....I used to stay up way-too-late at night just to catch Conan, in the hope that he'd be doing one of these endlessly-hilarious bits with good ol' Chucky Norris:
....there's like at least four more of these I could've posted, but I'll save those for the future. Maybe, in the yeeeaarr two-thouussanndddd!
Saturday, August 9, 2008
"Past Flavas"
It's life's little treasures that bring a cheese grin to my face. At least twice a day, I visit my trusty online domains for downloadable albums, hoping to either see something new that wets my whistle, music wise, or unearth some old hip hop gem. The latter just happened, as I've happened across Ali Vegas' unreleased Generation Gap album. And boy, does it have my nostalgia in high gear.
For those who don't know, Vegas was a (well, he still drops an occasional mixtape, so "is" may be more fitting, but his days have passed in my eyes, so "was" it is...how's that for a tongue-twister, eh?) teenage Nas-light back in the late '90s or so. Flow sounded like an Illmatic-era Nasir, without the same level of lyrical panache, of course. But what made his pseudo-Nasty Nas sounds so endearing to me was how he even rapped over beats that sounded like DJ Premier-light, Pete Rock-light, Large Professor-light, etc.....and listening to Generation Gap as I type this up, song after song is bringing me back to the days when I'd stay up 'til about 1am every school night back in late-grammar/all-of-high school, recording songs off the radio by holding down the Play and Record buttons on my stereo's tapedeck. Songs like "Queens," "It Ain't Hard to Tell," "The Specialist," and "One World" really have me in that teenage zone again. Thank God for it, too. Oh, and Vegas' "Narcotics" remains one of my all-time favorite songs, I remember how I'd play it nonstop in the good ol Arthur Buick whip, back when my tape deck actually worked.
I was pretty crafty, too, having never been caught by my parents. See, the trick was, I'd hook up some headphones to the stereo, so I could record the tunes at full volume and it wouldn't be waking the neighbors up. And just for good measure, I'd put the one headphone which wasn't placed in my eardrum under a pillow, totally covering my tracks.
I must have over 100 or so cassette tapes full of classic hip hop back at my parents house, stashed away in the attic somewhere, immersed in dust and forgotten memories. This Ali Vegas album has me wishing I could time travel back to when Sunday nights on Hot 97 FM consisted of Pete Rock & Marley Marl's "Future Flavas" show at 10pm, followed at 11pm by Stretch Armstrong's two-hour extravaganzae of underground rap nirvana. I can still hear those drops: "Lay some treeeats on usssssss....."
I've frequently voiced my disinterest and disgust with the majority of modern-day rap, so I won't do it again. But today, I've realize that, as long as forgotten gems such as Ali Vegas are still accessible via the Internet, I'll never totally stop loving H.E.R.
It's a rocky affair, but one I wouldn't give up for anything else.
For those who don't know, Vegas was a (well, he still drops an occasional mixtape, so "is" may be more fitting, but his days have passed in my eyes, so "was" it is...how's that for a tongue-twister, eh?) teenage Nas-light back in the late '90s or so. Flow sounded like an Illmatic-era Nasir, without the same level of lyrical panache, of course. But what made his pseudo-Nasty Nas sounds so endearing to me was how he even rapped over beats that sounded like DJ Premier-light, Pete Rock-light, Large Professor-light, etc.....and listening to Generation Gap as I type this up, song after song is bringing me back to the days when I'd stay up 'til about 1am every school night back in late-grammar/all-of-high school, recording songs off the radio by holding down the Play and Record buttons on my stereo's tapedeck. Songs like "Queens," "It Ain't Hard to Tell," "The Specialist," and "One World" really have me in that teenage zone again. Thank God for it, too. Oh, and Vegas' "Narcotics" remains one of my all-time favorite songs, I remember how I'd play it nonstop in the good ol Arthur Buick whip, back when my tape deck actually worked.
