For all of you Crystal Skull haters out there, all I have to say is: Willie Scott is the original Jar Jar Binks. For every goofy antic and pratfall Binks performed in Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace, Scott has an exacting moment in Indiana Jones & The Temple Of Doom. They are the same character.

I know a lot of you like to claim The Temple Of Doom as the best Indy movie out there. But lets face facts. The movie contains the same kind of slip-on-a-banana-peel humor that most Star Wars fans feel plagued the last three Lucas Epics. It was written by the same people that wrote Howard the Duck for fuck sakes. It is a goofy ass movie, and if it were released today, the hailstorm barrage of complaints about calling a nightclub "The Obi Wan" would rupture our port server. Don't get me wrong. I love both Howard the Duck and The Temple Of Doom. They are cool B grade cinema at its best. But you can't continue to hate on The Crystal Skull when the second film in your beloved franchise is just as gay as everything else George Lucas has made in the last ten years (seriously, what the heck is Dan Aykroyd doing in there?).

Take a moment. Go back and watch it. Realize what it is. Cleanse your nostalgia palette. The Crystal Skull wont come as such a crushing blow. You might actually be able to enjoy it for what it is. And seeing Indy take off in that spaceship at the end of the film won't feel like such a kick in the balls.

You got your cup? I got my cup. And now, onto the "Whoop-Doo" nation news! (Sorry it's a little late. I was off in foreign lands arm wresting Chow Yun Fat!)

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

The Frog Brothers? Whoop-doo!

The Lost Boys: The Tribe trailer? Whoop-doo! It's awesome to see at least one Frog Brother back in action, swinging stakes, and making goofy vampire quips amidst a quick propulsion of carnage. Corey Feldman doesn't look like he has aged a day since 1987. Strange, considering how many drugs the poor boy consumed in the late eighties. Maybe there was some youth serum in buddy Michael Jackson's can of Jesus juice. Many have speculated that Jesus (blasphemy) was the first vampire on the scene post-B.C. Maybe Feldman is a vampire himself? Who knows? Who cares? I'm just happy to see the kid back in action. I love that they have made him a surfboard shaper. That is clearly in-line with the original. I just wish that we got at least a tiny glimpse of Alan Frog and Sam Emerson in the trailer that premiered on MTV. As it stands, the film feels like a tri-pod that is missing two of its legs. I really hope that this gets a theatrical release (but quite honestly it feels like DTV). Who wouldn't want to see the Frog Brothers on the big screen one last time? Hopefully, this does turn into a trilogy. Because, after listening to Feldman, I have a sneaky suspicion that the third and final act will be the real film we were looking forward to these last twenty years. As it stands now, take away the original The Lost Boys elements from the trailer and all we are left with is a bunch of MTV kids cracking wise like it was Bachelor Party 3: Pantipocalypse. Seriously, remove Edgar Frog out of this trailer, and it looks like Varsity Blues meets The Forsaken. Grade A MTV fodder for the nogo stoner generation. Bummer.

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

Apatow Haters? Boo!

Internet Apatow Haters? Boo! What if you were a well-known carpenter with a few cool properties under your belt and you decided to build a new house? You get to the foundation where the blue prints are laid out. As you grab the first two-by-four, an angry fourth grade lynch mob rolls up on your future lawn and, without taking a look at said blueprints, starts screaming, "You suck! You've bought the wrong nails, and the house is going to be ugly when it is finished. Your future home is dick. It will be the worst house on the block." Uncalled for, right? Well, that is precisely what happened to Judd Apatow this week when the cast of his next comedy was announced. The same Internet community that had built Apatow up into a neo-realist comedy god was throwing rocks at his exposed flesh. Before he even got a chance to get the words out of his mouth. We don't know what he is building, or how he is going to build it. Yet, he is being attacked from all sides. One, because Adam Sandler is going to be in the film. Two, because his wife Leslie Mann is going to be in the film. I personally think this is ridiculous. We haven't seen or heard anything else about the project. Granted, Sandler is not my bag of tea. Or, rather, most of his films aren't. I like a number of them. And I like him when he finds the right material. You need look no further than Punchdrunk Love. Great film. Great performance. We haven't even seen a trailer for Apatow's new digs yet. How do we know something great isn't being lined up here? For a while now, people have been talking about an Apatow backlash. And it suddenly seems as if it is being self-imposed by the same community that loves him. What a bunch of mud monkeys. I get laughing at someone's failures. I get calling a bad film a bad film when it hits like rotten eggs and stinks up the joint. But why wish failure on someone that has suddenly found success? Personally, I didn't like Knocked Up, but it was both a critical and box office success. When Freaks and Geeks bottomed out, you were there to champion him. Now he's like Laney Boggs. He's taken off his glasses and let his hair down. He is one of the cool kids. Now you want to stay in your little geek huddle and throw rocks at the man, screaming, "Fucking fascist!" The sad thing is, he is making these movies for you. He always has. So Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story was a box office bomb. So what? It will blow up on home video. And Drillbit Taylor? He made it for those hardcore fans of John Hughes. That's you guys. The ones hitting him with sticks. Calm down and watch it. Realize he has your best interests at heart. He is still a giant dork. Wait until you see what he has up his sleeve. At the very least. Then hit him with a Gigandet kick if you don't like it. That's when he gets the black eye. When his hands are out of his pockets. Not before. Holy cow, what a bunch of crybabies you've all turned into.

