"Give my regards to King Tut, asshole!"
Greetings from Reno Street, the "Whoop-Doo!" capital of the world. For the past two and a half weeks, I've been at Stargate Summer Bootcamp. I spent nearly ten hours a day inside a spaceship (no lie), and got to hang with the Stargate: Atlantis cast for an exclusive look at their upcoming fifth season. For all of you diehard Stargate SG-1 fans, I also got an advanced look at Stargate: Continuum. This direct-to-DVD stand-alone movie/episode comes out on July 29th. I know fuck-all about Stargate (or, at least I did when I headed to this sci fi concentration camp). Without a reference point, I'd have to say it was quite enjoyable. The Stargate enthusiasts are going to flip their lid when they see it, as it brings back many old faces. The Germans I was with wouldn't stop singing its praises. But I don't know if I trust them. When we toured the wardrobe-docking bay, one German asked in a very thick accent, "Can I touch the back of Teyla's party dress with the tip of my penis?" It was creepy. Still, that didn't stop me from teaching him and the rest of the krauts how to ghost-ride the spacewhip! I can't say it was awesome, but I can say that I am glad to be back on planet earth!
Now, onto the "Whoop-Doo" Nation news of the week! Extra Beefy style!
Zombies in 3D? Boo!
Dawn Of The Dead in 3D? Boo! This is bogus. It's the unnecessary tampering with a classic that we've all dreaded. It is comparable to 80s colorization in every way. If George Romero had intended to have his film in 3D, he could have shot it that way. 3D is a quick and cheap punch that adds no real value to any given film that wasn't intended to be shown in that fashion. It's not going to look like Final Destination 4 3D, because its impossible to get each plane of depth in-sync. It will look more like a pop-up book. Or maybe a slide from a View-Master. Producer Craig Perry explained this in great length on the set of FD4. The films being shot in 3D today are utilizing a state of the art camera system that produces a true sense of depth of field. When you take an old 2D film and attempt to shellac it with this gratuitous gimmick, you have to bust up each item in a frame and turn it into a glass plate. Then you separate those plates. So it ends up looking like one of those funky disco mirrors from the seventies. After looking at this for a few moments it starts to hurt the eyes, because the brain can't process it fast enough. Thus, it provides the same sort of headache associated with the green and red 3D glasses of yesteryear. I'm all for the upcoming slate of new films that are being shot and released in 3D. It makes for a new and exciting time at the Cineplex. But tampering with classics has already proven to be a sore spot with the film going community at large. Taking Dawn Of The Dead and turning it into a three-dimensional eyesore is going to cost a lot of money and be cool for about five seconds. Fans aren't screaming for this. I say leave it alone. But that's not really my call, now is it?
Matthew McConaughey is The First Avenger: Captain America and Magnum, P.I.? Whoop-doo! Magnum is a perfect fit for McConaughey. Toss a little mustache on his upper lip and slip him into a red and blue Hawaiian shirt...Viola! Instant mediocre success at the box office and a spring release franchise is born. Magnum, P.I. is breezy enough in its nostalgic weight, it should attracted the young and old alike. I see it as this decades Dragnet '87 (why wasn't there a sequel to this? Oh, yeah. Tom Hanks twist-shut his spiquet of funny). This will be an inoffensive, modest action comedy that will placate your face while it hangs off a couch cushion in the living room. It will be the cinematic equivalent of comfort food. Let's be honest with ourselves. Magnum, P.I.: The Movie isn't going to rock any sort of concrete foundation to its knees like a Chinese earthquake. It will be mildly entertaining. And that's all there is to it. Its been written in the stars of TV-to-Movie adaptations past. Matthew is one of the very few male stars that could cue up that red Ferrari and theme song without losing any of its fun touch. With him behind the wheel, the movie will be as succinct as it ever could hope to be. It's definitely a mild bit of inspired casting. Most will agree, but the Hawaiian private eye isn't as crimped and loved (at least by those that have a keyboard) as Captain America. At first, McConaughey seemed an odd choice, even to me. I never pictured Cap as a tanned and canned surfer dude with a penchant for pot smoking and playing the bongo drums. Then it donned on me. That's as American as you can get. I like the married image of Matt's Texan demeanor and sway teamed up with that Red, White, and Blue star-stripped costume. But what really sold me on this casting choice was his potential on-screen chemistry with Robert Downey Jr. That's a snark goldmine the likes of which we've never seen on screen. Then, you add Ed Norton to the mix, and I think we are looking at one of the greatest comic book movies of all time with The Avengers. Oh, and if they actually do cast Brad Pitt as Thor, we're talking about the biggest opening in the history of the medium. Guaranteed. At this moment in time, I can't think of any other dude on the planet that will be able to hold his own against these other super heroes. My money is on Matt McConaughey. Though, there's always the chance a ripe and powerful newcomer may appear between now and the time of The First Avenger: Captain America's release date. Anything's possible.
