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I HATE YOU AND YOUR STUPID MOVIE ...What to see in 2005!

By B. Alan Orange — January 7th, 2005

Anticipation.

“Waiting?” Nope, not really.

So sorry, but that age old burning itch usually associated with the approaching Hollywood New Year has subsided. I’ve become complacent. There’s no longer a personal need for any type of cinematic freshness. I can’t find it underneath my tongue; nor is it held within my psyche. I’m tired of being a line-waiting bitch, and it wasn’t until earlier today that I realized my sudden lack of enthusiasm for this futuristic rollout.

Webmaster B2 rang up that hollow line around noon, begging for some kind of news footage. A quaint package wrapped in personal opinion. Maybe a top ten best list for 2004. I didn’t really want to do that. Why? Because everyone does that. And frankly, I don’t even care any more. Looking at all these other lists, I’m disappointed that no one sited The Passion of the Christ as one of the year’s great films. Critics are afraid to embrace it. I think, esthetically, it’s a brilliant piece of street side religious paraphernalia, and if stuck in traffic, trying to make it back into San Diego from the Mexican border, I’d buy it and a cup of spice-covered corn for twenty bucks. Every single frame is a velvet painting waiting to be hung in the bathroom. I don’t think a better remake of Richard C. Sarafian’s Vanishing Point has ever been produced. Ever.

At least Ebert remembered to include Baadasssss! On his best of list. Way to go, Roger…Oops, though. You dropped the ball on your worst list. Where’s Soul Plane? New York Minute is ten times the movie Soul Plane is. So is every other movie he has listed there, with the exception of The Whole Ten Yards. The Gods of Cinema remembered to throw that Bruce Willis/Mathew Perry sh*t-fit on almost every single worst list out there. Good on them. It really is that bad, and I’ll always be haunted by Kevin Pollack, playing his own Dad, adlibbing the line, “I’ll have a slice of pee.” What the f*ck is that?

Get that sh*t out of my face!

I liked some movies last year. None of them I at all anticipated. I hated some too. Though, I put absolutely no advanced thought into the matter. Same goes for this coming year. I seriously don’t care about anything being released in 2005. At all. This fact wasn’t really bothering me until B2 suggested, instead of doing a Top 10 Best/Worst list for 2004, that I do a most anticipated of 2005 roster.

Hmm?

My knees are about to buckle, and I had an “Out of Body” experience last night. My soul truthfully, honestly wanted to leave this world. But my body wasn’t dead. So my soul was kind of stuck there, in front of the TV, leaning forward, trying to rip the seam. I felt it give, and I had a choice. I could have slipped away. Forever. I heard the faint singing of small children. And this woman’s voice. It wasn’t pretty, or soothing. She had a kind of smart-ass vibe to her intonation. I really wanted to listen to her words of wisdom. “Choose now. This is where myth meets the maker.” Interesting.

No White Ass #97
I decided that I didn’t want to be found dead in my easy chair, sitting in front of the Television set. Alone. I wasn’t watching something embarrassing. No White Ass #97 wasn’t spinning in my DVD player. It would have been a fitting way to go. “B. Alan Orange, film critic for Movieweb.com, found dead sitting in front of back alley porn.”

Actually, I’d just finished watching the movie Garden State, and had fallen asleep. It really was last year’s Lost In Translation. Tons of hype, yet not as good when you finally sit down and watch it. I didn’t care for it too much. Oh, well. I certainly didn’t want it to be the last thing I ever watched. Not in this lifetime. So, after a ribcage struggle that lasted for a few seconds, but seemed more like a lifetime, I forced my spirit back into my thriving brain.

“Why did I do that? Seriously? What do I have to look forward too? Nothing. I had a chance to go meet God, and I chose, instead, to come back and watch Racing Stripes.”

I’m a f*cking idiot. Now, B2 wants me to extol this inherent need for cinema that we all seem to have. It’s a drug. And I’m quitting cold turkey. Kinda. Not really. As soon as I got to work, I checked all the other hype sites. Yup, I’d been beaten to the punch by a bunch of bloody fists. Everyone, including his or her Mom, had already written that 2005 dissertation. All the publications had nailed the catalogue. Looking over some of these lists, I still didn’t care. There’s truly nothing I’ve yet to hear about that has me suffering rug burn at the door.

