The Mung Hour

Oscar Dress Changes - Hathaway: 5, Franco: 1

2011-02-27T23:23:00.000-08:00

For those of you who stayed awake long enough to Windex the bronzer off your television screen left by Gwyneth Paltrow and Aaron Sorkin tonight, ABC aired a two and a half hour telethon for the American Stroke Association.

No, we're not talking about Kirk Douglas' spot-on Bette Davis impression. Rather, tonight's awards show was an eye-bulging contest for how frustratingly badly paced, poorly written and lazily put together the Academy Awards could be, as expressed by the person sitting next to you on the couch bellowing, "I CANNOT BELIEVE HOW BAD THIS IS!". Everyone please have your blood pressure checked. No point was ever so poignantly illustrated as when Billy Crystal himself walked on stage to remind us all how well a show COULD be hosted. Sadly, his appearance was not a hand-off.

Next year, I nominate Charlie Sheen to host the Oscars. It will be memorable. (The Mung Hour just got handed a fine of $275 for the tired use of a Charlie Sheen joke. It's off-limits like Christopher Walken and Jack Nicholsen impressions.)

If you missed tonight's telecast, here are some highlights:

- Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis took one last swig of James Franco's bong water and came out onstage to marvel about how one cell in their fingernail is like one tiny little universe. Cue Donald Sutherland.

- Russell Brand and Helen Mirren reminded us of that big, fat dump they took on the hilarious 1982 film Arthur. Said defecation arriving this spring to a theater near you.

- Batman joined the dearly departed Joker with possession of a golden statue.

- ABC told us to watch 20/20. No, they told us they have the Oscars until the year 2020. The same number of people giving a fuck about this blog post give a fuck about ABC having the Oscars until 2020.

-Nicole Kidman got a call from Ken's lawyer asking for the playhouse, the Corvette and sole custody of Malibu Skipper.

- Two films with one-armed endings were nominated for Best Picture. Figured that out all by myself.

- Hugh Jackman got pwned by Anne Hathaway.

- Anne Hathaway got pwned by the fly that landed on my television screen.

- Sandra Bullock revealed she is Spock's sister and abruptly left for her Pon Farr ritual back on Vulcan.

- Annette Bening wins this year's "Nick Nolte & Burt Reynolds I Can't Believe I Eff'ing Lost Award" for feigning enthusiasm after losing to that trollop, Queen Amidala.

- Warren Beatty wins this year's "Warren Beatty Staring At Anyone But My Wife Award" for ogling the cans of the pregnant chick who beat out his wife.

- Kathy Griffin sang the Dido song from 127 Hours.

- Contrary to appearances, Hillary Swank was not there to talk about her inspiration, Secretariat.

- The guy who wrote "I Love L.A." defied Kodak Theater security and snuck in to win an Oscar for his tenth cover of "You've Got a Friend In Me".

- Reese Witherspoon ditched her boyfriend and brought her forehead as her date.

- Charlie Sheen did NOT make this year's Wall of Death and --- key-bo--rd -- ot workkkkking --- shouldn'tttt have -- done tirrred Sheen --joke. Apol - ogieeeeees.

Why The Social Network Should Win Tonight But Won't

2011-02-27T16:33:00.000-08:00

We all know that the Oscars haven't always been about merit. Many a film has been critically praised and financially successful yet still ignored by the Academy (The Dark Knight comes to mind). As we look back on nearly a century of Best Pictures, the first thing that comes to mind as to what an Oscar-winning film should be is relevant. Not necessarily relevant in the sense that people talk about it, although that helps, but the film should define the time in which it's set while examining the era in which it is made. Most importantly, it should reflect upon its targets. I can't think of a better example, in many years in fact, of a film that does just this than David Fincher and Aaron Sorkin's The Social Network.

Typically a 'relevant film' we agree on is about our country's wars - WWII, Vietnam or the Middle East (Platoon, Saving Private Ryan, Three Kings, The Hurt Locker). Or it will deals with the modern family (American Beauty, Mystic River). This year we finally had a film that stared into the face of an entire decade, illustrating the monster of technology and its fiendish conspirator, ambition and greed. At the same time, it presented us with a true film of the modern college experience and with only one vomit gag. More than that, it showed us the true fragility of friendship and the choices we make in life.

So why won't The Social Network win Best Picture? Well, obviously it's complicated by nine other films in the category. And it's not a safe film. It doesn't easily fit into a particular genre. Nobody dies, nobody goes to war, nobody dresses in period attire, nobody loses a child and most importantly, nobody overcomes a crippling disability. Every other year or more, there seems to be a need for the warm comfort of a crowd-pleasing historical film, replete with affable dialog, cozy scenes of non-fictional retrospect and of course, the touching performances of British thoroughbreds.

We're talking about The King's Speech. It has the vibe of Howard's End as well as The Queen which gave Helen Mirren her first Oscar, and it will be the same with Colin Firth. While no doubt deserving on every level, Firth (and perhaps Bonham-Carter and Rush) should be winners in this film. It is a thespian's film, but not a story-driven film. It's just not a film that we'll look back on as a defining film. It's Rocky with studdering. It's The Karate Kid with studdering. It's a feel-good movie, one where every beat hits its perfectly played-out note. You never doubt that the good Duke is going to triumph over his tongue-tied torment.

The Social Network, on the other hand, does not play to the grandeur of a world on the bring of war. It does not deal with the triumph of the human spirit, nor does it contain a single British character (just a few very talented young British actors). For those of you who keep score, Oscar loves it some Brits. Just ask Harvey Weinstein, who knows when to play the Union Jack card come campaign time in January.

What Fincher's film does is draw the curtain on the young 21st century mind and its unabashed pursuit of creating an idea that nobody else can touch. We can barely crack the surface of how the internet has changed modern society, let alone the impact Facebook has had on how we communicate and represent our daily lives to one another. This film explores our love affair with success, technology and Faustian complexity while still delivering grade-A entertainment. And in doing so, the film delivers 2010's finest dialog, cinematography, a rapturous modern score by Trent Reznnor and Atticus Ross, starmaking performances by fresh actors and a window into America when a few group of young minds changed the face of modern communication. These young upstarts did all of this under the noses of the wealthiest businesses and greatest educational institutions in the world. Shakespeare by way of Pinter and Mamet. In this case, Sorkin.

Decades from now, people will remember The Social Network as a generational film, the way they remember The Graduate, Midnight Cowboy, All the President's Men. (Sheer coincidence those three films all star Dustin Hoffman!) They will remember The King's Speech as the well-done Oscar winner of 2010.

Game Show Kid Turns Actor in Sandra Bullock Comedy

2010-12-15T15:04:00.001-08:00

By not being a 'wizz' kid and soiling his pants on television like the character from 1999's Magnolia, whiz kid Tom Horn, who won $32,000 on Jeopardy, has landed a starring role in an upcoming Sandra bullock film.

Full story here.

Cruisin' for a Bruisin'

2010-06-27T20:59:00.000-07:00

By special Mung Hour contributor, Double-S

Why do they even have to spin the fucking box office receipts? Just print the fucking list and shut up.

http://movies.yahoo.com/news/movies.ap.org/toy-story-3-sandler-are-hot-tom-cruise-not-ap

I don't know why I give a fuck, probably because I liked the Cruise movie and simply do not find Sandler and his cronies funny. Just never have.

I'm not saying the couch trip didn't hurt Cruise's career. To blame a weak opening on it is unfair. As I've already noted, the release date was stupid and so was the last minute change to Wednesday. Other factors played into the weak opening too.

Cruise is almost fifty and his leading lady is almost forty. They're twenty and thirty years older than the stars of Eclipse respectively. People simply cannot expect teens to want to see films featuring actors as old or older than their parents.
Tastes have changed. Audiences expect super heroes from May through July now. if you're doing the kind of film studios have been doing since the eighties, release it in August.
Everyone knew going in that Cruise had PR baggage. The painfully forced attempts to make him look 'normal' in publicity efforts failed four years ago, so why try it again? Look at how much fun Tom and Cameron are having on set! He's so normal! I'd have tried to get the guy to do some type of mea culpa. The guy could've gone back on Oprah and fixed it in five minutes.
Stop spending $120M on films that don't need to cost $120M. Iron Man needs expensive effects. Neither K&D or A-Team can say that. When films like Death Race, Taken, and the first Bourne movie had more compelling action sequences at a third to half the budget. Point is, the cost of the film elevated expectations to an unrealistic level.

This has been the weakest summer in decades from both a commercial and content perspective. Lots of marginal films underperforming. And by 'marginal' I mean worse than the films we used to decry for making money despite being shitty.

If I'm Cruise, and I'm not, I try to push the Les Grossman thing through then try to focus on more artistic stuff. People talk a lot about MI4 being in danger as a result of this film. It likely is unless Paramount's already sunk too much into prep and would owe too many people (Abrams) for pay or play contracts if they pull the plug.

Happy 49th, George!

2010-05-06T21:23:00.000-07:00

In honor of Sir George's 49th birthday, let's watch the trailer for his latest film, The American. As it appears to be a throwback to a time when you could actually release a movie into the theaters that didn't involve CGI and formulaic plots, this film will probably bomb ...

Keanu, Please Do This

2010-02-28T22:35:00.000-08:00

We all are waiting for Bill & Ted's Mid-Life Adventure. It could be your Color of Money at Oscar time, know what I'm saying?

De-Evolution of the Leading Man

2009-11-30T10:02:00.000-08:00

Defending Tequila Sunrise. Yes, Tequila Sunrise.

2009-11-19T13:42:00.000-08:00

(By special Mugn Hour guest contributer, Double-S)

Today', we're going to defend the little seen noir film from the 80s, Tequila Sunrise? Why should we defend this piece of fluff? Go to any saturday night party, and you'll see a few loudmouths, sloshing their vodka cranberry in the kitchen, bashing films of a certain era. The young folks all live in the present, so they'll criticize anything that wasn't aimed at them. The old folks hate anything that was made in color. The film school snobs hate anything made after 1979, etc. Lately, the target of a lot of criticism seems to be the 1980s.

This is why film buffs between roughly 38 and 45 have such a unique perspective on the art of the movie. We were there for the changing of the guard. We were in the middle of our movie going youth when 'B' movies evolved into tentpoles, when Bond went from escapism to studio foundation. We were there when John Wayne made way for Clint Eastwood. We were there when Harrison Ford, Mel Gibson, Kurt Russell, Arnold Schwarzenneger, and Sylvester Stallone became huge commercial stars while Havey Keitel, Robert DeNiro, James Caan, and Al Pacino pretty much didn't.

People already at or near adulthood in the mid-70's don't get it. People born after about 1973 don't get it. Upon its December release in 1988, Tequila Sunrise was an oddity. Not a drama, not an action film, not a romance. Though people would balk today, none of its stars were at the time proven box office winners. Though famous, Gibson had enjoyed only one legitimate domestic hit. Pfeiffer had been part of one real hit and one critical darling. Russell was, and still is, the one kiddie star who moved into adult roles. The film was written by Chinatown's Robert Towne, and it wasn't good enough to win at Oscar time.

Mel and Bob may jump out of cyberspace to blow my theory, but Gibson's character was doomed to pay for his past transgressions from the start and the tacked on happy ending existed to make a failed attempt at Oscar bait commercial. Like Payback eleven years later, it worked. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if Gibson didn't draw from his Sunrise experience when he took Payback over from booted director, BrianHelgelund. So, to shit on the movie is just lame. The 1980's were an incredibly transformative decade for the medium. More so than even now when the 'movie' experience is being challenged from so many different directions.

It's easy to crap all over stupid audiences today, but I'd be very surprised if something like Twins would enjoy three times the box office receipts of Tequila Sunrise this Christmas. Look at the eighties. DeNiro was a non-factor until his first 'commercial' effort in 1988 and he pretty much hasn't looked back in the two decades since. Pacino effectively did not work from Scarface to 1989's Sea of Love. Keitel was relegated to supporting work in Judge Reinhold and Joe Piscopo vehicles. Caan took the decade off. Why? Because they made movies no one saw.

Again, give DeNiro credit for cashing in. He figured it out a good decade ahead of Pacino and hasn't been forced into DTV because of it. What does all this have to do with Tequila Sunrise? Damned little, save for the fact very few 'insiders' in 1979 would've predicted that Sly, Arnie, and Mel would be the big dogs in the eighties while folks like Bobby, Al, and Jimmy were poised to relative obscurity in that time frame.

We'll discuss the 80s further at a later time. Sure, there is plenty of room for criticism, but to write the decade off is just not cricket man, particularly Tequila Sunrise. Not a great movie, but definitely worth another look.

Anthony Hopkins's New Gig: Harassing Customers

2009-10-23T22:46:00.001-07:00

Residuals for Howard's End and The Edge are apparently trickling down to a few dollars a week, judging by Anthony Hopkins latest acting assignment. With no more Thomas Harris novels in the pipe, Hopkins has taken his signature and alimony-worthy role to its next logical step, showcasing himself outside of seasonal retail stores.

"It's been great having Tony-- I mean, Mr. Hopkins here," exclaimed Burbank Spirit Halloween Store manager Bobby Schaffer. "I'm not sure if I'd necessarily call myself a fan, but I really liked his mo-cap work in Beowulf."

After feeding a Diet Coke and a straw into the Oscar-winning actor's mouth, Schaffer went on to say, "It's been great for business. People come here - well, mainly soccer moms looking for cute peapod outfits for their newborns and young f-towels seeking slutty Dorothy costumes, and then they see Hannibal eff'ing Lector. I mean, that's a shopping experience you'll remember."

When asked to comment about his latest work, Hopkins would only repeat, "I'm having an old friend for dinner."

Quint Goes Down With the ORCA

2009-10-23T22:42:00.000-07:00

Douchebag Song

2009-08-14T15:02:00.000-07:00

This song is dedicated to Dane Cook, Kid Rock and Jeremy Piven. With love ...

Yoda HATES Clones!

2009-08-05T14:20:00.000-07:00

You know, I recall Yoda babbling something to Luke about using the Force for knowledge and defense, never for attack - blah-blah-blah.

This does not look like a defensive pose. And a clone trooper going up against a Jedi Master is like a Devry drop-out going up against the editor of the Harvard Review. Not cool, Master Yoda. Not ... cool.

It's Not the 4th, But a Brief Essay on Fourths Anyway

2009-07-16T22:00:00.000-07:00

(Special Contributing Mung Hour Writer - Double-S)
Four of anything is probably too many. My thoughts on some we've seen and some we will/might see...

Dirty Harry 4 - Paced quicker than the first three, this one had less dramatic 'impact', but was a crowd pleaser. I loved it to death, but was sixteen, so I get a pass.
Die Hard 4 - It barely worked. Huge assist from Justin Long.
Lethal Weapon 4 - Excrement. A series of bad SNL skits with guns.
Indy 4 - Fun in the theatre on first viewing, but really wasn't very good.
Terminator 4 - Doesn't really count. 4th installment in name only.
Rocky IV - Excrement of the highest order. Not even really a film. It's the last five minutes of the third film, a James Brown video, several montages, and two protracted boxing matches. If memory serves, there were only two scenes where people actually spoke with each other.
Rambo IV - Two words: Li'l Smokies. Talkin' about your hands, Sly. Lay off the rBGH.
Superman IV - I'm not going to pick on a dead quad, but it was bad even by 1989 standards.
Batman & Robin - Makes Rocky IV look like Richard III.
Spidey IV - To me, they'd be better off waiting another couple of years, then re-casting Parker with an older actor and doing a trilogy with him. Tobey will look like a moppet when he's fifty. Squeezing out a 4th one five years after the third seems like a bad play, especially if they've still got him sputtering around NY on that fucking mo-ped.
Pirates IV - This is a unique franchise in that it requires only two things: The movie business mind of Jerrry Bruckheimer and the acting talents of Johnny Depp. Absolutely no one else needs to return for this to be successful. I would, in fact, suggest that the best thing they could do is punt every one save for a few of the supporting players. Geoffrey Rush would be a nice add, but they could do it without him. In fact, for me, this one is only interesting if they wait awhile and come back with a whole new creative team. Depp could revisit this one well into his sixties.