I was pretty crafty, too, having never been caught by my parents. See, the trick was, I'd hook up some headphones to the stereo, so I could record the tunes at full volume and it wouldn't be waking the neighbors up. And just for good measure, I'd put the one headphone which wasn't placed in my eardrum under a pillow, totally covering my tracks.
I must have over 100 or so cassette tapes full of classic hip hop back at my parents house, stashed away in the attic somewhere, immersed in dust and forgotten memories. This Ali Vegas album has me wishing I could time travel back to when Sunday nights on Hot 97 FM consisted of Pete Rock & Marley Marl's "Future Flavas" show at 10pm, followed at 11pm by Stretch Armstrong's two-hour extravaganzae of underground rap nirvana. I can still hear those drops: "Lay some treeeats on usssssss....."
I've frequently voiced my disinterest and disgust with the majority of modern-day rap, so I won't do it again. But today, I've realize that, as long as forgotten gems such as Ali Vegas are still accessible via the Internet, I'll never totally stop loving H.E.R.
It's a rocky affair, but one I wouldn't give up for anything else.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Ingredients to a Friday Night....
One part Ne-Yo's "Miss Independent" playing in the background....yeah, it's R&B and dedicated to chicks, but I'm feeling the hell out of this jam....wanna fight about it?!?!?!
One or two parts re-watching the trailer for Quarantine, simply because I'm hype as a mug about seeing it, and something about the trailer has my hypnotized.
Five Coronas.....this is my fifth I'm sippin' on as I type, I believe. Should be a long night.
.....let's see where this combination leads to....off to cause some mischief in the 'Boken.
Wish me luck.....
One or two parts re-watching the trailer for Quarantine, simply because I'm hype as a mug about seeing it, and something about the trailer has my hypnotized.
Five Coronas.....this is my fifth I'm sippin' on as I type, I believe. Should be a long night.
.....let's see where this combination leads to....off to cause some mischief in the 'Boken.
Wish me luck.....
Basterdization Time
Damn, I remember the days when a release date for a new Gza album would send me into a fanboy frenzy....and considered that the Genius himself has a new record coming in a few weeks and I'm sort of indifferent about it, it's pretty tell-tale where my head is at now. I'd hate to say it's that I'm "maturing," because that'd be obnxious bullshit even I wouldn't buy. You can be any age and listen to good hip hop. It's just that the music I once passionately adored is now about 92% garbage, and I can't take it no mo. Lil Wayne does little for me, Young Jeezy says nothing I can "feel," and Elzhi's album is coming out to zero fanfare. My, oh my.
Wanna know what truly excites me these days? Hollywood/movies (surprise, huh?).....take this bit of news I just read. Simon Pegg, who is otherwise known as one of the coolest dudes in the world in my stratosphere (if you haven't yet, see SHAUN OF THE DEAD and HOT FUZZ immediately....splendid, and now I must somehow pick up the newly-released box set of his old British show SPACED), is in talks to join the cast of Quentin Tarantino's (also one of the coolest in my land) next flick, INGLORIOUS BASTERDS (I know thats spelled wrong; it's how Tarantino has it spelled on the front page of the script, intentionally I'm sure), which is a fuckin' wild WWII epic, with such characters as "The Bear Jew" and "The Nazi Hunter." I grabbed the script when it leaked online, and read all 165 pages or so of it in like one 45-minute sitting. It's uneven as hell, totally off the wall, violent, etc. Pure Tarantino, and I f'n loved it.
Brad Pitt is set to star in it, so yeah, that's Pitt + Tarantino + (possibly) Pegg. You know what that'd equal, if it all comes to fruition? A seismic shift in the atmosphere of cinematic cool. Brace yourselves.
