A Tribute to Corey Haim???

Corey Haim’s body will be laid to rest in a small ceremony in Toronto, Canada tomorrow, officially ending the drug-addled saga of Hollywood’s latest child actor/victim. But it’s not, however, the end.

When I wrote about Haim’s death a few days ago, I mumbled something at the end of the article that is now proving prophetic. I said, “Hopefully (Feldman) doesn’t use this as a publicity stunt like his Michael Jackson bullshit last summer.” Well, unfortunately, Feldman today announced that he will indeed be making this into a publicity stunt. He is planning a star-studded tribute to the late actor next month in Los Angeles.

I don’t know if Jermaine Jackson will show up to sing again – I certainly hope not – but you can be assured that Feldman will sing a song for his missing friend. And when he does, it will surely be one of the worst moments of the year, a trainwreck of monumental proportions. To give you some idea of what is in store at this memorial, here’s a horrific clip from The Two Coreys in which Feldman sings to his wife on Valentine’s Day. It is beyond awful:

I hope nobody talks Feldman out of singing at this thing. It’ll be hilarious.

Even More Aching Beauty

When I wrote up this top ten list of the most beautiful people in motion picture history, I didn’t expect such a varied reaction. I guess it really boils down to the fact that everyone has their own standards of beauty, and it’s fun to argue about those differences.

For me, ten spots isn’t enough, though. So I wanted to write about ten more people that are just too damned good looking for words. So here are their pictures, in no particular order:

Angelina Jolie

Denzel Washington

Zhang Ziyi

Ryan Phillippe

Andie MacDowell

Tom Cruise

Anne Archer

Robert Redford

Michelle Yeoh

Heath Ledger

Ken Ober Leaves The Basement

I was fairly shocked to learn that Ken Ober died two days ago. The guy was only 52 years old, and he didn’t seem like he was deathly ill or anything. In fact, he had been working up until recently.

If the name doesn’t ring a bell, you must be over fifty or under twenty years old. From 1987-1992 Ober hosted the MTV game show Remote Control. It was one of the first serious changes in MTV’s business strategy, as they began to move away from strictly showing music videos (dumb). The show was goofy fun, built on the premise that Ober lived in his mother’s basement and secretly held a game show down there. The contestants were buckled into lounge chairs and asked a series of pop culture questions. Losing contestants were removed out of the basement still strapped to their chairs.

The show made Ober something of a celebrity, although he never became super-famous. Probably part of that was due to his laid-back, nonchalant attitude. Ober was very intelligent and quite funny, but he never seemed pompous or arrogant; he seemed like a guy who might make a pretty good friend.

The show launched the career of Adam Sandler – thanks a lot for THAT one, MTV! – and also helped make Colin Quinn temporarily famous. But it was Ober in the center of the fray that grounded the show and made it fun to watch.

Someone apparently thought to videotape an early episode in 1987, which you can now see via the glories of YouTube:

Is This It?

Michael Jackson’s death in June has proven to be a goldmine for his family, agents, managers, casual associates, and enterprising entreprenuers. Like other dead celebrities, Jackson’s death has been the most lucrative career move he ever made.

Now get ready for Jackson’s next career move: box office giant.

The slimy owners of AEG, who sponsored Jackson’s aborted comeback tour, have been frantically editing Jackson’s rehearsal footage into a feature film/tribute/money grab called THIS IS IT. The stockholders of AEG claim this is an opportunity for Jackson fans to salute the fallen star; I suspect their motives are a little bit more selfish.

I must admit that this new trailer for the upcoming documentary makes me curious to see the film. Jackson looks much more aware than I previously thought, and the concert itself looks staggeringly epic and complex.  Thoughts of “what might have been” hang over this movie like a dead man’s fart. There is no doubt that this will be a huge financial bonanza for everyone involved. Jackson fans will doubtlessly be pleased with it, and it will probably also satisfy the morbidly curious.

Patrick Swayze Dances On

Patrick Swayze was not a great actor, and his movies generally sucked.

But he should be admired, not for his body of work, but for the way he generally carried himself in his life. He was not generally tabloid fodder, having had a long and happy marriage. He made mistakes, and he often humbly admitted them. He was hard working, even in the face of terrible odds.

When he announced his diagnosis of pancreatic cancer, he was forthright and honest about how his smoking probably played a role in his fate. He showed a lot of character in moments like that, far more so than any of his roles ever could. He seemed like a decent person with a positive outlook who was cut down far too early.

Sad. 

Even sadder than Swayze’s passing was the disrespectful way he was treated by the paparazzi and the tabloids. They did everything except barge in on him while he suffered through chemo. Did we really need to see weekly and daily glances at his withered, skeletal frame?

Imagine how awful it would be to deal with such a traumatic illness under the ever flashing gaze of photographers. I can barely stand going to the grocery store when I have a zit on my nose … what Swayze endured was beyond reason.

Reanimating Michael Jackson

The second wave of vultures have descended on the corpse of Michael Jackson, propping him up for their own personal gain.