Mormon Vampire Journalist Bandwagon Jumpers? Boo!
Twilight hype? Boo! I know little to nothing about this feminized book series, other than the fact that it is about vampire teens and that it was written by a bored Mormon housewife. I guess this venture was more lucrative than populating a planet full of power strippers the likes of which Utah has never seen. The books seem a little too fag-haggish for my tastes. Maybe even a little hetero-slaggish. Still, the cult push behind it is enormous. These fans are mostly young tween girls that don't frequent sites such as ours (I'd name some of the other sites, but that would just make them mad. You know who they are). Still, that hasn't stopped the bandwagon jump of faux-promotional press by a bunch of uninformed journalists trying to get that extra clip of hits from this nonexistent audience. This is a franchise that should be left in the hands of those wonderful bloggers, killing themselves to keep the fans happy and hungry. Not us. But I am suddenly seeing an onslaught of fake praise around the Internet, trying to lure in the core fan base. Simply because they want the hits. Granted, MTV was there from the start, and has devoted a whole day to covering the upcoming movie. Good on them, but the "extra" coverage coming from these other sites seems forced. Like an aborted push. Get off the tit, you sucka-bitches. You weren't all mental and gushy about Bratz or Sleepover. This is just easy clicks, and it feels cheap. Fourteen-year-old girls are smart. They are going to see right through the insincerity of your proposed Twilight story, and instead of frequenting your site for more, they are going to go where similar fans reside. So give it up. Get off the Twilight merry-go-round and leave it to the professionals. Show the trailers and the photos. Just don't write about it like you care. Because general movie fans actually don't. And the real fans have their tents staked elsewhere.
Moore and a Klopek? Boo!
Savage Grace? Boo! This is dicks-down (cause it made me flaccid) the worst movie I have seen this year. And that may very well bleed into the years around it. It is a pointless and ultimately tedious look at one tiny piece of American pop culture minutia. The film tells the horror story of the Bakelite family, and it is currently gathering buzz for its tales of lurid incest. Bah-humbug! Sure, go. If you like to vomit, be my guest. The usually not so modest Julianne Moore, number one gunner on the cinematic beaver parade, never once strips down to that 2% milk colored body of hers, and the movie might just be better for it. The narrative goes a little something like this: Kill me boring, boring boring! Julianne has a three way with her son and a gay suitor. Boring. She soccer balls her son while fully clothed. Off come the panties and its one of the most grotesque sex scenes seen in 2008. When the kid fails to cum, she pull-pops her sloppy gooch of his pencil thin penis and proceeds to give him a hand with the butter cream. There's some more boring, and then the kid stabs Moore with a kitchen knife. The end. I never actually fell asleep during the film, but I wanted to. The gratuitous, red skirted fuck scenes are some of the worst simply because the guy she is pink-momming is a dead ringer for Hans Klopek. And the film plays like some odd prequel to the 'Burbs. Now I know what was wrong with that kid. Ray Peterson had ever right to be suspicious. This horrible little slice of wrongness is pure, unfiltered assjuice.