Wanna know what truly excites me these days? Hollywood/movies (surprise, huh?).....take this bit of news I just read. Simon Pegg, who is otherwise known as one of the coolest dudes in the world in my stratosphere (if you haven't yet, see SHAUN OF THE DEAD and HOT FUZZ immediately....splendid, and now I must somehow pick up the newly-released box set of his old British show SPACED), is in talks to join the cast of Quentin Tarantino's (also one of the coolest in my land) next flick, INGLORIOUS BASTERDS (I know thats spelled wrong; it's how Tarantino has it spelled on the front page of the script, intentionally I'm sure), which is a fuckin' wild WWII epic, with such characters as "The Bear Jew" and "The Nazi Hunter." I grabbed the script when it leaked online, and read all 165 pages or so of it in like one 45-minute sitting. It's uneven as hell, totally off the wall, violent, etc. Pure Tarantino, and I f'n loved it.
Brad Pitt is set to star in it, so yeah, that's Pitt + Tarantino + (possibly) Pegg. You know what that'd equal, if it all comes to fruition? A seismic shift in the atmosphere of cinematic cool. Brace yourselves.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
My Own Private Wonderland
Have you ever wished that with a simple snap of the fingers, or twitching of the neck, you could magically transport into some dreamlike world, where fucking unicorns are your transport and every lady looks like Christina Milian (or if you're a chick, every dude looks like Brad Pitt...I'm fair like that, ladies)? Where money isn't necessary for anything, because everything your heart desires is free of cost? Where people are measured based on their merits and character, and rewarded on such scales?
I know I do, like every hour or so. But that kind of shit only exists in Disney and Pixar flicks, which I realize. Just sucks. I look out of windows at times, and my vision of a utopia never changes:
-- financial headaches and concerns would be non-existent; rather, everybody would be on an even playing field, making each and all of us "wealthy," in whatever way we desire to feel as such
-- members of the opposite sex would use some of that brain-power generating within their pretty little skulls and see me as a great catch, and would fight over me. They'd realize that I'd treat them better than any other guy, that I'd make them laugh, that I'd be the best listener they've ever been around, and that I wouldn't sleep a wink until I knew they were content, regardless of what it is (romantic satisfaction, comfort, safety, blah blah blah)
-- whatever job it is that I hold, I'd be compensated in the way that I deserve. The dedication and unbreakable reliability I exude in the workplace would pay off in an agreeable salary, and my co-workers with power to make changes would realize my value and fight for my situation, not wanting to see me being mistreated and basically disrespected
-- Lil Wayne's music would never be heard ever, ever, ever again
-- publicists, particularly those working with music artist clients, would be ridden of their powers, and would undertake some other profession that doesn't require them to piss Matt Barone off to no end, on a daily basis
-- Zoey, my 12-year-old German Shepherd and bestest pal, would be immortal. She'd never experience hip problems, her hearing would forever remain as sharp as a tack. She'd be riding shotgun with me until my final day
-- I'd hang out with Gianna and Nicholas at least once a day, not this once a week bullshit. And on the days that people knew I'd be coming home to see them, they wouldn't be whisked out of my parent's house 47 seconds before I arrive, to go for "family walks," whatever the fuck those are
-- I'd be 100% happy with everything
Imagine that.
I know I do, like every hour or so. But that kind of shit only exists in Disney and Pixar flicks, which I realize. Just sucks. I look out of windows at times, and my vision of a utopia never changes:
-- financial headaches and concerns would be non-existent; rather, everybody would be on an even playing field, making each and all of us "wealthy," in whatever way we desire to feel as such
-- members of the opposite sex would use some of that brain-power generating within their pretty little skulls and see me as a great catch, and would fight over me. They'd realize that I'd treat them better than any other guy, that I'd make them laugh, that I'd be the best listener they've ever been around, and that I wouldn't sleep a wink until I knew they were content, regardless of what it is (romantic satisfaction, comfort, safety, blah blah blah)
-- whatever job it is that I hold, I'd be compensated in the way that I deserve. The dedication and unbreakable reliability I exude in the workplace would pay off in an agreeable salary, and my co-workers with power to make changes would realize my value and fight for my situation, not wanting to see me being mistreated and basically disrespected
-- Lil Wayne's music would never be heard ever, ever, ever again
-- publicists, particularly those working with music artist clients, would be ridden of their powers, and would undertake some other profession that doesn't require them to piss Matt Barone off to no end, on a daily basis
-- Zoey, my 12-year-old German Shepherd and bestest pal, would be immortal. She'd never experience hip problems, her hearing would forever remain as sharp as a tack. She'd be riding shotgun with me until my final day
-- I'd hang out with Gianna and Nicholas at least once a day, not this once a week bullshit. And on the days that people knew I'd be coming home to see them, they wouldn't be whisked out of my parent's house 47 seconds before I arrive, to go for "family walks," whatever the fuck those are
-- I'd be 100% happy with everything
Imagine that.
