Movie Art 101: What Were They Thinking?

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

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

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

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

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)

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!

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.