I know this isn't a 4th, but I keep hearing about it...

Rambo V - Please, God, no.

Movie Art 101: What Were They Thinking?

2009-06-09T16:38:00.000-07:00

This little gem from 1975 illustrates the best fashion accessory for a man in a wool, plaid sport jacket: a spear and flop sweat. This poster wants to communicate a lot of things and in red hues. First, it wants us to know who Joe Don Baker "IS", so if you happen to run into Mr. Baker while standing in line at the Home Depot, you will know to address him as "Mitchell". What is not known is whether he is "Mr. Mitchell" or just "Mitchell." Since he will probably be very hot and bothered in that wool plaid sport jacket and is carrying a spear, I wouldn't recommend aggravating him with anything other than "Mitchell" or "sir."

Linda Evans is his co-star in this movie, but it's hard to tell if that's her up above sunbathing next to a miniature Mitchell and toy cars and helicopters. Ah, sorry for the mistake. Forced perspective. Got it. Also visible is some sort of assassin carrying what looks to be a machine gun and apparently having either a heart attack, seizure or about to sneeze. Maybe he's getting shot in the back as well. Regardless, the bottom line here is that Mitchell is "brute force with a badge". Well, they're wrong. He's brute force with a spear. I'm guessing if Mitchell is indeed a law enforcement officer, going about his daily activities with a spear might prove cumbersome. Where do you put the spear when you're standing at the urinal in the office men's room? I'm sure there is a lot of potential for hilarity and embarrassment for Mitchell as he's juggling his food tray and that spear in the commissary.

Perhaps Mitchell's rather anguished expression depicted here is the final moment between he and his awkward implement where he's basically saying, "I hate this thing! I'm chucking it for good!"

It's Been A Year Since George, Steve and Harrison Took Your Money

2009-06-01T21:18:00.000-07:00

It's been a year and we've crawled out from under our Indiana Jones hangover. Yes, it's taken that long for me to look back and realize that we had waited 19 years for a fourth film and what George Luca$ gave us was a trip down his bank account. I still can't recall what the film was about other than some alien's punch bowl head, which to be fair, is given away in the damn title. What did I learn from Indy IV? It's been a year now, so the memory of that film is as fuzzy as Calista Flockhart's age. Oh yeah, I learned that the Russians make adequate Nazis provided you show a large jarhead Russian beating an elderly adventurer senseless, that a person can only survive a one-mile drop kick inside of a refrigerator if the source of the concussion is a hydrogen bomb, that dropping 300 feet down three waterfalls gives you a bump on the head and the giggles. Oh yeah, and Shia LeBeouf got popped for being stoned outside a CVS somewhere in the U.S. Wait, was that in the movie? I can't remember.
Speaking of Shia, aka The Luckiest Fucking Kid On the Planet Earth, he survived last summer's green screen embarrassment, getting his balls handed to him by Kate Blanchett's sword just fine. He's back later this month, dry-humping Megan Fox up against his pet robot car again. Something tells me the hangover from Michael Bay's latest Transforming trip down the Hasbro aisle at Target will be longer than a year. Check back in June 2010. Too bad Megan Fox wasn't in Indy IV last year. She could have cameo'd as one of Professor Jones' love-struck students who has the words, "Suck You Off" tattoo'd to her eyelids.

Countdown to Star Trek

2009-04-23T11:21:00.000-07:00

As we await the outcome of the latest Star Trek revamp, we're left to wonder if the new film will include Captain Kirk and his giant rock dildo.

This Just In! Dr. Jack Gets the Lester Burnham Treatment

2009-03-19T11:13:00.000-07:00

In last night's Lost episode, "Namaste", Dr. Jack Shepherd is finally relieved of his stressful burdens as both surgeon and savior. Following his return alongside Kate, Hurly and Sayid to the island, circa 1977, Jack's former rival, James "La Fleur" Sawyer, has now arranged for him to spend his years free of hospital scrubs and iodine cleansing. Instead, he'll savor his new found freedom in a janitor's jumpsuit doing a different kind of scrubbing. Toilets. How's that for a responsibility free existence?

"You don't ever get to tell me what to do. Ever again."

In Defense of Dr. Jack Shepherd

2009-03-18T18:21:00.000-07:00

Okay, let's just get it out there. Sawyer is the man. He's the shit. He's the stud. He's the tough, funny guy men hope to be and the hunk the girls want to end up with. Better, he's the bad boy who actually has the good guy ready to go on the fly. Best of all worlds. Last week's Lost episode, "La Fleur" showed us the laconic con man was a hippie at heart. Hippie by way of Han Solo.

It's easy for the audience to love the wise-cracking mercenary who can be morally ambivalent when it suits the moment. Much tougher to appreciate the guy who is always trying to do the right thing even at his own personal loss, like our poor, down-trodden and down-to-his-right-hand, Dr. Jack Shepherd.

Apologies to all for the brazen parallel between Han Solo and Luke Skywalker.

Whereas Jack pees all over his idyllic game of house with Kate and Aaron in a booze-soaked fit of jealousy, Sawyer romances Juliet, sticks to her side and becomes the perfect house hubby. But TV shows never follow logic. Throwing a bone at the Star Trek geeks by quoting Spock, "logic would dictate" that three years in a stable environment would forge a much more realistic and lasting bond between any two people. Much more than a few weeks in a cage-lockup where they hump on closed circuit TV. So of course, Sawyer's bond with Juliet is much more solid than it ever could have been with Kate. And in the future where Jack and Kate paired up following her acquittal, poor Jack was carrying the burden of the secret he had the balls to put forth to protect the others back on the island. Oh, and he did have his DEAD father showing up from time to time when he wasn't saving people's brains in surgery. What did Sawyer have to deal with while picking flowers for Juliet? Seventies jive talk from horny Dharma potheads and ketchup instead of salsa?

Will the writers ever circle back with Jack and Juliet? Juliet had romantic feelings for Jack even though it mainly stemmed from survival mode, the same mode that one could argue forged the Sawyer/Kate bond. However, Juliet did back off completely when she realized his heart was with Kate.

It would seem the writers have ruled out any Kate and Jack possibility since they had their shot after the Oceanic rescue, and Jack blew it. Coupled with the trauma of giving up Aaron, Jack will forever be tied to some pretty raw memories for Freckles. Too bad. It's not like she turned out to be his sister, so it really is too bad. And now it seems that he won't get Juliet either.

We must be the only folks in the room who not only feel for Jack Shepherd but also likes the character and want to stick with him. It's easy to root for the stubbly, wispy haired rogue who gets the best one-liners. Maybe the writers just need to give Jack a few more zingers. Then again, he's a brain doctor, Jim, not a comedian! Going into his apparent integration with the rest into the Dharma commune in the episodes to come, it looks like he's growing his hair out. Good start. It's easy for people to overlook him in favor of Sawyer, because he seems bland by comparison. And he lacks the asskicking, Boba Fett talents of Sayid. Nor the wise paternal, Obi Wan qualities of John Locke. And he's not the friendly Chewbacca like Hurly or the annoying but lovable C-3PO that Charlie was. Someone stop us before we call out poor Desmond as Admiral Ackbar. "It's a trap!"

Jack Shepherd is not the louse who makes good. He's the guy who makes good but louses it up. That's tragic and compelling. He seem like a whiner, but give the guy a break. He got people off the island the best way he could, and he manned up and took the heat for concocting the lie that they all agreed to, by the way. We at the Mung Hour completely empathize with his ire against Locke, because until you actually pull that time machine lever on me, we'd be just as skeptical. OF ALL OF IT.

Sure, he's not as funny and suave and interesting as Sawyer, but similar to Desmond, he's the guy who wants to please those he loves but gets smacked down by a father figure for his efforts. Jack's the guy who wants to help the people that end up turning on him on some level. He's the guy who demands proof not just faith. He's the guy who wants to get the girl but isn't roguish enough nor confident enough to enjoy it when its right there. He's the island's Bill Pullman. He's the guy that people count on when their needs come first, then shit on him the minute he makes a mistake.

Maybe he has a shot at redemption ... and getting laid. Maybe there's some hottie we haven't seen yet that he can make amends with, if it's not Kate. Or maybe not. Perhaps he'll just have to settle for watching Sawyer and Kate huddle around the fire celebrating with the Ewoks while he stares off at the ghostly specters of Christian Shepherd, John Locke and Ben Linus.

A Day That Will Live in Infamy: India Declares War on the Oscars

2009-02-23T09:03:00.001-08:00

As Hollywood celebutantes and celebutards innocently busied their afternoons with Rystalene and Botox injections, those Mumbai 'bombay-diers' plotted their attack. With a total of eight Oscars in its war chest, Slumdog Millionaire led the chai-fuelled charge to decimate Hollywood at a very vulnerable time. What with SAG strike anxiety rendering even the most vicious CAA agent sexually impotent, coupled with dwindling ratings for the Academy Awards, it was an insidious night of curry flavored ass-kickings. Despite a bevy of bronzed boobed bimbos, ratings were probably the lowest ever, proving that TV viewers prefer to watch Mike Rowe scrub outhouses on Discovery Channel's "Dirty Jobs" than submit to the bloated exercise of red carpet butt-sniffing and reach-arounds. Still, the show had its highlights:

Hugh Jackman - He shaved one beard and brought the other to the party. Now, now. No gay man would dare dry hump Frank Langella's leg with Brad Pitt a two feet away. The triple-threat Jackman may have seemed over-bronzed, but I think we'd all look like the Great Pumpkin next to the ghost of Anne Hathaway. Climbing atop Mt. Oscar and shouting "I'M WOLVERINE!" at the end of your song will keep you in the good graces of Comic Con booger-eaters at least until May. Nice work, Logan. Long live the Sexiest Man Alive!!

MUNG HOUR OSCAR OBSERVATIONS:
- Goldie Hawn – Sweet Jesus! There is a reason they keep the temperature under 50 degrees at Madame Tussaud’s.
- For those of you who never knew that Mrs. Partridge of the Partridge Family won an Oscar. Well, join the club.
- Proposition 8 is the new Iraq War. Rainbow colored ribbons on your lapels, duh, people.
- Daniel Craig looked a lot like James Bond in that tuxedo. Bizarre.
- Sarah Jessica Parker: you can take the horse out of the trailer but you - damn, screwed up another horse-face joke.
- The Duchess, a period film with powdered wigs and corsets won for Best Costume. Always nice when the Academy votes out of the box.
- Missed Joke Opportunity Winners - It's a toss-up between "Warren Beatty Button: The Story About a Man Aging Backwards" and "Any Mention of the Christian Bale Rant".
- Oscar-nominated songs are so much cooler when they have dread-locked musicians beating copper drums.
- Eddie Murphy - "I'd like to thank all of the members of the Razzies."
- Oscar Wall of Death was a visual clusterf*ck. Oh, and Paul Newman's shoes are gonna be tough to fill, Clooney. He's got salad dressing and spaghetti sauce. You've got what, Darfur? Get cracking.
- Ohhhhhh, Danny Booooooyle ... your Oscar's shiniiiiiiing ....
- Ms. Winslet, congratulations on your Oscar. You now have an obligation to honor those Best Actress winners before you by doing a retarded action movie that gets 13% RottenRating, then an over-budgeted period film based on children’s novels before sliding into an Oprah Winfrey produced tele-movie.
- The camera did NOT show us Mickey Rourke’s reaction to Sean Penn’s win, so we cannot fully verify if he has indeed won the Nick Nolte "You-Stole-My-F*cking-Oscar” Award. We think he won, but because Penn sucker-punched him with a speech-closing compliment, we cannot verify the win.

OSCAR 2009 GALLERY

Now We Can State the Obvious Pun - Nice Golden Globes!

2009-01-13T17:40:00.001-08:00

The Golden Globes received their lowest ratings ever, even lower than last year which was pretty much limited to Ryan Seacrest wearing headphones on the red carpet rattling off the list of winners. Not surprising since the average broke American is probably not in the mood to watch spoiled celebrities sashay down the red carpet in jewelry costlier than their houses. The only real rags-to-tiches moment was when Sally Hawkins won for Happy Go Lucky. The gauntlet she had to pass (from her table waaaaayyy in the back of the house) included tables with Pierce Brosnan, Meryl Streep, Tom Hanks and Tom Cruise, Robert Downey, Jr, Brad Pitt, and Clint Eastwood. If she didn't pee herself when she heard her name called, she probably soiled her thong when the two Tom's stood up to shake her hand.

No offense to Mickey Rourke, but the GG's always emphasize the foreigners and the outcasts. Brokeback Mountain's 2006 snub could come back to haunt this year's Oscars, so Milk and Sean Penn might squeak in there. The Hollywood Foreign Press probably doesn't realize that Rourke pissed off a lot of Hollywood folks in his day, and his plastic surgery might frighten too many of his peers who wonder if they could end up looking like that with the wrong surgeon. But people do like comebacks, so we shouldn't count him out yet. It would be great if he got in a fight with someone on the red carpet. Maybe if we all pray together, Seacrest will insult Rourke's chihuahua on Oscar night!

Actress whose cleavage we need to see more of: Salma Hayek
Actresses whose cleavage normally don't raise the flag but were decently taped up: Elizabeth Banks & Beyonce
Actresses who we had no idea who they were but would nail in a New York minute: Olivia Wilde & Jennifer Morrison from House
Actress who satisfies our Michelle Pfeiffer fetish: Amanda Seyfried
Actor who needs to keep the sunglasses and goatee to hide the damage: Mickey Rourke
Actress who should wear sunglasses and a fake goatee to hide the damage: Lisa Rinni
Actor who ditched the fright wig and finally got a decent set of hair grafts: Tom Hanks
Gayest straight man on the red carpet: Mario Lopez
Gay man on the red carpet who looked most like an older lesbian: fashion guru Steven Cojacaru
Skinniest broad in the joint: Wow, too many to pick from, but if we have to, it's a toss-up between Cameron Diaz and Happy Go Lucky's Sally Hawkins. We need some group along the lines of PETA to step in. Maybe a group called "EATS" which stands for "Educating Appetites To Starlets". They ambush anorexic stars with hamburgers and fries.

And now, the Mung Hour Awards:

The Renee Zellwegger "I'm-Privately-A-Total-Whackjob" Award goes to Anne Hathaway
"Still Can't Tell 'Em Apart" Award goes to Amy Adams and Isla Fisher
Angie Dickinson "I-Was-F**ing-Sinatra-20-Minutes-Before-The-Show" Award goes to Drew Barrymore
"Huckleberry Hound" Award goes to Maggie Gyllenhaal
Chris Klein "Your-Career-Minutes-Are-Almost-Up" Award, for the person least likely to ever win an award goes to Ashton Kutcher
"Head! Beer! Now!" Huge Cranium Award is an ironic toss-up between future Kirk, Chris Pine and future Spock, Zachary Quinto
"It's-Not-1990-Time-For-Normal-Bangs-Haircut" Award goes to Johnny Depp
We need a new award, something that echoes 1998's "Nick Nolte - Why did the Prancing WOP Take My Oscar" Award. Maybe something like "Baldwin-Shaloub-Laurie AGAIN?" Award. Definite winner of that last night would be Entourage's Kevin Connolly.

Holiday Season 2008: Where Have All the Hobbits Gone?

2008-12-29T10:11:00.000-08:00

This has been the most pathetic holiday season at the box office in a while. Remember the days when you asked yourself, "Hmm, should we see Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings? The Aviator or Chicago? A Beautiful Mind or Confessions of a Dangerous Mind?"