Sign Me Up!!!
my inner 15-year-old perv has just been reawakened, thanks to this teaser trailer for BITCH SLAP, which will surely be one of those movies that dies a quick death in cinemas, only to gain a gradual cult following....or, it'll just disappear into cinematic oblivion faster than MEET DAVE.
It basically looks like CHARLIES ANGELS, as written by Quentin Tarantino for his GRINDHOUSE fetish, only with way-hotter women and amplified sleaze. And if that description isn't instant "Matt Barone will be purchasing a ticket for this" distinction, I really couldn't tell you what is. Feast your eyes on this smokin'-hot underdog:
These bitches could slap me any day of the week....and I totally don't mean "bitches" in the derogatory sense. I'm no pig.
It basically looks like CHARLIES ANGELS, as written by Quentin Tarantino for his GRINDHOUSE fetish, only with way-hotter women and amplified sleaze. And if that description isn't instant "Matt Barone will be purchasing a ticket for this" distinction, I really couldn't tell you what is. Feast your eyes on this smokin'-hot underdog:
These bitches could slap me any day of the week....and I totally don't mean "bitches" in the derogatory sense. I'm no pig.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Dating Schmating
I had a sudden realization about 20 minutes ago....if it'd be socially and emotionally acceptable to be single forever, I'd gladly do it. Skip all of the bullshit and gaming that dating brings; never again sit up at night wondering when I'm going to meet "the one"; randomly hook up and never have to guesstimate when the last time we'll ever talk will be (two days from now? two weeks from now? two minutes, perhaps?). It's just that, the damn normalcy of starting a family/getting married/having kids/settling down keeps getting in the way of what could be a totally pleasant existence. One where it's just me, myself, and I ultimately, aside from my great family and friends. I'm talking romantically, emotionally here.
I went out for drinks tonight, and it was a nice time. But still, watching couples mingle, and watching guys trying to pick up women, none of it interested me in the least tonight., In fact, it all sickened me to a degree. It's such a waste of time....I'd much rather just have some drinks and not worry about "yo man, go talk to that girl," or, "we gotta hook up tonight." That never leads to anything more than one more number in my cell phonebook that I'm never going to call, and will surely delete in the months to come after I ask myself, "who the hell is Michelle?"
I see my niece and nephew, and dream of the day when I'll have rugrats of my own. But of course, to have said rugrats, it requires me finding her, and entrusting her with my heart and all that jazz. And with the luck I've had in my life, that's a scary thought. Will it ever happen? My resume doesn't bode well. There's the girl who strung me along for over two years trying to figure out racial issues, neglecting the fact that I was the best guy she'd ever talked to (her own words) over something I can't even control (me being a cracka-ass cracka); there's the girl who was too much of a chump to tell me flat out "you're not the one for me," and also strung me along for almost two years using "I hate long distance relationships" as her defense, only to ultimately start dating some dude with zero personality who, ironically enough, lives 30 minutes away from me, while she's across the country; there's the girl who likes flirt with me, knowing my I kinda like her, and telling me she kinda likes me too, but doesnt want anything serious right now, yet contradicts herself from time to time.