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

No Sleestaks? Boo!

Land of the Lost's target audience? Boo! I came to a shocking realization the other day. The target audience for Will Farrell's upcoming big screen version of Land of the Lost have no clue that there was ever a 1974 Saturday morning version of the show. Who cares if there are DVDs to prove it? They haven't seen them. The majority of kids in the 5-25 year old age range, the ones that will be going to see this movie on its opening night, have never seen a real Sleestak. They aren't familiar with Marshal, Will, or Holly. Or their Routine expedition. Or that kickass theme song. How did I discover this? I was with a large group of college students between the ages of 19 and 22, and the subject of Land of the Lost came up. They seemed excited about the prospects of a Will Farrell version until I started describing the show, and talking about the Sleestaks. "The Slee-whats?" One of the kids asked me. I explained. They just sat there with blank expressions. Then one of them said, "I like the part where the Jeep Cherokee goes into the ground." Jeep? Cherokee? What the nuggets? The girl started singing the theme song, and it was then that I realized...These kids know Land of the Lost only as a 1991 remake that featured the Porter family. At it's a shame. Because all of the ideas and aspects seen in that version of the show are going to be abandoned by Farrell and company. This is the official turning of the flame. Our pop culture doesn't belong to us anymore. It belongs to a new generation of geeks that worship and defend xXx and the merits of Little Nicky. I personally thought that the 1991 version of Land of the Lost was an abomination. But it's the only thing these kids know. Don't you, at this point, have to sort of cater to that audience? The movie isn't made yet, so in the better interest of our ticket buying majority, shouldn't the makers of the film at least throw in a reference or two to the 90s version of the program? It's an artistic choice, for sure. But it would be a smart move on their part. The Krofft's know this. But does director Brad Silbering? Hmm? Maybe he should check in with some college kids before he moves forward on his latest project.

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

Star Wars Gangsters? Whoop-doo!

Star Wars meets The Sopranos? Whoop-doo! So, some official news about the live action Star Wars program has finally leaked out and onto the face of the net. Interesting. Frosty over at Collider has been sitting on this information for quite some time. And he gives us an interesting read. But it really doesn't say much. Except that the new live-action version of Star Wars is going to be an inter-galactic mash up of Deadwood and The Sopranos. Which can mean only one thing: Its narrative scope is going to focus mostly on Spice Smugglers and Bounty Hunters. This jives with what we have heard in the past. It sounds awesome, especially with episodes being directed by Kevin Smith and Nimrod Antal, with a stand-alone episode starring General Ackbar. "It's a trap!" Indeed. I'd say this was turning out to be a Star Wars fan's wet dream. It is going to be gritty, dirty, and cool. It is going to air either on HBO or Showtime, and it will be considered part of the film franchise. Maybe they'll string the first three episodes into a feature length film such as they have done with Star Wars: Clone Wars, which is coming out in 3-D this summer. It sounds like Star Wars might dip out of its lull, here, soon. That is excellent news!

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

The Love Guru? Boo!

The Love Guru trailer? Boo! This thing gives me a major stomachache. Every time I see Mike Myers in that Pitka costume I want to vomit gold fish crackers and Jell-o. The worst part of this new trailer? Myers seems to think he is still in an Austin Powers movie. The character doesn't seem very consistent within the framework of the two and a half minutes on display here. That doesn't bode well for the entire duration of this nauseous enterprise. I'll admit, there are some good bits to be found amongst the wreckage. I half-smiled once or twice, and Justin Timberlake looks game. But I simply can't stand looking at Myers in this outfit. It gives me the heebie-jeebies. If I could, I would get a restraining order against the film. I'd really like it to stay at least a hundred and fifty yards away from me. At all times.

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

McBride's inauguration? Boo!

The whoring of Danny McBride? Boo! Danny McBride is the Bobcat Goldthwait of 2008. What started out as an organic love and admiration for a talented actor by a group of comedy fans has turned into a media kick stump that may backfire very quickly. We'll soon be seeing the same McBride stories that we are currently seeing about Apatow. "His next movie will suck. He sucks. He's never even made a good movie." And he hasn't even gotten a chance to flourish yet. It seems like the studios have uprooted a seedling. And they are attempting to stretch it into Redwood status before any water or Dyna-Gro can be consumed. McBride has thrived as a secondary character in a handful of films thus far. And he is one of the funniest newcomers seen in a long time. But remember what happened when Hot to Trot came out? That pretty much blew up in everyone's face. The Foot Fist Way is being touted as a classic. I didn't think the trailer was all that humorous, but I am waiting to see the whole thing before I make any sort of judgment call on it. I just think some of the studios (Paramount) may be pushing him a little to hard at the moment. That is how a backlash starts. I personally don't want to see a Danny McBride backlash until, at the very least, Tropic Thunder comes out. The guy needs recognition. For sure. But too much this soon is only going to hurt his career in the long run. Prove me wrong. If it keeps up, you'll be saying, "Danny McBride? I hate that fucking guy!"

Anyway, that's it for the "Whoop-Doo" Nation this week. I'll see you soon. Let the skull-fucked retard comments ensue...

B. Alan Orange