Maybe it was the writer's strike pushing a lot of product into 2009 to cover the gaps. Maybe it was the economy. Maybe it was the lack of pre-sold franchises available. Or maybe it was the fact that too many studio weasels were focused on shitty remakes. Regardless, this has been the perfect time to be homebound with a newborn or snowed in, since the best things to watch are all DVD's like Season 4 of Lost and Deadwood. When the best reviewed film of the weekend (Benjamin Button) only merits a 74% RT freshness rating, then even the critics have given up. Niche films like Milk, Doubt and The Wrestler aside, Hollywood simply laid up this season.

The Spirit had none of its namesake at the box office. Today effectively has ended the solo directing career of one Frank Miller, who enjoyed the two weeks humidor rental at the Beverly Hills Hotel Polo Lounge cigar room but now has been sent packing back to Los Feliz.

The real B.O. battle this weekend was between tabloid favs Aniston vs. Pitt, with GQ's naked cover girl and the dead dog kicking Brad Pitt's wrinkled old-man-ass by a mile. Who would have thunk? And here some of us were all skeptical for Owen Wilson's post-suicidal return to the big screen in a (SPOILER AHEAD) dog-dies-at-end vehicle. We stand corrected. Hmmm, sequel? Dogs never die in Hollywood. They just produce puppies. How about a cross-over franchise? Marley vs. Beethoven: Dog Eat Dog, coming Christmas 2009.

Adam Sandler's hopes that Bedtime Stories would be his Night at the Museum aren't totally dashed just yet. $28M is respectable, if not low by Sandler standards, but it can play and play in January. Nobody believes it's going to be the hit that Disney hoped it would be, marking a pedestrian year for the Mouse House. Disney has now also dropped out of the Narnia franchise after Prince Caspian tanked. Too bad too since the movie garnered good reviews.

Frankly, someone over in Disney marketing should be summarily fired up top. No way they should have released the Narnia sequel in the summer, particularly sandwiching it in between Iron Man and Indy. The original Narnia was a holiday release, and as we like to quote Crash Davis a lot on this site, "You don't fuck with a winning streak." They'd still be in the C.S. Lewis money-printing business if they had simply released the movie this past weekend instead of last June. Overall, there were NO big budget genre films, and that's a travesty during Christmas. Disney above all the other studios, dropped the ball. Adam Sandler won't save them either.

Disney also should be spanked for not marketing Bolt until right before it was released. Someone drew a chart of internet hits for Madagascar 2 vs. Bolt. The line of online interest for Madagascar showed a steady increase from summer through October, indicating the level of awareness. The line for Bolt started roughly a month out. In typical Disney fashion, they waited until right before it opened to tell people about it. It backfired. They've done the same thing with most everything else, save for the Pirates franchise and the Pixar films.

But this past week has just been BORING at the box office. Not a single movie made $40M or more. Most of that is the due to the films themselves, but there is no doubt that snow storms hurt a lot of these films on some level. Normally, it's just the east that gets hit. This month, it was entire sections of the countries and both coasts.

Will Smith's Seven Pounds (of Shit) only cost around $55M and has already made $40M. It may be a bomb by Will Smith standards, but he got his $20M worth of flesh and got to cry on camera while reading the treatments for I Am Still Legend, Hancock Returns and Badder Boys.

Keanu Reeve's The Day The Pants Should Fill is turning out to be an expensive bomb for Fox. Hell even Keanu is babbling about another Speed movie with Sandra Bullock. Fox's only silver lining this past week is that their current legal victory with Watchmen, but they don't have much else to celebrate until Wolverine five months from now, and that could be iffy. And is it us, or is Fox responsible for most of the mediocre Marvel films? X-Men and X2 aside, they've got turds like X3, Daredevil and the Fantastic Fours to account for.

Again, the holidays should include at least two big genre films. Hell even something bloated like Jackson's King Kong would suffice. Hollywood gave us a gnarled up Brad Pitt, a dead dog rom-com, Scientologists vs. Nazis and a pedestrian Adam Sandler FX film. Tsk. Tsk. Let's hope there is no SAG strike. Holiday 2009 could be even worse, if that's at all possible.

TOP 10 THINGS TO DO ON CHRISTMAS DAY

2008-12-24T12:30:00.000-08:00

1) Marvel at how much money the cast of A Christmas Story is NOT making from the TNT marathon.

2) Reminisce about the times you braved snow and ice on Christmas night, so you could nail your college girlfriend.

3) Race to the nearest Santa you can find still working and stammer, "I know you're not THE Santa I screamed at and pee'd on 30 years ago, but please accept this apology anyway!"

4) Drink a toast to all the many talented Jewish folks who wrote your favorite Christmas songs.

5) At brunch, compliment your mother's scrambled eggs and then quickly drop that you've switched political parties and are now in fact gay and dating Neil Patrick Harris.

6) Get ripped, cover yourself completely in mud, climb onto your roof at 2am and, torch in hand scream, "Santa! I'm here! Do it! Do it now!" and see how many of your neighbors get your Predator homage.

7) Wrap a box of Magnum condoms for tonight's family white elephant game.

8) Tell your Latino buddy that you hate the song "Feliz Navidad" but that you hope it won't damage your friendship.

9) Tell your wife that her Christmas present is a two-week trip to Paris and Italy, leaving out the part about you not actually booking it until you both retire for the following morning.

10) Nude Christmas caroling outside of 7-11.

TOP 5 INNOCENT BABES WHO DIED ON BOND'S WATCH

2008-11-13T17:52:00.000-08:00

Every conceivable list has been coughed up in honor of the latest Bond installment, Quantum of Solace. Here's ours:

TOP 5 INNOCENT BABES WHO DIED ON BOND'S WATCH
5) Aki, You Only Live Twice. Poison slips down a string meant for Bond's mouth. He farts and rolls over, sending the poison into his lover's mouth instead. I know being a spy is tiring, but how could you be such a heavy sleeper, 007?

4) Andrea Anders, The Man With the Golden Gun. Knowing her boyfriend is hot for a duel, Bond smacks her around for info then nails her WHILE his other lover Goodnight is hiding in the closet. Finally, the poor girl gets a bullet in her chess by Scaramanga for her troubles. Bond, we hope you wrote a nice note of apology to her parents.

3) Solange, Casino Royale. Bond wins her boyfriend's Aston Martin in a poker match, then takes her back to his place for a quick romp before chasing after said boyfriend to Miami where he stabs him, then returns to the Bahamas resort to find the poor girl tangled in a hammock looking like the victim Dreyfuss examines in Jaws.

2) Plenty O' Toole, Diamonds Are Forever. Even her D-Cups couldn't keep poor Plenty afloat when she was found drowned in Bond's girlfriend's swimming pool.

1) Jill and Tilly Masterson, Goldfinger. A two-fer, 007? This really takes the cake. First, you get knocked out with one chop to the neck and wake up with a dead, gold chick in your hotel room. Then if that's not enough, you later meet up with her vengeful sister in Austria where you take her on a terrifying chase in the Aston only to see her neck busted by a hat-wielding Oddjob. Kudos.

Nobody Does it Better - Unless You Ask A Bond Fan

2008-11-13T16:12:00.000-08:00

Inundated with blog after blog of Bond-age on the eve of the 22nd 007 outing, The Mung Hour would be remiss if it did not join the pack. TheAge.com has offered up one of the best summaries of the franchise so far this month. We agree for the most part, particularly with the praise of The Spy Who Loved Me as the quintessential Bond movie (usually reserved for Goldfinger). In terms of the perfect blend of action, humor, romance and action shaken and stirred with the cliches that launched Austin Powers, the 1977 Roger Moore hit really has it all. For the young'ins that want to sum up the Roger Moore era (and pretty much all of the seventies, for that matter), rent this film on a date and make sure you ply her with champagne first.

However we feel many blogs like Cinetopia dismiss Brosnan's tenure prematurely. While the films don't hold up as well now that they're all firmly in the rear view mirror of the Daniel Craig era, one must remember that amid worsening reviews, the films did better and better at the box office. While the critics griped about the movies, audiences truly loved Pierce Brosnan in the role. All the more reason in retrospect to afford Brosnan praise for single-handedly carrying that franchise. Imagine what he could have done with a really good script and freedom to explore the character, a request he tirelessly whined for. When you look back at all the casting choices, it was the choice of Pierce that people were actually waiting for. He was the people's choice.

But let's not leave Timothy Dalton at the curb, as he deserves a day-late and dollar-short round of applause for grounding the character back into the firmament, something both Brosnan and Craig should pay him a finder's fee for. While he could have brought a bit more flourish to the role, especially when up against the likes of Martin Riggs and John McClane at the 1980s box office, he rescued the character of James Bond, if not the franchise itself. Basically, Dalton was the Barack Obama of his time, left to clean up years of damage done by Roger Moore.

Lastly, Roger. Roger. Roger. The one Bond saddled with the worst decade of fashion. Just awful. Even at his fittest, the poor guy had polyester pants riding up above his waistline like my grandfather and had collars wider than Christina Ricci's forehead. But before we bag on Moore too badly, above all, he is owed the most respect for keeping the entire franchise afloat. Beyond George Lazenby, Moore proved that someone could follow Connery and keep the series prospering longer than any other actor. Without Moore's tenure, there would be no Dalton, Brosnan or Craig. In all fairness, Moore stayed past his freshness date, so perhaps he should have left his Trilby permanently on Moneypenny's hat rack in Octopussy. We all would have been spared what apparently is universally viewed as the worst of them all, A View To A Kill.

But damn, don't we all love that Duran Duran song?

The Next Big Hollywood Political Comedy

2008-11-05T10:42:00.000-08:00

Rarely does The Mung Hour stray into the political arena, since The Onion has drafted a non-compete clause into our contract. However, it must be noted that since Sarah Palin really is the biggest political star of this election, we can't help but notice her potential political fortunes. If Alaskan Senator Ted Stevens does hang onto his Senate seat, then there is the possibility that he could be forced to resign when sentenced for his corruption conviction. That being the case, Gov. Palin could very well appoint herself the seat.

We would wish her well and hope that Hollywood capitalizes on her success with such potential films as:

Mrs. Smith Goes To Washington
Bride of Forrest Gump
Being There 2
Legally Brunette
Primary Lip Colors
Boobworth

HAPPY HALLOWEEN FROM THE MUNG HOUR!

2008-10-30T18:10:00.001-07:00

Countdown to Halloween Film Pick: Ed Wood

2008-10-30T17:57:00.001-07:00

Now if you're looking for a great Halloween film, you can't go wrong with 1994's Ed Wood. Forget Edward Scissorhands and Willy Wonka, Tim Burton got the best work out of his 'Bobby DeNiro' in this throwback film to the 1950's B-movies. Johnny Depp plays the title role as the cross-dressing auteur who has no clue that he has no talent. But it's Hollywood in the 1950s and why should any ambitious filmmaker stop at that?

Arguably Wood was the Sam Raimi of his time minus having a string of successful movies. His 1959 Plan 9 From Outer Space is notable only for bringing together Vampira (the REAL Elvira) and the late Bela Lugosi who had fallen out of the spotlight and into drug addiction. Martin Landau won a deserving Best Supporting Actor Oscar as the drug-addled and profanity laced Lugosi. Some of the best scenes are Lugosi filming his cameos for Wood's horror films and spouting off lines like, "Let's shoot this f*cker!" and "Karloff isn't worth the steam off my sh*t!" It's priceless stuff and Landau is mesmerizing and heartbreaking in the role.

Sporting an awesome supporting cast including Sarah Jessica Parker, Patricia Arquette and Bill Murray as the transsexual wannabe Bunny, this film is a must-see for any Johnny Depp fan. Surprisingly, there are a lot of people who have never seen this film. Shot in black and white, it appears to be Burton's most personal film to date, balancing the Burton quirkiness with a near perfect homage to the creepy, dreary 1950s horror schlock cinema.

Best line comes from Landau's Lugosi as director Wood tries to calm him down during a freezing night shoot in the swamp: "F*CK YOU! You come out here!"

Bourne Again!

2008-10-17T10:37:00.000-07:00

We have news that a fourth Bourne movie is moving forward. Back the Brinks truck to Matt Damon's house. No way you can turn down the kind of money this franchise has made. Damon is probably the only actor under 60 with a back pocket franchise. The big question is whether he can get Jimmy Kimmel and Ben Affleck to cameo wearing daisy dukes and dog collars.

But here's the deal. What do you do with an amnesia based trilogy, post-amnesia? There are obvious hurdles here:
1) Bourne has his memory completely back.
2) He's killed everyone who trained him and fucked him over.
3) He now has absolute regret for all of his killings.
4) He has profound self-loathing for the fact that he ever was a hired killer.
5) A prequel perhaps? Damon is not in the shape Hugh Jackman is. It's doubtful he'll be able to pull off 26 at the age of 40.

In a franchise town, Universal is the kid at the table who is wearing thrift store clothing. They just don't have much but the Ludlum stuff. Moreover, Bourne's story arc kind of completed its course, leaving Jason, post-memory loss and regretful about his life. What to do, especially since the novels have run their course? Sure they can have him tackle Carlos the Jackal, something they excluded in the films from the novels. Or, make him a one-man A-Team. "If you need help, and you can find him, etc." We have some other ideas:

He's now a chef:
The Bourne Rotisserie
The Bourne Cotillion

Lawyer:
The Bourne Practice
The Bourne Time to Kill
The Bournemaker

Hollywood military adviser:
The Bourne Consultancy
Get Bourney

Gynecologist:
The Bourne Examination
The Bourne Smear

Schoolteacher:
The Bourne Recess
The Bourne Detention

Countdown to Halloween: A Film a Week

2008-10-09T16:46:00.001-07:00

Well, we're just a few weeks away from the big night where kids rot their teeth and your shy female coworker dresses up as Slutty Mother Theresa, fishnets and all. Halloween is not just about getting drunk at parties and hitting on 22 year-olds who don't realize you're 40 because you're wearing a pirate shirt and eyeliner. No, it's also about watching scary movies. Preferably, it's about discovering one of your favorite scary movies on cable and passing out on the couch at 1am. But it can be a tease. How many times have we all flipped the dial to AMC and been excited to see Michael Myers stabbing someone but -- "D'oh!" It's Halloween 5, not the original classic John Carpenter film. Should have known from the bad hair on the mask. They just never got it right after Halloween II.

So the Mung Hour is counting down each week until Halloween with a choice horror recommendation you can rent or pray to the DirectTV gods they'll air it this month. (Oh, if you use the word "choice" in a sentence, that 22 year-old chick you're hitting on at the Halloween party will nail you on your real age.)

This week, since we brought him up, John Carpenter's The Thing. There are remakes and then there are REMAKES. Carpenter took the 1951 horror classic and added a good dose of claustrophobia and latex rubber. People forget there was a time when filmmakers used real stage blood instead of CGI (I'm talking to YOU, Zack Snyder). Aided by a first rate cast of men over 35 (unheard of in Hollywood now), Kurt Russell shows us how justified paranoia, confined quarters and a shape-shifting alien can really foul up the workplace, particularly in -32 degree Antarctic weather.

Favorite line: After watching the creature morph from a colleague into a giant venus fly-trap, biting the head off a comrade before getting torched, Donald Moffat turns to his coworkers and says, "I know you gentlemen have been through a lot, but when you find the time, I'd rather not spend the rest of this winter TIED TO THIS FUCKING COUCH!"

Roadhouse The Musical!

2008-09-24T18:10:00.000-07:00

In light of the recent gooey opera based on David Cronenberg's The Fly, The Mung Hour proposes a musical based on 1989's most underrated ode to mullets, throat-ripping, and groin-kicks starring the ever precious Patrick Swayze and Sam Elliott.

