. Instead of resorting to step dancing to solve our problems, we prefer to steal, kill, and rape everything of value that moves. A deep racial divide still exists here. Perhaps that best explains why I am so bewildered and unfamiliar with the whole step dancing phenomenon that has infiltrated the movies recently.
Let me get this straight: step dancing involves people dancing at each other to make a point, wildly flailing their limbs in order to get “respect,” right? Ugh … whatever.
The newest entry in this unholy genre, which descends like a retarded step-child from the family tree of eighties breakdancing movies, is the “inspirational” How She Move. The film chronicles the desperate struggle of Raya to escape her go-nowhere ghetto lifestyle and make something of herself. Raya’s mother (or is it mutha?) wants her to use her vast intelligence in pursuit of a doctorate in medicine. However, Raya’s hood-rat friends want her to unleash the step dancing beast within, and conquer the big step dancing competition in Detroit.
Wanna guess what happens?
The script is pure paint-by-numbers, simply a longer and (slightly) more detailed version of Michael Jackson’s “Bad” video. However, the razor-thin characters are given ample life by the appealing cast of unknowns. Rutina Wesley manages to convey a lot of empathy and warmth as Raya. As Raya’s best friend and rival Michelle, Tre Armstrong fleshes out a strong-willed and conflicted three-dimensional character. Most impressive is the big-screen debut of Dwain Murphyas Bishop, Raya’s potential suitor. Murphy, strongly resembling a young Lawrence Fishburne in both appearance and charisma, effortlessly steals every scene with his cocky swagger. In all, this very appealing cast nearly saves this movie.
I must admit, though, that I fail to understand what it all means. None of the dancing on display here provides the requisite emotional lift that this Rocky-esque film requires; no dancer seems at any time different or betterthan anyone else. The film wants the audience to be as awed by Raya’s “skill” as the characters surrounding her. However, what does she do in this film that makes her dancing any different than anyone else on stage? Is it because glass shatters around her whenever she dances? The film fails to show us this intangible quality.
You know that disappointed feeling you get when a close boxing match ends without a knockout? The judges make a decision, and it always pisses off someone. It’s basically a standoff without a clear winner. Imagine if Rocky didn’t end with a knockout, but with a judgement call; it wouldn’t have nearly the same emotional punch. By comparison, How She Move wants to achieve that Rocky-like summit of emotional catharsis, yet the dance competition at the end lacks a definitive conclusion; it’s a judgement call. And from my vantage point, none of the dancing, while athletic, moves me very much.
And that damn title is bad English, folks. Let’s leave Ebonics to our imagination, shall we?
EXTRAS
There are some nice documentaries accompanying this movie, all of which serve to illuminate the winning cast.
The Characters of How She Move - What I loved about this documentary is the way it intertwines the performers with their characters. Some of the actors in this film were making their theatrical debuts, and their enthusiasm is infectious. Some of the actors, like Murphy, Brennan Gademans, and Kevin Duhaney,all come off as even more likeable and charismatic in real life than they do onscreen. For relative amateurs, they certainly did their homework to try and capture a sense of authenticity in their characters.
How She Move: From Rehearsal To Film - As one might expect, many weeks were spent fine-tuning the myriad dance sequences in the film. I particularly enjoyed watching the back and forth comparisons between the rehearsal and finished product. It’s very obvious that, regardless of your background or taste in dance, these kids have a lot of ability and very impressive skills.
How She Move: Telling Her Story- This documentary bugged me a little bit. Until this point in the disc, one might have gotten the impression that this film is an urban film “for the people, by the people.” However, this documentary peeks behind the scenes, only to show a bunch of old white people from MTV films and Paramount giggling with recollections about pitch meetings over lunch while discussing this idea. The only steps these guy would know about either involves a walker or a rehabilitation program. This documentary makes the film’s true intentions painfully obvious: make a film about the latest craze and tack onto it a “feel-good” plotline that will play to the oppressed. It manages to make this film, which I would classify as “okay,” into another cynical entry in the Breakdancin’ saga. Let’s call it Breakdancin’ 3: TweedleDeedleDee.