A New Kids on the Block Summer, Jabba in Star Wars: The Clone Wars, and a Donnie Darko sequel? Boo! The nostalgia train keeps on chugging through the mountains of fuckwood, and it looks like the gods of awful want to hit every orifice and age bracket. Now they are caboose-slapping generations of kids that grew up in the 70s, 80s, and 2000s. Which only goes to prove that the 90s were a stalemate as far as truly entertaining shit is concerned (don't scream Tarantino too loudly, he was always a pop rapist). Is it fun watching this snake eat itself raw like a female contortionist with a taste for fresh shellfish? A little bit, yeah. But have you ever tried to digest ten days of straight muff munching? It's a juicy squeeze of pink sauce that stink-joints the bathroom. And I can smell this turd on Hollywood's fingertips from twenty miles away. Even though new worthwhile ventures hit us weekly, that hasn't stopped the powers that be from playing a game of fish sticks. Yup, they keep sticking their fingers in that giant Burbank vagina and whipping it on our upper lip. It's distasteful. A good gag grown stale. Even when this trick is preformed by the hottest chick, it still makes you vomit. Just a little. A burning sensation that remains stuck in the back of your throat for the better part of a day. Don't get me wrong, I'm on the phone right now, ordering my New Kids On the Block concert tickets. I hate their new T-Pain induced song. Each listen is like a fingernail clipper snip off the old hemorrhoid. A bloody, itching, spasm-inducing mess. But it's an infectious groove that I will grow to love. The fact that Obi Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker befriend Jabba the Hutt and help him find his son in Star Wars: The Clone Wars pretty much goes against the entire mythology of all three original Star Wars films. Yet, I'm oddly looking forward to seeing it. And then there is the Donnie Darko sequel. It's awful title S. Darko doesn't fill me with much hope. Richard Kelly had no Idea what he was doing when he made the original. He proved that with his super stupid director's cut. That first theatrical release was a happy accident. There is no way a sequel can be any good. This was a stand-alone entity. A second helping will rake the snot lining and decade old beef chunks from my intestine. Yet, again, I'll pay to see it because I like watching that fucked-up Watership Down mutant rabbit go about his business. And did anyone notice how hot and naughty Daveigh Chase turned out? If I ran into her on the street, I'd hand her a fist full of cash and thank her very much. The Nostalgia train is a horrible ride. Still, I can't keep myself from jumping on it like a hungry hobo whose taste buds have been burnt by months of eating nothing but Shocktarts he found in the garbage. Boo! Indeed.
Nuthin'. (That one's for Matt Pillsbury.)
Poor Shia? Boo!
The Mutt Williams Movie? Boo! It's starting to taste a lot like adventure up in this bitch. It's Wednesday, and I haven't seen "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull yet. But already, Lucas has stated that he'd like to make another one. Only this time, he is going to focus the story on Mutt Williams. That's right, Indy is going to be a background artist with a scant handful of lines in Indy #5. I'm sitting here, trying to figure out how that is going to work. Don't get me wrong, I like Shia. But Mutt Williams and the Curse of the Third Reich? I don't know how that is going to play to the masses. It sounds like a cheap and corny direct-to-DVD outing at best. At this point, the fans aren't interested. Neither are the kids. And it all comes down to one observational truth. The action figure. Mutt Williams has been sitting on the shelf, alone, for weeks now. Even the blase, no-faced Russian soldier is selling better than LaBeouf. Maybe his performance will force action figure enthusiasts back into the store after this weekend. But I honestly don't see that happening. When Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace came out, there was a line around the Toys R Us. At that point, Jar Jar Binks was already a notorious syphilis scab on our once beloved franchise. That didn't stop his figure from flying off the shelves. Even when Star Wars: Episode II - Attack Of The Clones came out, Jews for Jar Jar made sure the guy was a best seller. Heck, even Captain Typho sold better than the Mutt Williams doll and action figure combined. Poor Mutt looks like he is gearing up for a trip to the discount bin with the likes of Enchanted's Patrick Dempsey doll, New York Sammy, and the entire line of Ghetto Kids. I don't know how that is going to instill much faith in a stand-alone Mutt Williams movie. George, stop while you're ahead. It's just not a very good idea. Look what happened to The Scorpion King.
The Finger Moustache? Whoop-doo! There is a new joke sweeping Orange County. And it's got one of the funniest punch lines I've ever heard (or, rather, seen). It's "The Finger Moustache"! That shit cracks me up. It's as classic as a pie in the face, or a lampshade on the head. Its history dates back to World War II, but it is suddenly making a resurgence as a clever little bar trick and party fad that I fully support. Why? Because it makes me smile, and I found it more entertaining than Iron Man and Speed Racer combined. This professional artist in the O.C. travels the Orange, Huntington, Newport, and Fullerton area in his rolling Tattoo parlor (a station wagon, really), giving willing patrons a bottle cap ink job on their finger for hours of fun. And it is easy to hide. Most fellows are going for the "Wee-Wee" French job. But if you are a real man's man, you might opted out for a Hitler stash like the clever clown you see in the picture above. Its endlessly amusing, and I can fully see its charms spreading throughout the country. Go, Finger Moustache!
Whew. That's a lot of whoop-dooing for one week, but that's what happens when you fly out of state on a spaceship with Richard Picardo and Jason Momoa. Anyway, until next time, "Whoop-doo!" And if you are commenting down below: Both a resounding thanks and a fuck you!