Featured songs:
"The Double Deuce"
"My Way or the Highway"
"What if They Call You a C*cksucker?"
"Pain Don't Hurt"
"His Name is Wade Garrett"
"Not Much For Stamina"
"This is My Town"
"I F**ked Guys Like You in Prison"
"This is Our Town"
"Double Deuce: Reprise"

Kate Winslet Has Enough Cow Bell

2008-09-23T17:22:00.000-07:00

In her upcoming WWII drama The Reader, Kate Winslet undergoes a miraculous transformation, apparently into Christopher Walken. We're not entirely sure if this blatant Oscar grab is meant to capture the attention of screenwriter Charlie Kaufman, but the Titanic star's astounding similarity to the Walken begs its own movie, a la Being John Malkovich.

The question is how well she tap dances as host of SNL.

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?

2008-08-28T18:20:00.001-07:00

(By special Mung Hour guest contributorm Double-S)

Last night, it hit me. They just don't make them like they used to. I know, I know. Old guys often look back at the films of their youth and decry that the new stuff is bat guano. No argument here. When I was a kid, my Dad just could not understand how why I thought Hopalong Cassidy sucked.

Today, my son simply cannot understand why I think Wanted blows. Folks, it's the goat from Narnia throwing curveballs out of a pistol. One, even if the once talented Doug Liman did create a suspension of disbelief strong enough to set aside simple physics, we still are left with a very nagging question: In 2008, with all the weapons at everyone's disposal, why is it helpful to burp a hanging slider out of a Glock 17?

It's dumb, but it doesn't know it's dumb. Since the film was based on a graphic novel, we're all supposed to buy it as art. Tell you what, if the 18-34 demographic wants to watch a four foot tall faun take orders from the former Mrs. Billy Bob Thornton, fine. I'll watch BELIEVABLE films, like Fire Down Below. This 1997 actioner featured the just barely pre-corpulent Steven Seagal as a gun toting, ass kicking EPA Agent sent to the back woods of Kentucky to bang Marg Helgenberger and beat the shit out of some now washed up country singers. Now THAT'S a movie.

What happened to the dumb action films where everyone knew they were dumb except the star? Make no mistake, when Jeb Stuart signed the checks to get Fire Down Below into production, he KNEW a movie about a gun toting ass kicking EPA agent was dumb, but WB owed Seagal two more films and this was better than a sequel to the one about the gun toting, ass kicking oil rig safety expert who couldn't figure out Joan Chen was Chinese, not Native American.

And I don't want to hear a Jason Statham rebuttal. All you have to do is watch the hot oil slap fight in the first Transporter and you know all you need to know about that guy's fan base.

Why can't we have dumb action films anymore? Yeah, Rambo 2008 was dumb, but that was mostly because of what the HGH did to the diameter of Stallone's cranium. Why can't someone get Dwayne Johnson to play a gun toting, ass kicking HUD agent who goes to the inner city to help a bunch of down trodden urban youth take back their neighborhood from a smarmy real estate developer played by Josh Charles?

A huge opportunity is about to be wasted this fall when Mark Wahlberg hits theatres as Max Payne. The movie is based on a video game no one has played since about 2003, but we're treating the movie as if it's not purposeful garbage. Like the character he played in Boogie Nights, Mr. Wahlberg seems blissfully unaware that his films are stupid. Though roughly 1/3 the size of Steven Seagal, Marky Mark seems age appropriately poised to take over the mantle abandoned when WB decided The Patriot should go DTV ten years ago.

Dumb action films that know they're dumb are CHEAP! Why spend $100M on Wanted, shelling out huge sums for Oscar winners to populate supporting roles? For $20M, you can throw a few bones at Sam Elliott and Jennifer Connelly, then let Mark Wahlberg and Dwayne Johnson play mismatched FCC agents on the trail of a potty mouth DJ who also operates a white slavery ring out of his Miami penthouse.

Putting a Period on the Period

2008-08-20T16:32:00.000-07:00

Question of the day: who the hell is watching these period films? They are everywhere, yet does anyone pay to see them besides theater students and that chunky, closeted coworker who likes to give shoulder massages? Toss in a few single British thirty-somethings who actually think James McAvoy is a hunk, and that's about it.

Twenty years ago, a film like Dangerous Liaisons not only nabbed some Oscar nominations but even enjoyed an audience. Maybe it's because they were few and far between. For every Merchant Ivory film where Emma Thompson or Helena Bonham Carter sucked in their tummies for the corseted dress and Hugh Grant stammered in Edwardian attire, there are dozens of more recent films that come and go like the wind. And they all seem to star Keira Knightly. Perhaps her deal with the Devil for the Pirates franchise meant a lifetime of wearing bodices and doublets. Similarly, Orlando Bloom has done one film without a sword at his side, and it was one of Cameron Crowe's largest bombs.

When The Duchess comes out next month, ask anyone around you if they plan on seeing it and listen to the crickets. It's a foregone conclusion that a hunky actor seeks to pad his resume with period fare in an attempt at depth and range. Heath Ledger in Casanova comes to mind . Or the ditzy actress looking for credibility. Think Scarlett Johanns0n in The Other Boleyn Girl and The Prestige (at least the latter had Batman vs. Wolverine). One can't help but wonder what goes through a studio exec's mind when they say aloud, "Yeah, that fang-toothed bimbo from Spider-Man? Let's cast her as Marie Antoinette!"

Period films can be a terrific ride through history and great escapism if done with intrigue, style and a flare for the naughty. If we pay to sit through an entire film with Scarlett Johannson bursting out of her corset, can we please SEE HER BURST? R-ratings, folks. And how about some good ol' gore? Remember when Liam Neeson literally cut Tim Roth in half with his broadsword in Rob Roy? Now we're talking!

Nothing wrong with period films, but the recent past seems to be a lot cooler, particularly in the mid 20th century. May we humbly request a bit more L.A. Confidential and a little less Wuthering Heights?

That Summer That Almost Was: 2008 Movie Wrap-Up

2008-08-15T10:38:00.000-07:00

(by Mung Hour guest contributor, Double-S)
We're pretty officially one film away from the unofficial end of 2008's Summer Movie Crop. Though Death Race and even Babylon AD's producers may take umbrage, this thing ends with Tropic Thunder as it's the last wide release with any real shot of making big bank. Actually, I take that back. I have no idea what to expect out of Clone Wars. Could not even venture a guess as to what that thing will earn opening weekend. (The Mung Hour ventures a guess - $17M based on tots who don't mind baby Jabba the Hutt who poops and farts.)

I've got to say this has been about the best summer in some time. A new super hero was introduced and an old one enjoyed his finest hour. An AARP eligible action hero from our youth returned to not embarrass himself commercially or artistically. Two cartoons hit it out of the park. Several bits of counter-programming exceeded expectations. R-rated comedy returned with a bang.

There were at least two bona fide sleepers with Journey To The Center of the Earth and What Happens in Vegas. Hancock was the quietest $200M+ earner I can remember. There were quite a few break evens that will surely go green when they hit ancillary markets. Hulk, Get Smart, Hellboy, and Zohan come to mind.

Unless Tropic Thunder dies, there were very few true bombs. Speed Racer will be the summer's champion no matter what happens from this point on. Some may want to put X-Files up on that pedestal, but if the budget really only was $25M, then it's probably got a better chance of lining pockets on DVD than several of the above noted middle tier films. SR was just a dump in the pants of both the studio and the creators. Way too much money. Way too much gayness.

Narnia may have successfully ended that franchise, because that one pretty much needed $200M to warrant another installment. It's like Superman or Hulk. Once the pooch is screwed, do you really try again?

Love Guru has effectively ended the tier one career of Mike Myers, though he may live on as some sort of shape shifting character actor. To the best of my knowledge, he's only appeared on screen once not masked by some sort of character persona and that was in Axe Murderer. He's used props for virtually everything else and even did so in his serious turns, such as 54.

Overall, I think we'll be looking back with longing come 2009. Unless some amazing shit gets rushed into production, we could be screwed. Then again, it does sound like that's happening. Tarantino is moving fast with Inglorious Bastards. Variety announced Pitt was in for the lead and that QT wants to be done by Cannes next year. Ballsy, but if he's been planning it for five years, there's a chance he can make it happen quick.

Quantum of Solace (or, Suantum of Qualace if you've heard the new song) and some other 'serious' fare is about all we have left to look forward too. The poster for Righteous Kill seems more like an ad for a laxative. At some point, both Pacino and DeNiro have to accept that they're way closer to seventy than fifty.

Max Payne? House of Lies? State of Play? The Spirit? Day the Earth Stood Still.

Oh, and after seeing the preview, let me be the first to predict the end of Jim Carrey in Yes Man. Looks bad bad bad. And he's finally aged to the point where he looks his age and having Zooey Deschanel as his female lead is borderline creepy. I'm sure he'll make a mint on Christmas Carol in 2009, but the zany urban comedy is oh so over for him.

So, there you have it.

Do We Still Want Our Mummy?

2008-07-31T11:51:00.000-07:00

1999 was a pretty big year at the movies, bigger still for visual FX houses. April gave us a double punch of The Matrix and The Mummy, both groundbreaking films in their use of CGI and balls-out action A month later, we were forced to endure Episode I: The Phantom Menace. While wishing the pox upon George Luca$ for the intolerable He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Mentioned Binks shoved down our throats, most people would agree that the FX of the pod race and the space scenes were top notch. Now can we go back and digitally erase young Anakin from the entire movie?

Out of all the blockbusters of '99, Stephen Sommers' The Mummy was arguably the best date movie. Derided for its overuse of CGI, implausible action sequences, wretched dialog and cardboard characters, it was very successful and launched the careers of Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz onto the A-list. It was a fairly pioneering film that blended modern technology with the Raiders-esque style of action and setting and threw in a dash of 1930s classic horror.

2001's The Mummy Returns worked really hard to weave in an absurdly convenient storyline for its protagonists and introduce us to the Rock, but it relied too much on CGI and too little on any real weight of story. Basically, the Mummy comes back and there's a bunch of fighting leading up to one of the weakest CGI character since "E.T. the Extra Terrestrial" video game for the Atari 2600. We're talking about that absurd Scorpion King monster with the Rock's digital face glued to it. Horrible. And it committed one of the bigger TV/Film sins, introducing a young kid, aka the 'Cousin Oliver' for all you Brady Bunch fans.

So this weekend, we've got The Mummy 3: Tomb of the Much Needed Universal Tentpole. We're to believe that Brendan Fraser's toupee and face have aged a mere five years, but now he's got a 20 year-old son. And we're meant to believe that Rachel Weisz would turn down a paycheck for her dignity (unheard of in Hollywood). Replacing her as the pert and perky Evie O'Connell is the newest MILF in town, Maria Bello. I don't know which to fear more, her attempt at a British accent or the Freudian tension between she and her 'son', Luke Goss as young Alex O'Connell.

Regardless, the trailers suggest a rewind to 2001 with marginally improved CGI and every bit as painful dialog. Stephen Sommers has exited the series to a perfect project for him, the film adaptation of the 80s toy commercial, I mean animated babysitter, G.I. Joe. After the craptacular Van Helsing in 2004, directing a film about human toy soldiers spitting out groaners and blowing stuff actually makes sense. Nearly as perfect as pairing Michael Bay with transforming trucks.

Having not seen the third Mummy yet, should we judge this unnecessary film by the quality of its predecessor or look to the critics? With a 12% rotten rating at rottentomatoes.com, I think Universal would prefer we marvel at Jet Li, Michele Yeoh and a family triumvirate of attractive protagonists. And wait! They've thrown not one, not two but three Abominable Snowmen! Wait just a minute folks. Dammit. Did they just borrow the CGI werewolves from Van Helsing and bleach their fur?

Movie Art 101: What Were They Thinking?

2008-07-14T18:36:00.000-07:00

Yes, the woman in this poster looks a bit like Serena, Samantha Stephens evil cousin on Bewitched. Sorry gents, but that is a dude. Her metallic genitalia is an outie not an innie. Moreover, it is hard to tell if that's Eric Bana in the fedora or Corey Feldman. Ah, the wonders of poor Photoshop.

As we wait until November 7th for the latest 007 movie to save us from feel-good holiday fare, we can savor the artistry the Bond franchise continues to spawn on home video. This 2003 musical comedy from Thailand truly embraces the spy genre head-on and with lots of flowers. If you saw this on the Blockbuster Video shelves, you might be tempted to report it to management as a fringe of their "We will not sell pornographic movies - unless somehow it's decided we can" morality clause.

This artwork shows us that a title is everything. Now in all fairness, if you swapped out the artwork of this film with Morris the cat, it could look like the feline version of Inspector Gadget. This must be a fairly boring movie with what is apparently one adventure.

Major criticism: Too much fucia.

The Fly: The Opera - Stay For the Shotgun-to-the-Head Song

2008-07-03T12:30:00.000-07:00

Arguably this week's most bizarre entertainment story, director David Cronenberg has taken his 1986 heartwarming tale of a mulleted scientist who splices his DNA with a housefly and morphs into a horny, limb-dissolving insectoid-erectus who enjoys nailing hookers and breaking the arms of bikers and turned it into a 75-piece orchestral masterpiece. Fronted by tenor Placido Domingo, the musical interpretation premiered this week in Paris, home of such little-known operas like La Boheme, La Traviata and Faust.

Move over Mozart and Puccini, the opera about the half-fly man who barfs up his saliva to disintegrate the ankles and hands of his rivals will be the show everyone talks about for centuries to come.

First Rule: You Do Not Talk about Hulk Club

2008-06-12T18:31:00.000-07:00

Box office predictions for the weekend. Hmmmm, I'd say that The Incredible Fight Club will smash M. Night Shyamalan's What's Happenin'! Wait, The Mung Hour can cough up a better parody title than Incredible Fight Club. Here are some options:

The Green Transporter
Incredible History X
Supergreen
I Am Hulk's Raging Bile Duct

$55 million is a good bet for the Hulk. It has enough buzz going for it, but Hulk's big balls won't hang as impressively as Iron Man's or Indy's. This summer has shown us that a true blockbuster must include the ladies in attendance. Sex In the City notwithstanding, the reason that Iron Man debuted so large and hung on so long was the date factor. The fanboys were able to shore up dates. Dates that actually wanted to see this movie. No offense to Eddie Norton, but the girls don't wet their panties for him the way they do for Robert Downey Jr. and Terrence Howard slurping Grey Goose shots off strippers' tits on a private plane. Plus Kung Fu Panda holdovers will bite into it. Still, it should trounce M. Night's latest thrillbag. His film should tank in around $23 million. Monday morning, Michael Bay's Night Platinum Dunes office should be getting a humble phone call from him begging to direct the remake of A Nightmare on Elm Street.

Hanks Switches from Badger to Muskrat Wig For Da Vinci Sequel

2008-06-06T17:11:00.000-07:00

This just in! Apparently still smarting from the cavalcade of criticism over the dead animal he stapled to his head for 2006's The Da Vinci Code, Tom Hanks has apparently released the subterranean dwelling vermin into the wild and glued a much tamer muskrat to his dome for the upcoming sequel Angels & Demons currently filming in Rome. No word on whether fellow badger abusers John Travolta and Steven Seagal will follow suit and let their own cranial critters scurry back to the forest from whence they came. Animal rights activists are hot on Hanks' trail nonetheless.

"We think it's a shame that a person of Mr. Hanks' stature would deliberately enslave a defenseless creature for the sole purpose of performing in a film," PETA spokesperson Ronald Barr said, "When you consider all the synthetic alternatives one could use for hair augmentation, it shouldn't matter if it's a land-bound or aquatic mammal. Animals should not be adhered to a human's head for vanity's sake."