I’m not going to endure backlogged traffic, all those outside lines, the seat talkers and seat kickers, the prices, and the crowds just to wade through another goddamn talking animal movie or some juiced-up remake of a TV show I never liked as a kid. Its complete bullsh*t. It’s going to cost me twelve bucks to see break dancing flies? And I’m supposed to be excited about that? What sort of crazy planet are we all living on? Heck, I can jack the bootleg for a five-dollar bill two days after Racing Stripes’ release date. The movie will be readily available, hassle free. I think I can survive the wait. And I’ll be feeding a Mexican family of eight in the process. Really. If I’m going to sit through an hour and fifteen minutes of a Foshizzle-talking dog and a pelican that sounds exactly like Joey Pants, I’m going to do it from the comforts of my own couch while hiding behind a six-pack of Quilmes.

However, I will admit, I like the fact that whoever was in charge of producing Ad Material for Racing Stripes had a knowledgeable and self-deprecating sense of humor. Still humming off three weeks of holiday binge drinking, I had to laugh at the gigantic billboard raping the 405 North near Long Beach. Those two jive-talking maggots are sitting on that Zebra’s hind quarters, it’s tail up. The David Spade fly (the one with the blue eyes, I think), caught in a whiff of Ethiopic ass stink, riffs, “I smell a winner.” At least the makers of the film know where they stand. That’s a pretty bold marketing move on their part. Kangaroo Jack came out around the same time two years ago, and it cleaned up at the box office. I have no doubt this will do the same. Rumor-spewing mammals and biracial dance partners always seem to do really well at the first of the year.

Here’s an idea, and I’m sure someone will jump on this real quick. Because they aint got nothin’ else, and it’s inevitable. How about two hip-hop rhyming turtles (voiced by Nas and R. Kelly) and a mallard (voiced by Eminem) teach a young white girl how to dance her way out of the ghetto? Let’s combine the two genres and get it over with, quick. I see $20 million opening weekend. And it’s a hit!

Both Vin Diesel and Ice Cube have “family” comedies coming out. What, have they been studying the Schwarzenegger manifesto “Eating’s Not Cheating”? Sure, the duck biting Vin in the ear is super-hilarious, but I’ve already seen it eight times now. I don’t want to pony up last week’s paycheck to watch it again. You’ve got to know it’s the only laugh in The Pacifier. It’s the only laugh in the trailer. Let’s not even get started on “Are We There Yet?” The first truly awful title of 2005. They give proper respect to the White Stag Made in Oregon neon sign, but I doubt they do little else with their expensive film stock. This looks like an Urban update of the Patrick Dempsey film Coup De Ville, and critics weren’t too kind to that neo-masterpiece when it hit theaters for about a week back in 1990.

“Are We There Yet?” Has me feeling slightly ashamed of Cube. Even more so than when I met him, and he was wearing caked-on make-up to look lighter skinned in TV interviews. Where’s the Compton Media brigade? This sucker needs to get rolled back onto the curb. Don’t get me wrong; I love Ice Cube’s thematic repute. Except, here, in 2005, it looks like he’s making all the wrong choices. “Are We There Yet?” has Torque looking like a naked Solid Gold Dancer. And having him take over the XxX role from Vinny isn’t doing anything to sooth this dissidence growing inside my heart. Isn’t his black ass a little too fat to be jumping on helicopters and sh*t? Sorry, I simply cannot condone this cougar’s attempt at overseas receipts. Sit on the couch, get stoned, and things are going to be all right. I promise.

Besides, I doubt even your biggest fans want to see you hiding behind the guise of an extremist Bond philistine-wannabe. Am I supposed to buy or believe that your hoodlum grimace has succumbed to the power of Cranberry juice on the rocks? You used to be about the Ho. Just last year, you sang, “There’s So Many Rappers in Love On the Radio.” Now you’re going to be astringent and loyal to that crusty kooze Asia Argento? You’ve got ghetto asphalt in your blood. She’s got maggots in her musty rust hole. And you’ve totally ruined me. Ouch. I never thought an Ice Cube movie would hurt in all the wrong, tiny places.