OVERALL
I have no idea who would actually buy into this “dancing as aggressive statement of principles” crap, but obviously someone does. If you find yourself unbelievably pumped up watching Janet Jackson robotically dance in front of a group of similarly-clad dancers, then this film is for you. The rest of the disc is nice, but ultimately it’s your love or hatred of the step dance craze that best determines the importance of this disc in your collection.
It makes me want to shoot someone. And no, not dance around pretending to shoot someone … actually shoot someone. Maybe it’s the Lou in me.
1 CommentStop-Loss Ray’s Review
Ugh. This is going to be a detailed review. I apologize in advance.
Let me get the politics out of the way in the opening sentence: I am an American, and completely against the American military operation in effect since September 11, 2001. In fact, I often apologize to those I meet from Europe and other parts of the world simply out of embarrassment for the so-called “war on terror” that the terrorists in the White House continue to wage in the sullied name of “democracy.”
My politics - combined with my inability to keep my mouth shut - have often set me at odds with my war-mongering fellows. One night at a bar, I had the privelege to meet a 19 year old (the brother of a female friend) who was on a one week leave from Iraq. After several beers, I began to speak quite abusively of the government’s actions in Iraq; in retrospect, I am surprised that Homeland Security agents didn’t rappel down through the windows from hovering Apache helicopters.
Anyway, the young soldier there that night grabbed me and took me into a secluded corner of the bar. With wild, piercing blue eyes, he began to methodically tell me how he shot seventeen people in Iraq. He has seen death more times than I can imagine. He told me that he never sleeps through a night; invariably, the nightmares come. And despite all of that, he wanted to go back to Iraq. When I asked him why - actually, it was more like begging him to reconsider - he told me that he felt like he HAD to go back in order to preserve the freedom that I so liberally enjoy every day. I looked into this promising young man’s face, and all I could feel is emptiness.
Such is the psychotic uselessness of it all. I wish someone would shoot Bush for carelessly turning beautiful young men and women into cheap, discarded hamburger.
Movies like Stop-Loss tend to stir such emotions based on their politics, even when their dramatic centers are off-base.
The movie stars Ryan Phillippe, Channing Tatum, and Joseph Gordon-Levittas three Texan officers coming home after a tour of duty in Iraq. The opening sequence is harrowing, as we follow these young men into the alleyways of Iraq to combat faceless snipers. After losing several men, the boys return home to a hero’s welcome. Unfortunately, all three have changed in fundamental ways due to their experiences. Their recuperation is cut short when the army exercises its stop-loss option, a controversial measure which sends dismissed officers back onto the field of battle. Brandon King, played by Phillippe, refuses to go back, setting off a chain of events that culminates in a deflating and sour ending.
Phillippe is outstanding throughout most of his performance. He was always a pretty boy, but here Phillippe allows himself to get dirty and showcase rawer, less-pleasant emotions. It’s nice to see him grow out of the “look at my abs and ass” stage of his career, and focus instead on meatier roles. Gordon-Levitt, barely recognizable from his youthful roles on Third Rock From The Sun, continues to impress. Here, he has a thankless and completely obvious role, yet he manages to salvage the character’s dignity with some powerful, silent acting. And Tatum, an imposing physical presence, has long been the heir apparent to Phillippe’s mimbo throne. But here he shows an honest depth, believably playing a man torn by friendship and duty. His speech to a grieving widow late in the film is easily his best work thus far in his career.
Other cast members acquit themselves well, in particular Victor Rasuk as Rico. He begins the film as a cocky Latino soldier, but by the end of the movie he turns the character into an inspirational one. Abbie Cornish has the best-written character in the film as Tatum’s girlfriend Michelle, and she does not disappoint. I would also add that Linda Emond, who plays Phillippe’s mother Ida, gives a look at the end of the film that is destined to break any parent’s heart. The moment ranks right up there with Maia Morgenstern’s empty grief at the end of The Passion in terms of power and helplessness.