God Loves George Clooney

2008-06-03T20:26:00.000-07:00

By Special Mung Hour correspondant Double-S
I finally have to take umbrage with the otherwise brilliant idontlikeyouinthatway.com because it's clear that either 'Jenny' or 'Todd' simply doesn't understand what it is to be Clooney. Honestly, I can only dream of what it must be like, but I do know why the former Batman spent a year with an obvious skank.

One, he can presumably afford the best rubbers in the world. Two, it's evident she'd let him do anything to her for one more week of free room and board in one of his homes. Anything. You date Cameron Diaz or one of those snooty Victoria's Secret models, there will be limits. It's evident from the pictures of her that she'd have no trouble with:

"Look sweetheart, I just paid $4,000 at Christie's for Linda Harrison's costume from Planet of the Apes. I've thrown down some hay in the back of the garden shed. Put the rawhide panties on, go out there and take a nap and later, after I've had a few Grey Gooses and a Viagra, I'm going to come out and cornhole you while Richard Kind shoots us with a garden hose. Any problems with that?"

"No, George. That'll be fine."

Yeah, I'm sure the first two or three times Tom Brady peeled off Giselle Bunchen's panties, it was the kind of joy/terror the rest of us can only experience in the wake of surviving intense military combat. Now, TMZ follows the poor whipped bastard around and takes pictures of him buying Tampax for her.

You don't see a dejected Clooney shuffling around a Tarzana RiteAid at 8am on a Sunday praying some pap doesn't show up to snap him putting a jumbo box of Kotex on his platinum Amex. Why? Because he is Clooney and Clooney doesn't do that kind of shit. I'm sure you're thinking, "But, you haven't addressed why this Oscar winning actor/director would spend a year of his life with an obviously ignorant stripper/hooker/waitress."

Actually, I have. Though Tom Brady is twenty years younger, he spends all his time running for his life from Ray Lewis, Bridget Moynahan's lawyers, and Giselle's personal assistant. He's praying for death every time he lines up against the Pittsburgh Steelers, because he was too arrogant and stupid to man-ram anonymous tramps. Nope, he had to go all Romo and date famous actresses. Babyfaced bastard even impregnated one. If only Terry Bradshaw or Joe Montana could've intervened in time.

Meanwhile, George associates himself with the kind of woman he can leave handcuffed to a bed for three hours while he goes and plays a game of pick up basketball. At the end of the day, what's she gonna do? Leave him? Boo hoo. And once he's defiled her in every way possible, he calls James Woods to give him first dibs on sloppy seconds and proceeds to find a NEW skank!

RIP Skank Du Jour. See you in the pages of Penthouse or online at www.seewhatgeorgesaw.com.

You Were a Tomato! (R.I.P. Sydney Pollack)

2008-05-28T17:45:00.000-07:00

Sydney Pollack's feature directorial debut was directing the other great Sydney, Poitier in 1965's The Slender Thread. He went on to direct 20 more films before he passed away on May 26, 2008. A lot has already been said this past week by colleagues and journalists, particularly that he was "an actor's director." So often, this moniker is bantered about, but rarely does it truly apply. Pollack was one of those rare directors who was also a damn good actor. Though he may have started his life in showbiz as an performer, he was not a Redford or a Costner who became a star first, then jumped into the director's chair. He was a director first, and a damn good actor second.

That said, it's only fair that The Mung Hour allow some of the very characters he directed to speak directly about the man.

Dorothy Michaels - from 1982's Tootsie: "He was relentlessly pushing me to be sexier, as if to say that the woman I was wasn't good enough for him to begin with. Well, if that were true, you macho shithead, then why did you have me in this sexist pic to begin? Shame on you, Sydney Pollack. If I had a cattle prod, I'd zap your balls in front of your wife and kids. That would curl that Brillo pad head of yours. Shame on you!"

Katie Morofsky - from 1973's The Way We Were: "Wouldn't it be wonderful if we were old? Then we could say we survived all this. Everything thing would be uncomplicated, the way it was when we were young? Then Sydney, you would still be alive."

Attorney Michael Colin Gallagher - from 1981's Absence of Malice: "You know something? When you kill yourself, it's a homicide, so they do an autopsy. They'll get a knife. They start here. They're gonna split her open. Up here they use shears. Shears, for Christ's sake! Don't let them do that to you, Sydney!!"

Mitch McDeere - from 1992's The Firm: "Hey Sydney, wouldn't it be funny if I went to Hollywood, you went to jail, and we both ended up surrounded by crooks?"

Iron Man Fans to Indy Fans: Our Film is Gonna Kick Your Film's Ass!

2008-04-25T18:37:00.000-07:00

Well, here we are, a week away from May 3rd, the day that kicks off the insanity of Summer Movies '08. Apparently, the Iron Man fans are lining up accordingly, sitting in lawn chairs amongst the tent town of fellow 20-something men, sucking down cans of Rock Star by the dozens, not a female to be found anywhere, and all eager for the premiere of Robert Downey Jr. in his new suit of metal.

Remarkably absent are the throngs of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull fans competing with them for valuable sidewalk real estate. That film opens a few weeks later, yet there's not a single 265lb. fedora-and-bomber-jacket-clad groupie at the theaters. Could the George Luca$ fanboy machine be slowing with age, or did the sanguine distaste of the Star Wars prequels ruin the fans' orgasmic anticipation for years to come? Sadly, gone are the days where you would see a film like The Phantom Menace and wade through a sea of Jedi, Princess Leias, Darth Vaders, farts and body odor.

The Iron Man fans are a younger breed of 'cool dorks' who choose to distance themselves from the slavish, Indy fans who lap anything up from their 1980's youth, particularly the waning Spielberg and Luca$ era. The I.M. fans view themselves as working professionals and comic book aficionados, some with real girlfriends they met in college or from co-workers' boardgame nights.

One Iron Man supporter we interviewed for this article, had this to say while standing outside a Burbank cinema in 85 degree heat while moviegoers blew past him to see Forgetting Sarah Marshall, "I think most of us here resent being mentioned in the same sentence as those internet shut-in, Indiana Jones fans. What a bunch of fa*gots. I mean that franchise is soooo twenty years ago. Harrison Ford is a total pot-head lush. That film is gonna blow. Everyone knows that Iron Man is the sh*t! "

Pausing for a swig from his 64oz. Slurpee, he went on to say, "Indy's just gonna suck balls. Like I'm supposed to give a sh*t that Shia LeBoef's in it? He was alright in Transformers but who cares? My dad might want to see it, so I'll probably be dragged along with he and my little brother who won't have a f*cking -- can I say f*cking? Won't have a f*cking clue who the f*ck Indiana Jones is. Cate Blanchett is kinda hot, but she's had too many kids and that wig makes her look like this creepy lebanese (sic-lesbian) I knew in college. Anyway, Iron Man is THE movie to see. Which is why we're here staking our claim to get the good seats."

When asked how asked how he felt about relinquishing their sidewalk claim after Iron Man actually opens, one of his sleeping-bagging buddies chimed in, "No, dude. We'll be right back in line Monday morning for the new Batman flick."

He was referring to the Batman sequel, The Dark Knight which won't open until July 18th, nearly three months from now. Invariably, they are stocking up on Pringles, Dr. Pepper and Pork Rinds for the wait.

Original Idea: Hot Blonde Makes Lemonade Out of C-Cup Lemons

2008-04-14T18:00:00.000-07:00

The trailer for The House Bunny, the remake of the intense courtroom drama, Legally Blonde has hit the net. Wait, it's not a remake. My apologies. The legal team at The Mung Hour has informed me that this is NOT a remake. It is an 'homage'. My sincere apologize for suggesting anything of the sort.
Hailing from Adam Sandler's Happy Madison Productions, this daring new indictment of how women are viewed in society is a new form of cinematic thriller and destined to sweep the awards in 2009. One is awestruck by the audacity for a major studio like Sony to produce a fish-out-of-water story about a blonde-haired bimbo teaching everyone around her how to shop and wear Manolo Blahnik shoes. How could such an original concept be greenlit is a mighty question indeed and one we should all applaud.
This film boasts an impressive pedigree of seasoned dramatic actresses like American Idol's Katherine McPhee, in her screen debut, as well as Rumer Willis, who will be joining Chelsea Clinton and Alexa Rae Joel in the new reality show, "God Has a Sense of Humor".
After you watch the trailer, you all can judge as to which film this movie is ripping of-- paying homage to:
A) Blonde Ambition
B) Revenge of the Nerds
C) Sister Act
D) Real Genius
E) Apocalypse Now
F) All of the above

Don't Vomit on Prom Night

2008-04-10T23:10:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in the ether, I see a prison where incarcerated movie projects drag their chains through their prison cells, praying for a quick death at the box office gallows. Today we have another inmate shuddering with fear under the same thunderous cry of its fellow movie inmates, "REMAKE WALKING!"

Prom Night opens in theaters nationwide starring Brittany Snow in the role that six people will remember. Half of those people will think, "Damn, that Tara Reid still looks pretty good." Personally, I'd prefer to remember Brittany as the white supremacist hottie on FX's Nip Tuck who nearly burned her face off trying to bleach the ethnicity from her skin. So, here she is headlining another in a string of 70s/80s teen horror films being remade by the Michael Bays of the world.

To rail against these reprobate remake flicks is noble but pointless. Get over it. It's like getting mad at Rush Limbaugh for saying "liberals" five times a minute or glaring at Simon's v-neck sweater on American Idol. Remakes are here to stay, or at least until every movie ever made gets remade. Then, the extra chromosomes of remaking a remake will brew up an in-bred stew ruled by the divine grandchildren of Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta Jones. Andy Warhol will dance in his own grave.

So instead of raging at the lack of creativity in Hollywood, I say we pity these poor prisoners, these films destined to either a swift box office hanging or home video purgatory. Then again, if a film costs $30 million to produce and market then makes its money back at the box office with profits from DVD sales, there really are no last rites to speak of.

We really can't wait for the remake of Ghoulies. Opening scene is at the Minnesota International Airport where one of the man-eating creatures pops out of a toilet in use by a horny Idaho Senator. That's entertainment.

Never Too Late to Give An Oscar-Winner Career Advice

2008-04-08T12:39:00.000-07:00

(Special Contributing Mung Hour Writer - Double-S)

George Clooney needs to start thinking about a commercial film and soon. I understand he's carving out an Eastwoodian niche for himself as he moves into late middle-age, but he's leaving out one important component that was/is crucial to Eastwood's unprecedented longevity. Hit movies.

Clint interspersed his artistic endeavors with very profitable films. Clooney is really not bolstering his artistic side with reliable commercial productions. The Ocean's franchise limped to a close last summer. He needs something less quirky that will make money. Leatherheads was DOA six months ago when they delayed it. The Cohen Brothers movie is also going to be too quirky. He needs to try for these kind of mid-budget thrillers/dramas that Denzel takes to the bank every eighteen months.

I'm sure George will be calling me soon to ask for my help ...

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

2008-03-28T19:43:00.000-07:00

(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

2008-03-10T23:50:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-10T19:00:00.000-07:00

bruc

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?

2008-03-05T19:05:00.000-08:00

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.

No Country For Ford's Oscar Wrap-Up 2008

2008-02-26T20:59:00.001-08:00

The Mung Hour welcomes the tired rehashing and bashing of our country's most overrated and apparently underwatched popularity contest. More Americans watched last month's premiere of man-boobed Simon Cowell defecate on the dreams of tone-deaf GED graduates than watched Sunday night's Oscar telecast. The show definitely needed more embarrassment and humiliation. Colin Farrell and John Travolta nearly falling gave me hope, but alas no such luck. And what the hell did they slip in anyway? Did Cate Blanchett's water break?

The whole show was as safe as the Obama/Clinton Texas debate. You know the show is sucking when you actually WANT to see porcine Michael Moore up there on his soapbox. Regardless of the show's actual lackluster (despite a decent job by Captain Jon Stewart), why did so few viewers tune out? Could it be that we just don't care about the shiny gold statuette and the celebrities that suck its teet?

This is not to take anything away from the films nominated. Great films to some, but not films that oh, I don't know, PEOPLE HAD INTEREST IN SEEING. Hey, I love P.T. Anderson. But Boogie Nights had Mark Wahlberg getting blown by naked Heather Graham on rollerskates and Alfred Molina in a thong singing "Jesse's Girl." Sorry P.T., but three hours of unshowered pioneers digging for oil in the desert isn't going to pull in the crowds. Would it kill filmmakers to actually make the occasional good film that isn't a violent downer devoid of humor and hope? Toss in just a few crowd-pleasers, man! Remember when you saw good commercial films like Rain Man and Shakespeare in Love at the Oscars? Or at least ass-kickers like Gladiator and The Lord of the Rings?

Oh, and before we all cry, "Juno!" let's remember that Hollywood always anoints one -- ONE successful indie comedy the "Wes-Anderson-esque-hipper-than-thou" Oscar slot per season just to appease the artsy, tortoise-shell-glasses-wearing Vassar-educated kids of the studio heads. Last year it was Little Miss Sunshine.

And while we're scolding Hollywood, let's pause to smack the American actors square in the kissers, shall we? All four acting awards went to the Eurotras-- I mean foreign folks. To quote John Cleese from A Fish Called Wanda, "Boy, they whooped yer hide REAL GOOD." Now until Miley Cyrus is up on that stage holding a statue and not simply appeasing ABC's appetite for the 7-14 demographic, and I eat shit, I just don't see the younger generation of American actors offering up much in the way of competition for the superior trained Europeans. They seem to mint great actors by the dozens while America churns out cute kids for the CW network, some hot teens for the torture porn flicks and a few funny nerds for raunchy comedies.

But too much pontificating for one blog! Bring on the Oscars wrap-up!

Regis Philben - It’s going to be a bumpy ride in the limo home tonight, wedged underneath George Clooney with your lips firmly stuck to his ass.
Katherine Heigl - Nervous to be on a stage. Good thing you didn’t decide to be an actress—oh, wait. Amy Adams sings in front of millions of people. No problem.
80 years of Oscar - 80 different ways the show’s writers have had to describe what a 'costume designer' does. Onomatopoeia, folks.
Jennifer Garner - The thinking man’s Cindy Crawford.

Oh, let's just let the pictures do the work, shall we?

Bush and the Bushmen

2008-02-23T16:23:00.001-08:00

Dubya has found a way to deal with the difficulties in Darfur. By providing the men of these poverty stricken villages the opportunity for boy band superstardom, he has found his own outlet for crooning in front of panty-moistened teenage girls while showing how down-with-the-naked-homeys he can be.

TOP TEN OSCAR WISHES FROM THE MUNG HOUR

2008-02-22T18:47:00.001-08:00

10) PETA nazis paint-ball Travolta for the dead badger he's got atop his head.
9) Jack Nicholsen forgets to turn off his body mic when he hits the men's room to pinch off a grinder.
8) Salma Hayek's breasts explode from 150psi of milk pressure dousing the entire front row with enough colostrum to fill a swimming pool.
7) An inebriated Harrison Ford says to Mary Hart on the carpet, "Your neck looks like my wrinkly beanbag. Hey, you seen my gal, Skeletor anywhere?"
6) The ghost of Jack Valenti literally floats on the stage harping, "Murder! Murder most foul! Scorcese poured the leperous distilment into mine ear!"
5) Ryan Philippe and Chad Lowe co-present the Best Actress Award.
4) In the middle of presenting the Thalberg Award to Terrence Malick, Richard Gere deadpans to the camera in mid-sentence, "Yes, I did it. Let's move on."
3) Right before airtime, a Tyler Durden-esque film editor splices in a few seconds of Dirk Diggler's closing reveal and soliloquy during the "In Memoriam" montage.
2) Soy Bomb runs out dancing during Kristen Chenowith's Enchanted medley.
1) Kirstie Alley and Kathleen Turner crash the red carpet, tackle Keira Knightley and stuff her mouth full of Ho-Ho's before being Tazer'd and dragged off by security.