I smell a winner!
Look what you did. Jerk.

Should I even mention “Be Cool”? It’s the film that truly brought me to this off conclusion: I feel absolutely no need to go to the multiplex at all this year. Vince Vaughn’s wigger-pimp caricature was done to perfection on SNL. Now he’s going to whore it up and pile drive it right into the hard dirt. Well, sh*t on him. And no, I’m not looking forward to the Wedding Crashers either. I think I can go about seven years without ever seeing Owen Wilson in another film. I have about six of them still sitting on my floor, unwatched. The whole 2005 scheme seems like a round-robin jerk-off session. My blood cells are slowly dying. Be Cool? Yeah, I’ll be cool when they stop trotting out vomit and returning to it like some kind of hungry dog. So what if it’s based on an Elmore Leonard novel? Whooptie-doo! I say it looks like a sorry attempt to cash in on 10 years of stale celebrity. The clandestine relationship between John Travolta and Uma Thurman should stay locked within the confines of Pulp Fiction. But no, some jackass has to come along and ruin that, too.

Sitting at the intersection of Hollywood and Highland, starring at the poster for this film, I was overcome by a sense of stolid lucidity. When, where, and why did I ever care about movies in the first place? There had to be some reason I used to make those weekly trips to the Whiteside Theater in Corvallis. Boredom, I guess…And God, what I wouldn’t give for a good ol’ fashion Tom Hanks comedy circa the mid-to-late Eighties. We'll never see another run like that. Pimping Topher Grace as the next coming of Bachelor Party in commercials for “In Good Company” has me wanting to lift my leg and spray the TV screen with lukewarm, bloody piss. F*ck me in the jammy-hole; I’d rather watch another adaptation of an L. Ron Hubbard novel than have to sit through Be Cool.

Though, The Rock, with a fully inflated afro, does make me smile.

Just a little bit. There is one film I won’t miss, but it makes me mad sitting here, thinking about it. I know exactly what will happen. For the first few weeks, every fansh*t geekhag will scream in adulated joy over its arrival. Then, when the storms of applause die down, they’ll beat it with a 2x4. That’s what happened the last two times around this iodized city block. First, they’re all like, “Attack of the Clones is the Best Star Wars film since The Empire Strikes Back. Yoda and his lightsaber are awesome.” Then, as time passed, they all turned a hard boot heel into that Tunisian Sand, “Attack of the Clones sucks. Yoda wielding a saber totally lost the integrity of the character.”

Mallards teach a young asian girl

how to dance her way out of the ghetto

in the Eminem voiced...

Bunch of f*cking crybabies. Boo-Hoo! I will be in line that certain Wednesday morning come May Oh-Five, standing outside the Mann’s Chinese Theatre with a frozen smile on my face. I’ve said it a hundred times before, and I’ll say it again. I love the last two Star Wars movies. No apologies here. I watch them. I enjoy them. They’re over. And I don’t worry about it. They sit proudly on my shelf. Maybe it’s because I had no expectations going in. Maybe it’s because they remind me of the first year run of the Marvel Star Wars comic book. It’s a true adaptation of that time period.

If there’s only one thing I need to know in 2005, it’s the cinematic fate of my friend Jar-Jar Binks. Also, I want to prove myself right. Sipha Diaz (distant relative of Cameron Diaz) is (or was) Qui Gon Gin (which is a Sapphire Martini mixed with Knott’s Berry Punch Concentrate for those keeping score). I just know it. Deep inside my heart. Plus, there’s Wookies. On screen for the first time since 1983. Like I’d skip on that. And even though it looks a little too similar to the Star Wars Christmas Special, I truly think Revenge of the Sith is the only reason my soul tub-jumped back into my upper body last night.

Wookies!
Seeing Episode III is my only true plan for this New Year. That and keeping the Mohawk.