Director Kimberley Pierce moves the film along nicely, incorporating some gritty flashbacks that allow us access to what the soldiers see in their heads. Unfortunately, the film, as written by Mark Richardand Pierce, plays out like a St. Elmo’s Fire version of the War On Terror. Much like that overblown Joel Schumacher yuppie-fest, this movie puts its cast of beautiful actors into contrived confrontations that seem a bit too Hollywood for its subject matter. The Iraq war is still a raw nerve in the public consciousness, yet the film plays out like a soap opera. It reminded me of the AIDS movie The Cure with Joseph Mazzello and Brad Renfro - well meaning and treacly at the same time.
But no matter how good the intentions, this Iraq situation - and the young people involved in it - deserve something more probing, more outraged … and ultimately, more honest.
3 CommentsLet’s Remake Everything!!!
Hey Hollywood! Here’s a great idea: LET’S REMAKE EVERYTHING! Every single piece of material ever produced on film or on television needs to be remade.
What about classics, you ask? FUCK IT!! We’ll remake CITIZEN KANE with Jonah Hill as Charles Foster Kane and Michael Cera as his “wacky” sidekick Jedediah Leland! We’ll not only improve the cast, but also the dramatic structure; the ending is so boring … instead of simply burning Rosebud in a fire, we’ll have the entire Xanadu complex blown up in a huge explosion. Oh … and we’ll make it in 3-D too, so when Rosebud flies out of the explosion, it’ll fly right past everyone’s face so that they know that it was the sled all along!! The kids will love it!
And let’s not forget television! That medium has produced so many great properties that we can make movies forever!!! Think about it for a second …. nobody’s ever made THE FACTS OF LIFE into a movie! We can get Lindsay Lohan to play Blair, Hillary Duff to play Jo, and Kathy Bates to play Mrs. Garrett! And we’ll add some lezbo sex in the girl’s dormitory to attract the 18-40 male demographic … but nothing featuring Natalie, ’cause she’s fat.
Or instead, maybe we can “reimagine” CHEERS with Jonah Hill as Norm, Nicholas Cage as Sam the bartender, and Amy Adams as Diane. We’ll even get someone not that attractive to play Carla - get Uma Thurman on the phone! The nostalgia-factor alone will guarantee a $30 million dollar opening weekend … toss in a cover of the theme song by Aerosmith, and we could be looking at a $31.5 million opening! Oh yeah, baby!
Thankfully, while I eagerly wait for these pointless television remakes to happen, I can tide myself over with awesome filmic experiences like this at my local mega-plex! AWESOME! Keep it coming, Hollywood!
And after we have exhausted all of the previously-created properties in movies and television, we can move on to other materials and remake them as well!! There must be thousands of Punch and Judy puppet shows that have never been adapted into films! And think of all of the cave-paintings in Europe that have yet to be reimagined!
My God, it’s a veritable cornucopia of material!! We will never, ever, ever need to use our imaginations ever again!! YAY!!!!!!!!!!
Sorry about the rant, kids. It’s just that this next sentence disturbs me.
According to Hollywood Wiretap, “producer” Jerry Bruckheimer has optioned THE LONE RANGER for a new live action feature. The film will be written by Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio, the wordsmiths responsible for some of the most cliched, squirm-in-your-seat dialogue and situations of the last twenty years.
Think about that for a second. Bruckheimer is taking a property that has absolutely no value to anyone under the age of fifty - in America or otherwise - sprucing it up with lots of heavily-filtered shots and explosions, and then marketing it with the subtlety of Hitler’s march into Russia.
This is going to be yet another $70 million dollar waste of celluloid, replete with nonsensical action sequences courtesy of our thoughtful scribes Elliot and Rossio. Can they not understand that the time of the Lone Ranger has long since passed? Are they unable to see that the Lone Ranger means nothing at all to the rest of the world? Like the current American president, they seek only to steamroll over others with their own agenda in order to make themselves a tidy profit.