Giddy Up, Space Cowboys!

2008-02-20T18:05:00.000-08:00

**Updated - looks like Hugo Drax's evil plan to kill off all humans has been dashed! Or is this just a fake video put out by the government?

The collective pants-soiling of those fearful of the imminent downing of a dying spy satellite is reasonable considering the fuel tank contains 1,000 pounds' worth of the rocket propellant hydrazine. Call me Mulder, but I don't buy it. Personally, I think it's some Cold War-related secret, and the government has no desire to see it land in some redneck's backyard. The whole scenario is reminiscent of Clint Eastwood's directorial ode to geriatric actors eager to cash a good check prior to a permanent spot on the Bob Hope Classic tour. (Sorry, folks but 48 year-old soap star Jack Wagner usually wins that one.)

At least in Eastwood's 2000 film, the need for wearing diapers under space suits was understandable, given the ages of the main characters. So here we have the U.S. Navy claiming that a 'toxic explosion' is a possibility, hence the need to shoot the dying satellite down from orbit. Why blow it up? Let's send up Eastwood, Garner, Sutherland and Garner to fumble around up there. Great PR for Viagra. I can see the slogan now, "Get it Up to Get it Down."

The Pentagon is undoubtedly lying to us. My guess is the satellite is a vessel for a toxic plant aimed at eradicating all of humankind, ensuring a paradise to be re-populated by genetically perfect couples, chosen by some megalomaniacal billionaire. I think the latter scenario is much more exciting, particularly since someone named Dr. Goodhead could make it into the headlines.

Top Ten Valentine's Day Faux Pas

2008-02-15T18:03:00.000-08:00

In honor of the holiday designed to emasculate men and keep the Palmer's Chocolate shareholders happy, The Mung Hour brings you guys a list of what not to do on Cupid's hump day:

10) Actually wear the heart-covered silk boxer shorts your girlfriend gave you. You are the reason Larry the Cable Guy owns a Ferrari.

9) Agree to see the latest Matthew McConaughey/Kate Hudson rom-com. You might as well toss your BMW keys to your Dodge Caravan-owning neighbor and say, "Fuck it. It's yours."

9) Reminisce about your junior year Valentine's Day blowjob. Aloud. She really isn't into hearing about your fellatiated past, and now you've guaranteed one thing is off tonight's menu.

8) Hitting on the salesgirls at Vicky's Secret while you're shopping for your wife's thong. It's just not cricket, man.

7) Getting your date drunk. Dreams of a Basic Instinct style pound-fest will be replaced by the joy of Bissel'ing vomit out of your micro-suede couch.

6) Getting too drunk yourself. Nothing delights a woman more than a man who missed the toilet and has now peed all over her Clinique shelf.

5) Rattling off your ultra romantic and thoughtful Valentine's Day plans to your forever single, bovine female boss who has a date with Grey's Anatomy and a box of Entenmann's Frosted Popems.

4) Promising a night of oiled up massage, and out of the gate you offer her your smelly, toe-jammed, calloused feet to rub while parroting John Candy, "Boy my dogs are really barking tonight."

3) Forgo showering. She'll let you defile her any which way from Sunday, and you can't remember to scrub your taint for one night?

2) Tell her you'll meet her around 11pm. You might as well slather canned tuna and perfume all over yourself, because she's going to assume you're banging some other girl.

1) Forget. You don't remember the one romantic day of the year that EVERYONE remembers, and you may as well direct all calls to the nearest Public Storage, because this will be your new address.

No More Chumming, Chiefie (Roy Scheider 1932-2008)

2008-02-10T21:27:00.000-08:00

It is with a heavy heart that The Mung Hour says goodbye to an actor who uttered one of the most famous lines in film history. Roy Scheider has died at the age of 75.

Anyone old enough to sneak into PG movies in the 70's was lucky enough to witness the most pivotal shift in entertainment since the advent of color. The summer blockbuster. While 1977's Star Wars was the seminal moment for sci-fi (and consumer products), it was the shark movie two years prior that really changed everything. (Technically, one would have to credit 1973's The Exorcist for creating the modern blockbuster but that was a December release.)

Steven Spielberg has shown us many times that 'we are not alone' but never so frightening as when swimming, surfing or fishing in the ocean. Jaws was more than just a popcorn thriller that scared the masses, it was one of the best ensemble adventures of all time. Finding a better triumvirate of character and chemistry in the film's main three actors would be an exercise in casting futility. Rounding out the hilarious and abrasive Robert Shaw and Richard Dreyfuss was a fairly unknown Roy Scheider. The man was and always will be Chief Martin Brody, the perfect blend of cop, soldier, father and that clichéd word 'everyman'. How many screen heroes have the balls to go mano-a-mano with a 25-foot great white while dangling off the end of a sinking mast with a rifle and a one-in-a-thousand chance of hitting an oxygen tank?

In the movie Platoon, Charlie Sheen's Chris says, "I've felt like a child, born of those two fathers." At the finale of Jaws, Martin Brody is to some degree the grown-up child born of the crazy Quint and the clever Hooper who pulls the trigger on the aquatic beast and the metaphorical beast, fear. Not exactly a subtle character arc here, but Scheider's nuanced performance reflects every inch of the guy caught in the middle and the last man standing.

Many may only remember Mr. Scheider for his two Jaws movies, the helicopter flick Blue Thunder and the doomed-from-the-the-start 2001: A Space Odyssey sequel, 2010. The Mung Hour recommends checking out his brilliant Oscar-nominated work in Bob Fosse's semi-autobiographical All That Jazz. Portraying the pill-popping and sexually carnivorous Fosse-esque protagonist while Fosse himself stood behind the camera couldn't have been a picnic, but Scheider is mesmerizing in the role. Dustin Hoffman was terrific in Kramer vs. Kramer, but had the Academy known in 1980 they'd be giving him his second Oscar a decade later in Rain Man, they might have reconsidered and rewarded Roy Scheider for the performance of a lifetime.

While he didn't fare as well as an aging film veteran, immortality as the lone police chief who slayed the great white shark ain't a bad way to go. Thanks for the fine performances, Roy Scheider and for reminding us that it's not the size of the boat that counts. It's how and when you shoot your bullet at the air tank.

Giants Not the Only Ones Handing Out Black Eyes

2008-02-04T18:32:00.000-08:00

The biggest surprise of this past weekend was not just Tom Brady getting his balls handed to him by the New York Giants. Rather, it was Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus handing Jessica Alba’s The Eye a right cross at the box office. Packing in a whopping $31 million worth of admissions to her 3-D concert film, the Disney Channel crooner did so in a mere 683 theaters. To put this astounding feat into perspective, the flick earned more than double the nearest competitor on two-thirds LESS screens.

Anyone with a daughter between the ages of six and 14 invariably found resistance futile, brokering the deal to sit through 75 minutes of Disney Channel torture to ensure an unfettered Sunday to watch grown men stomp on each other’s nutsacks in the Super Bowl.

Anyone still think 3-D technology is limited to Chicken Little and volcano documentaries at city science museums? Didn’t think so. Add to the cuckold list all those naysayers who poo-poo’d the popularity of one Miley Cyrus and her tween alter ego. (Is Montana the Hyde to Cyrus’s Jekyll?) Regardless, both personalities know how to smack the living crap out of the competition. One could argue that Disney billed this concert as a limited event, but aren’t all theatrical releases technically limited events? Hence, let’s give it up to the appeal of 3-D. And little Miley Cyrus, spawn of the formerly mulleted Billy Ray Cyrus.

Now if Jessica Alba herself was offered up in 3-D, it might have been a different story.

Ms. Young, May I Suggest an Ice Cold O'Doul's?

2008-01-29T16:10:00.000-08:00

Updated 1/30/08: Footage from the the scene of the DGA heckling.

Look, we've all gotten blitzed and said a few things publicly we shouldn't have. In fact who hasn't gotten drunk and blamed the Jews for all the problems of the world? Hey, it happens. And let's not kick a poor woman when she's down.

That is, unless she deserves it.

Once the poster child for insane actresses everywhere, whackjob wunderkind Sean Young was fortunate enough to simply be forgotten. Death to an actress but probably the best thing for a working mother. In one of Entertainment Weekly's slowest week's ever last Fall, Sean Young gave an interview where she mentioned taking a computer course. Perhaps this would enable her the skills to turn on a computer, access the internet and auction off her undies on eBay to panty-sniffing Bladerunner fanatics or to set herself up for a plum role as the go-to Monday temp at Apple One Employment Services.

Either way, she opined that if she could only take -- get a meeting with George Clooney, she'd win him over as his latest leading lady. She moaned that she could have had Julia Roberts' career. Yes, so should about 10,000 other actresses, but they didn't and Julia is an Oscar-winning millionaire stuffing solid gold binkies into her babies' mouths.

Sean baby, I should have gotten into the University of Irvine's grad program. I should have won the Toyota Camry in that Glendale Galleria sweepstakes. I should have rounded the bases with dozens of hot girls I had crushes on in my youth that never glanced my way in class, let alone allowed me to adjust my wiggling loins as we slow-danced to Journey's Open Arms. Life ain't fair, sweetheart, but to get lit and heckle an old-timer at the DGA Awards? Hell, that's a ceremony you had about as much right to attend as Donald Rumsfeld would at a MoveOn.org fundraiser.

Ms. Young, instead of being the escorted-out-the-back-door-of-the-ball belle of the ball, it's time to actually wait for an invite to the ball. And if that invite never arrives, then stay home with your two kids. Rehab is not the ideal place for your children to visit you at.

To paraphrase Dean Wormer from Animal House, "Botoxed, drunk and kicked out of awards parties is no way to go through life, dear."

Separated at Birth?

2008-01-28T17:34:00.000-08:00

Our favorite mullet man's latest film Rambo opened to over $18 million this past weekend. Congratulations, Sly. Your 30lb. crrrranium aside (Head! Beer! Now!), we are impressed with those human growth hormone'd forearms. Much better results than eating spinach out of a can.

Thar She Blows!

2008-01-14T23:02:00.000-08:00

Sweetheart, we at The Mung Hour have no problem with weight gain. We just have a problem with an ingenue like yourself, whose career is a tapestry of cleavage-bearing fashion magazine photo-ops extolling the virtue of the perfect physique, crying foul when you're caught smuggling mashed potatoes. When people still cared what you did last summer, you were obviously thong-worthy from fifty yards away. And it ain't like you've aged fifteen years and crapped out a half dozen kids since you ran for your life from the Gorton's Fisherman. You're a twenty-something bra and panty spokeswoman.

Look who we've got our Hanes on now, indeed.

"A size 2 is not fat! Nor will it ever be," Hewitt responded in a post regarding last month's discovery of the Two Moons of Yavin above her thighs. "And being a size 0 doesn't make you beautiful."

Pardon the pun. Size two, our ass. To have those proportions and still be a size two, you'd have to be about nineteen inches tall. A cynic would say that you took one look at TMZ when this all transpired and pictured a board room full of old perverts at Hanes wondering aloud if maybe they shouldn't cancel your multi-million dollar endorsement contract and put their Hanes on someone with a smaller butt.

We have no doubt the Jennifer Love Hewitt Big Booty publicity parade is coming to a daytime talk show near you. After years of making a living off her hot bod, Hewitt will cry on Oprah's shoulder about how judgmental society is, and shouldn't we all just be a bit more sympathetic to the plight of a woman with a rear like two Christmas hams.

He Ain't Too Old For This Sh--!

2008-01-04T00:15:00.001-08:00

America's beer-bong champ, connoisseur of fine pre-mugshot hair gels and favorite anti-Semite, Mel Gibson, turns 52 this week. Now firmly planted in his fifties, one wonders what the formerly mulleted Martin Riggs has in store for the world as far as career choices. No word yet from the rabbinical leaders here in Los Angeles as to how the fence-mending has been going, but judging by the island he purchased in Fiji and relatively clear IMDb slate, I'm guessing he's not exactly picking up trash outside of Sinai Temple in Los Angeles, eager for a meeting with the studio heads.

Did Santa Buy You Everything You Never Knew You Wanted?

2007-12-27T18:06:00.000-08:00

Far and across America, there are dried-out Christmas trees, exhausted from slurping up stale water in their bases and supporting the weight of tired family ornaments. Underneath these trees are opened boxes containing Kirkland sweaters three sizes too large for the wearer, books and board games eager and willing to lap up the dust they'll collect under coffee tables or in closets, and of course, DVD collections destined never to be unwrapped, let alone watched. I mean really, did we ASK for The Hitchcock Collection (not the good ones from Universal - the boring ones from Warner Brothers) or It's A Wonderful Life: 2-Disc Set (full-screen, no less)?

Santa has a funny way of bringing the average person tons of crap they did not ask for but cannot be re-gifted. I mean, how does one re-gift "Scategories" without looking like a re-gifting a-hole? And let us not forget the 25lbs of Russell Stover chocolates sitting under that poor tree along with the gift baskets stocked with enough palm oil and corn syrup enriched snacks to keep the Energizer Bunny pounding away for decades. In fact, the annual census of diabetics in the U.S. has to spike this time each year simply due to the folks at Harry & David alone. Between the Moose Munch popcorn (does a moose even eat chocolate?), the white chocolate truffles and lemon shortbread, it's no surprise that gym memberships skyrocket come January 2nd.

Christmas is about giving. It is also about problem-solving. Like how to solve the problem of $300 worth of crappy gifts that even the Disabled Veterans would laugh at should you attempt stuffing it all into a yellow collection bag. It's safe to say that most people love their stepmothers. In the vein of charity and good will, would it be too harsh to explain to her that it's sometimes better not to receive anything than to know that she poured through the aisle tables at Bed, Bath & Beyond for that 5-in-1 flashlight with your name on it? I personally have enough travel grooming kits, sheepskin steering wheel covers, fondue sets, bartending books and silicone potholders to last ten lifetimes.

Please Santa and Santa's Little Helpers, next year let's all shoot for gift cards or maybe that nice bottle of booze. Anything by Ketel One will do (sorry to pull the snob card, but Smirnoff merits a re-gift). And for the love of the little baby Jesus, let's not let all those useless presents linger under that poor, fire-trap of a Christmas tree. It's suffered enough this month.

Where's the Brake?!

2007-11-17T15:42:00.000-08:00

(By special Mung Hour contributing writer, TDC)
How many farmer's markets and bus stops have to be plowed over before the higher-ups realize it's time to put the kibosh on anyone over eighty driving a motorized vehicle traveling at a great rate? Haven't they driven enough? Sixty+ years of driving is enough.

"If I can see, I should be able to drive," squawk the elderly, yet when people's livers are laying in the street cuz Pops drove his '77 Impala into a crowd, they cry "I'm old -- I'm not responsible!"

I don't know. When phlegm is a food group, it's time to retire the driving privilege. Remember, it's a privilege, not a right. Thank you.

**Editor's note: the only elderly man allowed to drive above 75mph ought to be Cool Hand Luke himself, driving Newman's Own 950 Volvo with its Cosworth race-bred V8.

James Woods, You Sick Bastard!

2007-11-16T09:48:00.000-08:00

(By special Mung Hour contributing writer, Double-S)
God bless you, sir. I don’t care if you do have stains in your shorts older than your girlfriend. My hat is off to you!

The look on your face just screams, “Two hours from now, this broad will be face down on my pool table slathered in aloe begging for the Ben Wa Balls.” And what’s the best part? You don’t have to waste your top shelf liquor on her, because SHE’S UNDER 21!

I’d always heard you were smart. You probably just spent the Veteran’s Day weekend defiling this girl and were only out the price of rubber gloves and some Skittles. But let’s not forget the risks.

