I Filmed A DTV in Bulgaria And All I Got Was This Crummy XXXL T-Shirt!

(Special Contributing Mung Hour Writer - Double-S)

Our boy Steve is a bloated hulk, presumably suffering from an undisclosed chronic illness that prevents him from maintaining a semblance of his former self. In addition, six and a half foot tall three hundred pound martial artist/stunt doubles don't grow on trees in Bulgaria. With this the case, how do the producers of this drek stage a fight scene?

The answer is paddy cake slap fighting. Steve waves his hands at the camera, then they cut to some stunt man flying through the air. Occasionally, they pull pack to display a move, but those usually look like someone running into and bouncing off of an enormous mound of undigested red meat. We shouldn't make fun of him, because he'll no doubt die young from a massive coronary in a third world country where competent medical assistance is three countries to the west.

So here we have Stevie in his latest direct-to-DTV-oblivion 'effort' Pistol Whipped. And featuring Lance Henriksen as "The Old Fellow Who Had a Few Memorable Supporting Roles a Long Time Ago But Never Quite Made It So He Has To Do This Shit To Fund The Beach House."

What is Lance to do between calls from Ed Harris or Viggo Mortensen for legitimate films? Update his passport photo and get on the plane for Yugoslavia or Vancouver. Henriksen has acted in or voiced no less than twenty roles since the beginning of 2007. This means he's got some BIG financial problems OR he gets paid a shitload of money for a day's work and his twenty film roles represent two or three real projects and a couple dozen trips to Canada for a half day's work opposite a near dead former WB cash machine.

Still, what's life like on 'the set' of a Turd-By-Design film? Does Lance sit patiently in his room at the Holiday Inn Express deciding if he should start drinking before or after doing his scene? Do the producers pick up the tab for his wife too? Per diem? Frills? No Frills?

"I just got paid a hundred grand to read six lines over Steve Seagal's shoulder and eat a Monte Cristo sandwich afterward... Steve had two!"

Episode V: The Island Strikes Back

On ABC's Lost, we've got Jack, Kate and Sawyer, aka Luke, Leia and Han. Well, if that were true, then Jack would be Kate's brother, but since Claire is really his sister, that's out. But for the sake of fanboy comparison, enough to send shudders through the loins of your average pud-tugging Warcraft player, Jack is Luke, Sawyer is Han Solo and Hurly is Chewbacca. I guess Ben isn't Ben, because Locke is Ben. Kenobi, that is. Or because of his baldness, is Locke really Mace Windu? No, he can't be Mace Windu. He's white. Well, they killed off all the black folks on the show, so maybe Locke is Mace. But Mace didn't exist with Luke, Han and Leia. Too bad there isn't a 1-800-GEEK phone number to call in these analogies. Best Buy, take note.

Due to the toxic levels of nerdity running through today's post, the Gods of Reason have just doused my genitals with a bolt of lightening, ensuring I will never procreate. Still, one cannot be faulted for viewing the world of Lost through the same Star Wars prism that JJ Abrams and his Generation X crew clearly have. Maybe it's a stretch to compare the weathered VW bus that Hurly drove through the jungle as the Millennium Falcon, but Sawyer is definitely cut from the Correllian cloth. And we can all savor the image of Evangline Lily's Kate in donut braids and Jabba's slave girl bikini thong.

Circling back to the altar of romance and heartache, there is something very touching about the tragic Dr. Jack Shepherd hucking his dignity at every turn to allow Kate the romps in the hay with Sawyer or the freedom in their rescue (the details of which we are just now learning as Season 4 rolls on). On the other end of the quadrangle, we have Sawyer. The mercenary who just wants to collect the reward for rescuing the princess. And to get laid. The braggart and solitaire who will let no one inside but brings his A-game when his friends need it. He may get Kate's body and her heart, but her soul belongs to Jack, and he knows it.

Complicating matters it the statuesque Juliette, whose affections for Jack upset not just the romantic apple carts, but possibly the safety of everyone on the island, as we learned from last week's episode.

So where in Star Wars does Juliette fit in? Hmmm. Maybe she's C-3PO. Golden, slender and made to suffer.

Mr. McGee, Don't Make Me Angry

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You know, I think we can all relate to poor Bruce Banner. I'm guessing his expression here stems from any of the following:

1) His TiVo ran out of hard drive space and deleted two unwatched episodes of Lost.

2) He went for a simple oil change and got the, "Mr. Banner, can we talk to you for a second?" wave from the EZ Lube employee right before the $175 reaming for radiator fluid, gear fluid etc.

3) Expected six months or more of defiling his wife and impregnated her within the first the first week of tossing the contraception.

4) Accidentally hit 'accept' to the birthday lunch with his co-workers at that expensive restaurant where everyone agrees to 'split' the bill, even though he knows he'll just have a salad and a water.

5) In the dark, grabbed the tube of Ben Gay instead of KY.

Movie Art 101: What Were They Thinking?

A new feature on The Mung Hour. Analyzing film advertising.

Looking at this rare 1990 piece of American history, it is clear to us that the Wild West was no place for heroin dealers, corrupt South African smugglers and corrupt ex-policemen, as we can see here with this late 19th century pairing of buddy cops. A suicidal Civil War widow forced to work with his darker skinned Sioux senior detective on the verge of retirement from the force. After earning each other's trust from their first assignment, busting a cocaine ring run by Civil War mercenaries, these two became lethal friends and a formidable duo during the tribal campfire dance-offs.

In the unexplored Western frontier, having a frontier mullet is always a measure of a man's ability to survive in the wild. You can just look at this painting and appreciate the cleverness of the white man's ability to harness tatonka fat to create the right amount of hair mousse for that perfect "scalp-your-enemies-front-and-party-in-back" look.

This piece of painted art would look great shellac'd on burled oak hanging on the wall, complimenting your wagon coffee table and pale green shag rug in any fine mobile home.