War of the Worlds has been getting a ton of hype. So what? I hate Tom Cruise. I’ve only seen two of his movies, and that wasn’t by choice. I could give two sh*ts and a f*ck about this Spielberg remake. His films have become the equivalent of a distended intestine. The man just doesn’t know when to quit. His stories just keep going on and on, nary an end in sight. His directorial hand is bloated. Seriously. How is this thing going to be any different than Independence Day? That film, I believe, was a revisionists take on the original Orson Wells radio broadcast. M. Night Shyamalan already turned the three-sixty with Signs. How are Steven and Tom going to make this thing stick? Make it different? Make it original in its own right?

What’s that? They’re not? Oh, the special effects have gotten better. Alright. Gotcha.

What else do we have coming out? Willy Wonka looks cool, I guess. But so did Planet of the Apes, which, if I remember correctly, was one of the biggest disappointments of 2001. I, in all honesty, haven’t liked a Tim Burton film since Peewee’s Big Adventure debuted in 1985. But f*ck me, what do I know? This could be great. It certainly looks promising. I just have one question…Why does Johnny Depp look so much like Steve Buscemi? Why didn’t they just get Steve in the first place? I’m sure Buscemi’s got a lot of time on his hands. Oh, wait, I forgot. They’re making that sequel to Being John Malkovich. You know, Being Steve Buscemi. It’s an end of the year Christmas release…

Psyche.

Hitchhiker's Guide
There was a movie I wanted to see…What was it? F*ck, I forgot. Hold on…Let me think…

Oh, yeah! The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I’ve never read the book, but I used to love the PBS series when I was a kid. The fact that they’ve hired Martin Freeman (Tim from The Office) to play the lead has me all giddy inside. I’ve got a school girl crush on this boy. And I want to Donkey Punch his costar, Zooey Deschanel, into oblivion. She’s the only female actress I truly adore at the moment…

Two movies. That’s it. That’s all I’d go out of my way to see. Pretty goddamn sad, if you ask me. But then, I think about last year. None of the titles on my self-appointed 10 most beloved films of 2004 list were even on my radar at the start of the New Year. I have hope that something will come along and shock me. I truly believe there’s a few surprises in the waiting. And I can’t wait to find out what those surprises are…

The Dukes
Let’s see…I forgot to mention Sin City. Could be awesome. It could also be duck shit. From Dusk Till Dawn is one of my all time favorites, so I’m interested to see what Rob Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino have in store this time around (the Dusk sequels all sucked, so my heart isn’t on a shelf). Then there’s Batman Begins. Nope. Don’t care. I’ve never liked the Caped Crusader, and I hate all four entries held within the framework of the last Batman franchise. Though, don’t get me wrong, I do dig Burt Ward and Adam West. That sh*t is cool. Fantastic Four? Looks like it’s gearing up to be a “Fantastic Bore.” Or how about a “Fantastic Snore.” (I had to beat those other critics to the punch. Zinga!) King Kong should dig some dirt. It’s trench worthy. But God, that sucker doesn’t come out till the end of the year. I’m not even thinking about it in terms of 2005.

Then we have even more remakes. The Longest Yard? Vinnie Jones remade this sh*t less than two years ago using the film’s original title Mean Machine. Why do we need another one? Goddamn it! Bewitched is headed for some sort of DVD landfill. And The Dukes of Hazzard? With the exception of Dave Koechner playing Cooter, this thing looks to have been horribly miscast. I sure hope they can pull some sort of salvageable log from the burning fire. I doubt it though…

You wanted my take on the upcoming year? Well, my friends, my buddies, I have an overwhelming feeling that I’m going to be spending more than most of my 2005 time on bent knee, screaming the inevitable into the darkness. Call it a void…

Be Cool...
Yes. Hollywood. Vancouver. Portland, Oregon. New Zealand. And 2005. Guess what?

“I Hate You. And Your Stupid Movies.”

Now get out of my face!

(Except for you, Zooey. You can climb right on my face. You dirty, dirty slut! I think you need a spanking.)

Dont't forget to also check out: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

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