You’re old. Yeah, that’s a snazzy dye job, but we all know only about half that hair actually grew out of your scalp. The guy you play on TV is supposed to be about fifty, but you left the half-century mark in the dust a LONG time ago. Sir, don’t you realize that at almost 61 years of age, you risk your life and what’s left of Jeri Ryan’s career every time you pop a boner pill and mount this kid? Please be careful.

I’m not saying don’t debase a woman young enough to be your great grandchild. I’m simply suggesting you take it easy, because you have over sixty more episodes of Shark to put in the can before there’s enough to sell into syndication. You’ve got a lot of fans out there who don’t want you to die ravaging this young lady, because we’re hoping you’ll live to take her baby sister to the Emmy Awards when you’re seventy!

Viva Viagra!

Pass the Cyanide: An Oscar Host With No Script?

2007-11-14T22:25:00.000-08:00

The shock and horror of the Writer's Strike will come thunderously down on us in 2008. I am not referring to the economic impact of the countless lost jobs and regional business. No, I am referring to the disastrous improvising birthed by John Stewart, host of 2008's Academy Awards. Recall our collective Cheetos choking this year as we witnessed Ellen Degeneres harassing Steven Spielberg and Clint Eastwood in the aisle. Obviously unscripted, we can look forward to more of the same awkward moments of social ineptitude should this strike linger into next February, as by all accounts it will. Stewart is a funny man off the cuff, but anyone attempting to steer the mother of all awards ceremonies sans a writing staff ought to query Roseanne Barr on singing gigs at the World Series.

We also must brace ourselves for the mental horror of picturing poor planetary Bruce Valanche helpless at home, burying his face in a vat of Duncan Hines Chocolate Buttercream frosting, unable to scribble a knee-slapping groaner for Stewart after Sharon Stone walks out in a camel-toed body suit to deliver the Best Costumes Oscar. Yes, the poor host will have to stand there in front of millions of viewers worldwide and make it up as they go, warts and all.

Those of you with HD televisions are encouraged to decrease the screen contrast, lest you up-chuck your Doritos from John Stewart's flop-sweat and neck rash during the thunderous silence of crickets following an ill-conceived suicide wisecrack as the cameras pan to Owen Wilson.

CNN Wants You to Win What they Think Might Kill You

2007-11-14T22:12:00.000-08:00

Reminds me of those old SNL skits with Dan Aykroyd as Irwin Mainway of Mainway Toys. Dr. Gupta, I think your fly is officially open on this one.

101 Osmonds

2007-11-11T20:59:00.000-08:00

(By special Mung Hour contributing writer, Double-S)
In the immortal words of Marlon Brando, “The horror… The horror.” It is fortunate I don’t watch Oprah and only learned of this familial coagulation from the relative safety of the Internet. I mean, why are there more than a hundred Osmonds?

Yeah, I get it. They keep copulating sans birth control. Understood. The compulsory reproduction of say Alan, Wayne, or even Merrill is understandable. Wouldn’t Jimmy Osmond’s wife, at some point, have crawled out from underneath the chubby dork and asked, “Honestly, Jimbo, how many more buck toothed falsetto Mormons does this world really need?”

Do the math! If they all live as long as old Bombo or whatever his name was and keep reproducing at this rate, there’ll be like five hundred of them before long. That can’t be good. They just don’t serve any purpose. They all have bad hair, dorky teeth, irritating mannerisms, and nauseating singing voices.

And how did they warrant an audience with the Queen of All Media? A tubby divorcé feints on national TV and a two hundred year old man dies. That gets you and a hundred inbred relatives on Oprah? For the love of gravy, put them back where you found them, Oprah. They’re over. I know you’ve had a rough couple of months, but come on. The Osmonds?

We said “Aloha!” to Donny and Marie when Jimmy Carter was still president. If Donny wants to pretend he’s Dick Clark or play Joseph at a dinner theatre in Scranton, that’s fine. Marie just needs a MySpace page and a date. The rest of the country must stop pretending that pie-faced has-been with fireplugs for legs is a better dancer than Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman. She’s not. Besides that, the excessive Botoxing and oversized false teeth make her look like Shakes the Clown wearing an Incan Death Mask.

Go home. Make another hundred pumpkin-heads destined for the back row of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Do some damned thing. Just leave the rest of us alone.

Possible Armpit of New Star Trek Movie Uniform Spotted!

2007-11-08T22:32:00.000-08:00

Pausing from hours of QWERTY callous-inducing Warcraft carnage, internet shut-ins everywhere are drooling over what could possibly be a square foot of synthetic cloth and an inseam from the new (old) uniforms from director JJ Abrams' upcoming new (old) take on Star Trek, filming this week. The prospect of glimpsing the thread-count of a four inch-patch of what quite possibly may either be Captain Kirk's shirt, a quickly dispatched ensign from the first five minutes of action, or perhaps a costumed female fan at Gen Con 2007 is probably too much for your average 37 year-old virgin, flush with Domino's Pizza and pud-tuggings to Tivo'd Bionic Woman episodes to handle. Unfortunately, The Mung Hour cannot verify that this section of what appears to be gold material is indeed from the new movie or simply adorning a 13" Sideshow Collectible Captain Kirk figurine, protecting the desk top of one of Jeri Ryan's many dedicated, masturbating fans.

Neal, Your Lungs, Please!

2007-10-31T13:08:00.000-07:00

(By special Mung Hour contributing writer, Double-S)
The aforementioned passing of dear Mr. Goulet leads one to believe we must break new ground with respect to preserving our most beloved celebrities. Why should a charismatic, talented, and otherwise youthful singing legend be allowed to expire on an organ donor waiting list when irritating hacks swathed in satin continue to draw breath on this earth?

This is why all legitimate entertainers' unions must immediately draft and ratify The Compulsory Celebrity Organ Donor Initiative. To gain acceptance into a performers' guild, less talented and more annoying celebrities must agree to forfeit major organs should a bigger star need them to survive. Had this plan been in effect last week, Mr. Goulet would still be with us.

Assuming all necessary donor compatibility issues could be worked out, at the moment Mr. Goulet was diagnosed as requiring a transplant, The CCODI could have leapt into action and saved Camelot's favorite knight. Neal Sedaka, for example, should have been dragged from the stage of whatever trailer park or Indian Casino he was playing and immediately interned into the primary CCODI protocol. Since Mr. Goulet required lungs, Mr. Sedaka's chances for surviving the procedure would've been remote at best. Though I'm sure family members and fans of Laughter in the Rain may have protested, the rest of us surely would've rejoiced at the recovery of Robert Goulet.

Please be aware that in cases like this, the Sacrificial Celebrity would be provided as pleasant an expiration process as possible. Think Edward G. Robinson at the end of Soylent Green. The more annoying personalities, like Carrot Top, would probably not warrant such merciful treatment and simply be clubbed over the head like a baby seal.

The urgency here cannot be ignored. Many great actors, singers, and artists are at risk from old age, unfiltered cigarettes, binge drinking, and risky sexual practices. We need to implement this program and identify matching donors for the most important on the list. Potential donors should include:

Kirk Cameron's liver to George Clooney.
Dane Cook's lungs to Denis Leary.
The last twelve inches of Willie Aames's colon (including sphincter muscle) to Charlie Sheen.
Ashton Kucher's body parts should be available a la carte to Clint Eastwood on an as needed basis. Mr. Moore can be kept alive like that little child molester guy in Se7en.

The concept is simple. If useless pustules like Britney Spears want to continue 'making music', then she has to be ready to make the ultimate sacrifice if Pink loses her sight in a freak Pinesol/Fireworks accident. Paris Hilton needs to be on call 24/7 in case Shakira needs a kidney... or two. Sooner or later the booze and pills will catch up with Paula Abdul and Sanjaya better be ready to answer the call.

A celebrity worshipping country such as ours doesn't have a moment to lose. Ratify CCODI, find Kirk Cameron and shove a GPRS device up his poop chute before Clooney and DeVito head for the martini bar at Koi one too many times.

If Ever He Would Leave Us

2007-10-30T23:06:00.000-07:00

Sir Lancelot's armor has been pierced and with angels does he now sing. The Canadian baritone who had the enviable task of serenading and mashing with young, hot Julie Andrews in her prime has left us this 30th of October. As we don our Halloween costumes and revel with the spirits, let us all hope that the ghost of Bob Goulet follows along with us, waiting for that one moment when we're alone, perhaps on the toilet or putting on our costumes in our bedroom, waiting for that perfect moment to bellow into our ear his rich rendition of "C'est Moi" from Camelot, sending us three feet out of our shoes with fright. God speed, Mr. Goulet.

Head! Beer! Now!

2007-10-23T22:13:00.000-07:00

(By special Mung Hour contributing writer, Double-S)

Someone has to say something about Sylvester Stallone's head. In this July 2005 pudding ad, he appeared to be a very fit 59 year-old man benefiting from strategic cosmetic procedures and a nice hairpiece.

A scant eighteen months later, he answers the question, "What if that guy who fell into the fat of toxic goop at the end of Robocop came out with a dead muskrat on his head?"

Are we supposed to pretend this man's head isn't 30% larger than it was less than two years ago? It's taken years, but we've accepted The new Oompa Loompa version of Barry Bonds. Then again, that dome would cause nausea if it were plastered all over an IMAX screen. When will someone explain to aging baseball players and action stars that the Human Growth Hormone turns their heads into Death Stars and their fingers into Li'l Smokies?

How can Stallone not know his face has doubled in size in less than twenty-four months? Yo, this hat used to fit. Has the constant Botoxing affected his wife's sight? I'd like to think my spouse would say, "Honey, your head is scaring the children."

I know the man has built no small part of his cinematic fame on his physical appearance, but can't he see the cranial expansion? Sure, it's important to have nice pecs and we were all flabbergasted by the taut torso in Rocky Balboa. A misshapen head may be too much of a sacrifice though.

We must collectively implore Mr. Stallone to stop the madness before he abandons plans for "Stop, Or My Mom Will Soil Herself!" to remake The Elephant Man sans need for Oscar caliber make-up effects.

"Yo, I am not an animal! I'm like a human being!"

Oh, and here's the latest trailer for the creatively titled Rambo, should any of you wonder how the man's cranium can be captured in a 35mm camera lens ...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzZwzoD1ZFM&eurl=http://www.aintitcool.com/node/34540

How to Apply Your Remake-Up

2007-10-11T10:30:00.000-07:00

Break out the Suave mousse and Brut cologne, folks. We have two competing Knight Rider projects going head-to-head for the title of America’s Least Needed Project. Either studio execs are unfazed by David Hasselhoff’s recent liver violations or feel the press around the Hoff’s boozing helps keep the project on the front burner. In any case, the original show’s producer, Glen A. Larson, has a feature film in development while NBC Universal is looking to revamp the concept for a new television show. Personally, I think Michael Knight and his talking Trans Am should only ever exist again as thirty seconds of parody on Cartoon Network’s Robot Chicken.

But before I throw on my rubber Gene Siskel Halloween mask and bitch in the mirror about remakes, I need to face facts. Remakes, particularly from TV shows are here, baby. End of story. I guess I should call up Alec Baldwin and ask if he needs a roommate when he moves to Europe (Alec, it’s been 7 years now since Dubya won, let’s get chopping on that flight.)

Following the success of Michael Bay’s Transformageddon, Hollywood is drooling to pee $150 million away on the next 22-minute toy commercial from the 1980s. Warner Brothers has optioned Thundercats under the direction of videogame helmer Jerry O’Flaherty, and G.I. Joe is due in theaters in 2009. I’m showing my age. My only memory of G.I. Joe was from babysitting kids shoveling Pop Tarts into their mouths while some guy in a blue helmet and a Kleenex on his face called himself the Cobra Commander. Lots of bullets flew and nobody got shot. It was kind of like The A-Team only without the charm of Mr. T.

Note to film students: you will get kicked in the teeth by your NYU professor if you use “without the charm of Mr. T” in a sentence.

Look, I can at least understand the despera--- I mean, motivation from the studios. The target blockbuster demo is men ages 18-34. You take these cartoons from their childhoods and make them look both modern and retro with lots of CGI, and you’ve got a pre-sold franchise. In a Gordon Gecko world of logic, it does make sense. More baffling are the remakes of movies that are not that old or oddly enough, went to the stage. Footloose, anyone? If ever there was a case for cinematic Downs Syndrome, this has to be it. The original 1984 Kevin Bacon movie was and remains painful to watch by most males on the planet and the only reason females resonate with it now was their infatuation with Kevin Bacon’s dance double and a few acid-washed tunes from Kenny Loggins and Deniece Williams. I honestly think I would rather pick the peanuts out of sewage treatment tanks than have to listen to “Let’s Hear it For the Boy.”

Footloose: The Musical made it to Broadway for about ten minutes in a 'modern' re-telling of the triumphant tragedy of a town without dance. Honestly, dancing is a bit overrated. They should have at least done something original with the upcoming remake and center the drama on what resonates with today's youth. Call it Oral Sex Loose! Have big dance numbers where the teens gather to get drunk and go down on each other. Now THAT would be fodder for a good John Lithgow speech.

Also on the docket are remakes of awful films that still agitate people over their desecration. Friday the 13th is targeted for another ‘re-imagining’. I guess Rob Zombie’s Halloween must have put enough asses in the seat to justify them taking a stab (yuk) at the first Jason Voorhees romp. Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t the killer in the first Friday the 13th movie Jason’s mother, looking a lot like my mom’s bridge partner Carol Whitney, circa 1978? This film itself was essentially a gory rehash of John Carpenter’s Halloween, and its sequels got worse and worse as the years went on, kind of like casts of Saturday Night Live.

At this point, I wash my hands of the whole trend. With the Writers Guild strike looming in a few weeks, putting thousands of industry folk out of work, I suppose there is some pathetic logic behind the studio stockpiling of pre-sold and hell, pre-written franchises. They assume we’d rather watch a remake of a mediocre Kevin Bacon movie. Actually, two. Did NO ONE notice that I looped two Bacon movies into the same article? (Hint: Mrs. Voorhees served his neck up as birthday cake.) Let’s hear it for the boy.

A Mighty Broken Wind

2007-10-08T09:12:00.001-07:00

(By special Mung Hour contributing writer, Double-S)

"Eleventeen beers ago and I still feel the same!"
Some of you may recognize this bewildered looking individual swathed in a Coleman tent. It is indeed former action icon Steven Seagal. Those not familiar with his 'work' since the mid-90's are probably wondering why anyone would claim this thirty year-old photo of the Reverend Jim Jones is actually a current image of the aforementioned Aikido whiz.

It is indeed the man who was once Hard to Kill while Under Seige. Clearly, while Out for Justice, he stopped at Carl's Jr. and the Cold Stone Ice Creamery. Once Marked for Death, he presumably became despondent and decided to keep a keg tapped in his basement at all times. The Fire Down Below was most certainly an unnecessary third or fourth chili dog.

A little over a year ago, me and a friend witnessed the girth first hand. During a surprisingly enjoyable albeit surreal Seagal concert, we witnessed what would've happened had Hop Sing cut the sleeves off of his shirt and transmorgified into Hoss Cartwright. Yes, that night, Sir Steve did not drape himself in the fine burlap pictured above, he ambled on stage in a fresh pair of Big & Tall Levi's and a Hop Sing wife-beater. There he was. A six and a half foot tall, three hundred pound jowl explosion with a furry Pittsburgh Steelers helmet hot glued to his scalp.

I kid not because I love, but because I paid $45 to watch the man riff on a guitar that cost more than the car I drove to see him in. I kid because I actually own a copy of Exit Wounds. I kid because Flight of Fury and Attack Force are in my Netflix cue. I kid because even though the man is clearly incapable of the martial arts maneuvers he once employed on Henry Silva, I will still offer up time and money to watch him wheez his lines and pretend a close up game of paddy cake for the camera is just as good as the opening scene of Above the Law.