Last night’s VMA ceremony opened with a ridiculous performance by Janet Jackson. Promised to make everyone cry, she instead forced everyone to shake their heads at her. Janet, your career is over. Stop milking your dead brother’s memory to boost it.

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Candles Blown Out: John Hughes Dies

A month ago we witnessed the death of a pop culture icon who had disintegrated before our eyes. And now it’s happened again.

John Hughes, the writer/director of some of the seminal teenage-oriented films of the eighties, died today on the streets of New York of an apparent heart attack. He was 59.

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Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough

I have never been much of a fan of Michael Jackson or his music. But I am a fan of his talent. And tonight, that talent – including so much unfulfilled potential – disintegrates on a coroner’s slab.

From the beginning, Michael Jackson was a star. As a six year old, he fronted a band with the raw sexuality and charisma of a person many decades older. As he grew into adulthood, his fame grew to astronomical proportions while his self-esteem shrunk inversely. Despite the bewildering successes he achieved in his life – massive albums like THRILLER and BAD, generous charitable organizations, and culturally-defining moments of pure performance – Jackson’s promise remained strangely unfulfilled.

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Worst President Ever?

With less than a week to go in the American Presidential race, The Times in London is running a series of articles detailing a list of Presidents, ranked worst to best. The list is culled from the choices of a large group of historians and journalists.

Their choice for worst President of all time? James Buchanan (1857-1861), who presided over the build-up to the Civil War by unwisely shoving a thumb up his ass.  Other notable fuckheads include the infamous Richard Nixon (of course) and, at only number 33 of 42, the incomparably bad George W. Bush.

For my money, the worst President in American history is Read more

Greatest Movie Characters: Big Ernie McCracken

We want to start looking back at some of our favorite movie characters, and the people who brought them to life. Have any suggestions?? Leave them in the comments section!

Bill Murray was already a comedic legend by the time the infamous Farrelly Brothers tapped him to play the slimy, self-centered bowling champion Ernie McCracken in the 1996 comedy KINGPIN. He had established himself as the king of sarcasm in the late seventies on SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE, and then cemented his fame with scene-stealing turns in CADDYSHACK, MEATBALLS, and GHOSTBUSTERS. However, his true comedic masterpiece came midway through his career as “Big Ern” in KINGPIN.

Look at this subtle scene early in the film. Murray manages to make McCracken smarmy and sleazy, yet strangely likeable:

By the end, Murray’s McCracken has degenerated into a combover monstrosity of the highest comedic order. Look at how far Murray is willing to take the character into the depths of depravity and self-absorption:

According to Wikipedia, Murray ad-libbed every single line of dialogue in this film, which is remarkable considering the consistency on display. While KINGPIN boasts some terrific performances and memorable characters, Murray leads the way with his inspired, ego-free portrayal of one of cinema’s greatest villains. GENIUS!!

Here are Siskel and Ebert raving about the film, and singling out Murray’s perfect performance in particular:

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.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ASOwLFn9Mdg[/youtube]

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.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgzn7VyoqEw[/youtube]

Here’s a medley of his hits, Road Runner/Bring It To Jerome/Mona

[youtube]http://youtube.com/watch?v=bMzCtNCJgyY[/youtube]

A 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.

Why Heath Mattered

As fans everywhere mourn the untimely death of Heath Ledger, their outpouring of sadness, confusion and shock seems appropriate – yet confusing. After all, Ledger had very few films to his credit by the time he died, and most of those films were of the seldom-seen, art-house variety.

But as Nathaniel over at Film Experience mentioned today, one film – and the artistry behind that performance – has left everyone today desperately wanting more.

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Heath Ledger Is Dead

What the fuck is going on in Hollywood?  Another top actor has died of an apparent accidental drug overdose.  Which is not a surprise after his last interview.

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Death Of A Young Star

Actor Brad Renfro was found dead in his Los Angeles home this morning.  He cause isn’t known yet, but his history of drug abuse is more than likely a factor.

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Vampira Expira

The famed Vampira, television’s first horror host, died today. With her goes a long tradition of late-night oddities and hosts that once made television something more than simply a money making machine.

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Happy Birthday, Jimmy Page

Jimmy Page is one of the greatest guitarist in the history of music and one of the most famous devil worshipers of our time and today he turned 64. Read more

Don’t Do Drugs

The latest Britney Spears freakshow exhibition made me think about all of the celebrities over the years who destroyed themselves in the public eye thanks to their drug and alcohol abuse. Sure, their spiralling demises make for reality programming of the most fascinating kind, but it’s also sad to watch talented people with the world at their disposal completely fall apart.

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Leader Of The Band Falls Silent

Dan Fogelberg, one of the last of the soft rock icons from the late seventies and early eighties, died today of prostate cancer. He was 56.

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Sixteen Years Of Silence

Sixteen years ago this weekend the incomparable Freddie Mercury died from complications of his AIDS diagnosis, and the world lost its last great frontman, performer, and voice.

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