Let’s face several facts about this upcoming film right now:
- They will get someone like Zac Efron to play The Lone Ranger.
- They will get someone Chinese to play Tonto so that the faithful sidekick can really sidekick some ass.
- There will be a swordfight on a rolling/moving contraption of some sort.
- Despite being set in the Old West, there will be several explosions in the film that rival Hiroshima in size and destructive power.
- There will be some sort of love interest. This will either involve Tonto (hey, that Brokeback shit is in these days!!), or some “spunky” gal that meets the Lone Ranger in a “cute” way.
- Aerosmith will provide a mid-tempo ballad for the closing credits. Ya gotta have soundtrack tie-ins!!
All in all, this is just the most extreme case of desperation. Is there absolutely nothing else in the world to produce???? There are probably several hundred thousand scripts rejected by Hollywood every single year simply because the writer does not have an agent. These are original works that have potential, yet the Hollywood elite prefers to stick to formulaic, in-house bullshit to regurgitate into theaters.
NOTE TO BRUCKHEIMER: I have a couple of scripts. They are original. They might be shit, but I guarantee you that they’re better than this.
3 CommentsDon’t Wanna MEET DAVE!
I am speechless.
I remember Eddie Murphy from the very beginning of his career. He erupted from one of the worst casts to ever assemble on the Saturday Night Live stage with a magnetic blend of charisma, wit, and nasty charm. He created indelible characters and skits during his brief run, including Mr. Robinson’s Neighborhood, Gumby, Buckwheat, and Little Richard. However, these characters were more than merely funny; they also skewered and examined the social, sexual, and racial divisions within society at the time. Entire graduate theses could be crafted from the wealth of information contained in some of these sketches.
Murphy parlayed this television success into a series of films which continued his scathing riffs on modern society and class structure. Films like Trading Places, 48 Hours, Raw, and Beverly Hills Cop, cemented Murphy’s standing as heir apparent to Richard Pryor.
In my mind, Murphy’s nauseating descent began with the release of the disastrous misstep The Golden Child. Despite Murphy’s constant mugging, this over-produced shitbag revealed Murphy’s desperate desire to cross over into family-oriented blockbusters. This trend continued with films like Coming To America (which gave us the first taste of Murphy playing every fucking role in the movie) and Boomerang.
The first true nail in the coffin of Murphy’s career was hammered in tightly the moment he made the fateful decision to star in 1996’s The Nutty Professor. A huge blockbuster, the film made Murphy a household name, and suddenly popular with a large segment of the Wal-Mart-shopping population eager to stare, slack-jawed, at the latest dumbed-down slapstick bullshit.
Since then, we have been soaked in a steady stream of bewilderingly-bad Murphy films. Dr. Doolittle … I Spy … Daddy Day Care … Norbit. Even a monumental disaster like Pluto Nash - a cinematic justification for abortion if ever there was one - hasn’t seemed to slow down Murphy’s idiotic train at all.
Which segues nicely into this trailer for Murphy’s latest film, which many feared would become another Pluto Nash. Previously known as Starship Dave, the newly-monikered Meet Dave stars Murphy as an alien who commands a starship in the form of a robot that looks just like Eddie Murphy.
How meta. Yawn.
The trailer makes the film look less appealing than having a Klendathu ant-creature rip open your anus and lay eggs up inside your small intestine. The only way I would ever buy a ticket to this projected bloodfart is if the ticket came with a free shot at Eddie Murphy with a shotgun. Watching him here makes me want to bore my thumbs into his googly eyes for what he’s done to himself.
Anyway, here’s the fucking trailer for the film guaranteed to make you despise the medium:
P.S. Using the song Staying Alive doesn’t make your movie cool, Ed. It’s become a cliche … stop using it.
4 CommentsJi Yeon
I’m back bitches!
The normally int