So, rest easy Steve. Have another bite of cheese log, then wash it down with two or three pints of dark beer. The gravy train will not be stopping anytime soon, because there are thousands like me and we all have our noses pressed to the glass at Blockbuster waiting for Urban Justice to hit the shelves.

Crazy Is As Crazy Weds

2007-10-07T22:36:00.000-07:00

Okay, The Mung Hour has broken its creed to not step into the curves and crevasses of TMZ, Defamer and other tabloid websites, but this story was not to be resisted. I'm approaching my wedding anniversary this week, and I couldn't help but notice that everyone's favorite busty beach EMT and connoisseur of foot-long, heavy metal kielbasas, Pamela Anderson, has tied the knot this past weekend. Who is the clueless, silicone-mammary admiring groom? Rick Solomon. If you're scratching your head wondering who this guy is, well you simply must don a pair of night vision goggles and look at the photo again. Oh, and picture him naked in a hotel room defiling the long lost Kennedy heir, Paris Hilton.

Solomon, 38 and the 40 year-old Ms. Anderson (seen here searching her brassiere for her wallet, car keys and two small children) sent out a message to their family and friends apologizing for not providing more advanced notice of their Las Vegas nuptials but promised to videotape the honeymoon and post it online.

The End of Film - Lethal Franchises

2007-10-07T22:21:00.000-07:00

(By special Mung Hour contributing writer, Double-S)

It is easy for the intellectual elite to point at recent cineplex fodder and declare the end of 'good'storytelling in mainstream film. Before embarking on a vivisection of the bloated Pirates finale, a meandering installment of the Spidey franchise, or the umpteenth variation on Ben Stiller's humiliated schnook, it is important to differentiate mainstream movies aimed at a broad demographic from those made with the intention of winning awards.

Bourgeois film experts can go all day long comparing Michael Clayton to The Verdict. Juxtaposing Eastern Promises against Scorsese's grittier work from the seventies will not tell us if film has evolved. No, if the modern American Movie Buff wants to take a
serious look at the evolution of film, he or she needs ascertain objectively whether or not Rush Hour 3 is a better film than Lethal Weapon 4.

Both are pointless installments for franchises long past their primes. Each featured leading actors just a little too old to recapture the physical acting magic from the first film(s). Though, six years had elapsed between movies in both instances, the original director was still at the helm. A veritable laundry list of other similarities could be identified if someone were so inclined.

My theory is simple. Mainstream film is better in today than it was ten years ago, because Rush Hour 3 is a much better movie than Lethal Weapon 4. Neither offered much in the way of storytelling, though Rush Hour 3 feebly attempted to weave in a bland arc about the meaning of friendship. LW4 was pretty much an episode of Three's Company with virtually all of the film's 'dramatic' tension derived from Danny Glover/Mr. Furley's obliviousness to the marital status of his character's daughter.

With RH3, the writers had at least read some instructional books on basic screenwriting. They drew a thin story thread from the first film and used it as the glue to connect some chases, kung fu fighting, and snappy one-liners. LW4 did no such thing.

It was just a series of noisy unrelated events bogged down by the needless inclusion of far too many characters. The film literally did not follow the three-act format. There were no acts. Characters
behaved in accordance with plot requirements. The illusion of motion was maintained by constantly rotating back and forth between humor and violence.

RH3 stuck to the two character original concept and did an okay job of being entertaining for ninety minutes despite the fact thirty years of stunt work had obviously hobbled one of its stars. LW4 featured
a plethora of ancillary characters that barely served to distract the audience from Mel Gibson's thinning hair.

In short, a rising tide lifts all boats. If a paycheck driven and pedestrian sequel is better today than in 1998, that simply must mean movies are better now than they were then. After all, had the bar not risen, it would stand to reason that Steven Seagal and
Jean Claude Van Damme movies would still warrant theatrical release.

But, that is another story.

Good Will Hunting For Food

2007-10-03T09:59:00.000-07:00

Okay, not to go all TMZ here, but you'd think with all the money Matt Damon is making off the Bourne franchise, he could at least buy his ol' Oscar buddy some In n' Out double-doubles. In the past, it was Ben who puffed up in between movies, joining Tobey Maguire and Keanu Reeves at the Krispy Kreme for a post-franchise film-shoot donut fest. With Damon now in the top spot, reigning over the largest star-driven property any actor could wish for, it looks like he's the raised-glazed ingestor while ol' Ben is dwindling down to nothing. Unless Affleck is researching his next role as Adrian Brody in the period biography, "NewYork-Land".

September Gets the Shaft

2007-09-28T14:58:00.000-07:00

Funny thing about the end of summer these days, there's just no love for month number nine. Kids deplore it because it means homework again, and parents ignore it as they prepare for the holiday onslaught. Hell, even the movies blow. Worse, you're launched directly into Christmas, at least at most major department stores. Lowe's Home Improvement, for instance, completely bypasses Halloween and assaults you with pre-lit fake trees and decorations the minute you set foot. I yearn for the nearest rifle and clock tower when those animatronic holiday toys blare from their shelf. Why must everything talk, move, sing and fart Christmas music? When I was a child, I was content with the 16" Santa Claus that waved at me. I did not need him to wiggle his fat ass to 'Jingle Bell Rock' nor Rudolph's nose to light up in ten different fiber optic colors.

For the love of everything in this expanding universe, can we PLEASE find a way to balance our consumer-driven economic reliance on the holiday season to allow us to luxuriate in what little of autumn we're allowed? Oh, and as for Halloween stuff? Love it. Bring it on. I would prefer to stand in line at Target and stare at a 5 year-old giddy with his brand new Michael Myers mask and machete than deal with Frosty the Snowman barking 'Let it Snow' in a New York accent.

And as we vicariously step away from September, please take a moment to appreciate it for its subtlety and thankless role of transition.

Make Mine a Quadruple! Why the Trilogy Will Be Ignored

2007-09-27T11:29:00.000-07:00

Summer is behind us now. Before we dust off the powdered-wigged queens and boinking cowboys (not the same thing) and other Oscar-baiting Fall movies, let’s bag on the sequels, shall we?

Summer 2007 was littered with loud tri-feculence comprised of Pirates, Spidey, Shrek, Bourne and Rush Hour. Cap’n Jack Sparrow’s three-hour paycheck was reminiscent of those Thanksgiving dinners where the third dollop of turkey and mashed potatoes ruined what you loved about the first helping. Like the Matrix trilogy, the two Pirates follow-ups were no disasters at sea, but if we only had the first film on our DVD shelves, we’d all survive swimmingly.

We saw the trilogy apex this year, but rearing its ugly head was the specter of sequels beyond the first three. Film studios have become more and more desperate for tent-poles mined from properties past their point of freshness. Aristotle might have been correct about threesomes. Or was that Dean Martin talking about three martinis (one is too little, two is too many and three is not enough)?

Regardless, a trilogy is solid and sexy. The obvious exception is if a character's trajectory has been specifically laid out to move beyond a trio of chapters, like literary protagonists. It is astounding that the Hairy Penis films—whoops, having an Equus flashback -- the Harry Potter films have turned out as well as they have. Yet with the fantasy and sci-fi genres, there seems to be an obsessive, obligatory drive from the fans to champion certain sequels no matter the quality. Recall the legions of moviegoers who loathed the first two Star Wars prequels but stood for hours opening weekend of Episode III. I believe I was one of those idiots. Hypocrisy also leads to the Dark Side, folks.

The only ‘suck-it-dry’ pass granted is for the James Bond franchise. After 45 years, the 007 films exist in their own genre. Peter Sellers’ Pink Panther movies only excelled on the shoulders of Sellers’ and Blake Edwards immense talents. We all know Steve Martin needs the paychecks to pay for his Picassos. But at age 60, Steve why not just defile yourself in Roxanne 2: Nosy Children instead?

Spider-Man 3 brought new meaning to the age-old phrase, “Get that bawling hero a freakin’ tissue and get on with the goddamned action.” And while you’re at it, please trim the bad guys down to one good plausible (insert peanut gallery giggles here) villain. Raimi’s threequel made a fortune, so a fourth film is inevitable and will hopefully refresh. If they gag us with anymore back-story, please explain how an unemployed superhero living in the ghetto goes from sweats and a ski mask to sewing together a $65,000 spandex suit with Oakley lenses.

Shrek 3 was pretty much like mowing the lawn for most parents. You just gotta do it. Like Rush Hour 3, I can’t think of a film that existed for no other reason than money in the bank. Amnesiac Jason Bourne proved that breaking kneecaps over three films is box office gold. I’m not sure if the folks at Marvel Comics can sue the Bourne producers for ripping off Wolverine’s storyline, but we’ll get more of the amnesiac clawed one in the unofficial fourth X-Men movie, the spin-off inspiringly titled Wolverine. Finally, we will learn how the angry mutant learned his tour-jeté and tap dancing skills.

So what do we have in store for next summer? Besides the further money-grubbing adventures of Batman, Hulk and a new Iron Man movie, more blood will be squeezed from tired characters. Bruce Willis did well this summer in Live With Ashton and Demi or Die Hard which grossed $370 million worldwide, ensuring that 2007 will bring us more old farts from the 1980s. Grumpy vodka tonic enthusiast Harrison Ford breaks out his whip and the Advil for Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, aka Transformers 1.5 co-starring Shia LeBoeuf as Indy's replacement-- er, protege.

Sylvester Stallone, everyone’s favorite growth hormone smuggler and winner of the 2006 Fattest Head Contest (beating out Steven Seagal) brings the angry mulleted John Rambo back in … drumroll please … John Rambo. Yo, Sly. Just because we have a soft spot for the borderline retarded Rocky Balboa, does not mean we want to watch you at age 60 strap on the raccoon wig and and as the internet footage revealed, liquefy Asians with a .50 caliber machine gun. You’ve got millions of dollars and a lovely wife that looks like she could suck-start an Escalade. Please just enjoy both in retirement.

Will we ever see an end to these installments beyond the all American trilogy? Doubtful. The Terminator franchise is pushing forward without Ah-nold, and there’s always been talk of a fourth Godfather and more Aliens movies. I wish we could just see the originals re-mastered and re-released in theaters, but that's why we have Blu-Ray and plasma screens. Looks like we’ll all be watching sequel after sequel until the studios cannibalize their own properties with re-starts like hmmmm, STAR TREK. In fact, I think the new Captain Kirk has just been cast. No word on whether William Shatner will cameo as Grandpa Kirk bequeathing his beloved toupee to his young grandson.

Indiana Jones and the Mountain in Space

2007-09-24T21:53:00.000-07:00

It would be too Warholian for Harrison Ford to ride his namesake's rollercoaster at Disneyland. Moreover, the sting of seeing the animatronic Indy looking far more ambulatory than the real thing could result in a meltdown in front of The Corpse Bride and her son. That smile looks a little too large, Harry. Hmmmm, Dr. Jones. Do we have a case of the churro munchies?

Jimmy Carter sang on The Love Boat

2007-09-19T21:06:00.001-07:00

His name was Jimmy Carter, and he rocked the Love Boat. Before I’m bombarded with peanuts for insinuating that our 39th president had a secret nightclub act, let me echo the immortal words of Master Yoda, "There is another."

I was 14 years old and wondering if I should vomit off the railing or into the orchid planter on board the Island Princess. The Pacific Princess was the crown jewel of the Princess Cruise line fleet circa 1983, and I was on its lesser known sibling. It was also billed as "The Love Boat," but there was no hot Julie McCoy to stiffen my loins as cruise director or any guest stars like the Landers sisters to leer at poolside. No, for a kid on Christmas break stuffed into a 7'x7' coach cabin with his mother and grandmother, leaping overboard was an hourly option to consider.

With not much to hold my attention amidst the grey-haired retirees and humping newlyweds other than ping-pong and vandalism, I was anything but the smiling guest star flirting with Captain Stubing's daughter, Vicki. I was the pissed-off extra in the background wondering why the goddamn show is so popular. That is, until a certain nightclub singer would change my view of the world forever.

The thrill of tossing patio furniture into the moonlit wake off the ship's stern dissipating, I realized that there had to be more for a young teen to do after hours. Luckily, I was cajoled by my mother and the other Hawaiian Tropic-slathered alcoholics to watch the evening's nightclub show, a male and female singing duo. The gal was a brunette drink of water who must have found fellatiating the ABC Daytime casting directors futile and threw her talents to the sea. The male singer made his mark the second he introduced himself.

"Hi, my name is Jimmy Carter and it's loooooove, exciting and new!" Then he launched into a medley of Barry Manilow, Neil Diamond and Fiddler on the Roof. With his pale blue eyes and curly blonde hair, he looked like Mark Hamill with an afro. It's easy to assume this guy was scraping the bottom of the career barrel crooning to vacationing stiffs on board a floating Christmas ornament. However, Jimmy Carter owned that stage. He charmed everyone with his sparkling showmanship and strangely enough, he liked hanging out with me after hours.

Now before you toss this into the NAMBLA file, Jimmy Carter was as straight as an arrow, and our interest in each other was puerile for sure but only in pointing our wicked sense of humor at the other passengers, particularly the very few hot women. In fact, the hottest woman on the ship was his co-star and he was nailing her. How do I know this? Because he asked me to keep watch outside his room while they went at it.

Turns out they both were married and apparently, the mantra for 1983 was what happens at sea on a Princess Cruise stays at sea on a Princess Cruise. As we relaxed on the lido deck (no, Isaac the bartender didn't make that term up), Carter told me of his plan to deflower his leading lady but needed it kept secret from the rest of the crew, such was the piety of the business even in the coke-fueled eighties. My curiosity of what 'deflowering' meant was answered with a condom reveal in his palm. "Ohhhh, now I get it."

So later that night, I stood outside a cabin while a certain set of performers went at it. Now I know it all seems so lascivious, particularly since this cruise ship lothario needed an adolescent accomplice, but the guy really was charming and had the whole boat smitten, including my mother. Had she ever found out that this guy confided his innermost sexual fantasies to her young son, I'm sure the Coast Guard would have found more than deck furniture floating in the surf.

Where is Jimmy Carter now? Probably downing Valtrex and wondering if 25 years of alimony payments merit forgiveness in the afterlife. If you're out there, Mr. Carter, I want to thank you for the hilarious memories. As the TV show's theme song says, "Welcome aboard, it's loooooove." Or at least a quickie between co-workers.

Day One - Or How I Stopped Worrying About My Blog and Learned to Love It

2007-09-19T13:22:00.000-07:00

First of all, I'd like to welcome you for spending quality time, minutes out of your life, to read the blatherings of someone whose opinion and observations mean about as much to the world as the 7-11 on Van Owen and Lankersheim in NoHo. My opinions are typically tempered by the amount of high fiber cereal I had for breakfast, or more importantly, the amount of broccoli and tofu I ate the night before. Thanks for taking time away from the tmz.com ambulance chas-- er, journalists or those immensely talented defamer.com rummies to spy my site. Hey, free marketing for the aforementioned entertainment sites. I ought to at least get an autographed photo of Britney's pock-marked ass signed by Harvey Levin.

As this is my first bit of writing at this location, I will start out today with the most unoriginal of icebreakers between writer and reader: a list.

OBJECTS IN MIRROR LOOK LARGER THAN THEY APPEAR:
1) Reverend Al Sharpton's head.
2) Harrison Ford's liquor cabinet.
3) Valerie Bertinelli.
4) The envy of Shia LeBoeuf's former classmates who called him a dick in school.
5) Barry Manilow's Botox bill.
6) The round planet about to crush The View's Sherri Shepherd in what my college ethics professor would call 'ironic punishment'.
7) Michael Vick's future shower mate.
8) Bill O'Reilly's salivary glands as he listens to Hillary's health care plan
9) Thunderous crash to the ground of Lady Justice's scales when Phil Specter gets off with slap on the wrist.
10) Conan O'Brien. 2009 is right around the corner, Jay.