I could go on and on, really. There's some girls I've pretty much decided to cut all ties with, even though they may not even realize it. If they hit me on Myspace out of the blue some day, I'll reply with a simple comment of "kick rocks," for all their friends to see and speculate over. There are some girls (maybe only one or two, really), who I do care for but just don't know how to make it work, and don't want to cut ties with, even.
It's tough for me. Not many girls my age or any age, for that matter, want to sit around and talk about Watchmen while watching Inside, after agreeing excitedly to be my guest to a midnight screening of Mirrors on a Saturday night, an evening when they could be otherwise drinking and partying with others. Maybe the girl who'd enjoy these things is out there. I sure hope she is. But until I find her, I've decided to not give a fuck about having not found her yet.
If not for any other huge reason, I really want for Gianna and Nicholas to have some first cousins to play with and grow old with, and the only way for that to happen is for me to settle down. Question is, when in God's name will that happen? Why can't I find the one? Does she even exist? Why can't one of these random drunken hook-ups turn out to be something more? Why can't I just meet a cool girl while sober and not have to socialize in an alcoholic setting?
Because really, I'm such a walking contradiction. I love going to the movies once a week by myself, but I'd be lying if I didnt say that having the same female partner sitting next to me, eating Twizzlers and sippin' on $5 flat soda wouldn't make the moviegoing experience much sweeter. Plus, I have some weddings to attend in the not-too-distant future, and I'd love to have a date to bring that was a true date, not just a friend or acquaintance who loves weddings. The middle component of a 'homie lover friend.' I have too many female homies and friends. Now it's time to find that lover. What a damn contradiction I am. I wouldn't have it any other way. The act of daily self-discovery is what ultimately drives me. The time when I think, 'I just totally figured myself out" will be a day that I'll forever refer to afterward as Doomsday.
I went out for drinks tonight, and it was a nice time. But still, watching couples mingle, and watching guys trying to pick up women, none of it interested me in the least tonight., In fact, it all sickened me to a degree. It's such a waste of time....I'd much rather just have some drinks and not worry about "yo man, go talk to that girl," or, "we gotta hook up tonight." That never leads to anything more than one more number in my cell phonebook that I'm never going to call, and will surely delete in the months to come after I ask myself, "who the hell is Michelle?"
I see my niece and nephew, and dream of the day when I'll have rugrats of my own. But of course, to have said rugrats, it requires me finding her, and entrusting her with my heart and all that jazz. And with the luck I've had in my life, that's a scary thought. Will it ever happen? My resume doesn't bode well. There's the girl who strung me along for over two years trying to figure out racial issues, neglecting the fact that I was the best guy she'd ever talked to (her own words) over something I can't even control (me being a cracka-ass cracka); there's the girl who was too much of a chump to tell me flat out "you're not the one for me," and also strung me along for almost two years using "I hate long distance relationships" as her defense, only to ultimately start dating some dude with zero personality who, ironically enough, lives 30 minutes away from me, while she's across the country; there's the girl who likes flirt with me, knowing my I kinda like her, and telling me she kinda likes me too, but doesnt want anything serious right now, yet contradicts herself from time to time.
I could go on and on, really. There's some girls I've pretty much decided to cut all ties with, even though they may not even realize it. If they hit me on Myspace out of the blue some day, I'll reply with a simple comment of "kick rocks," for all their friends to see and speculate over. There are some girls (maybe only one or two, really), who I do care for but just don't know how to make it work, and don't want to cut ties with, even.
It's tough for me. Not many girls my age or any age, for that matter, want to sit around and talk about Watchmen while watching Inside, after agreeing excitedly to be my guest to a midnight screening of Mirrors on a Saturday night, an evening when they could be otherwise drinking and partying with others. Maybe the girl who'd enjoy these things is out there. I sure hope she is. But until I find her, I've decided to not give a fuck about having not found her yet.
If not for any other huge reason, I really want for Gianna and Nicholas to have some first cousins to play with and grow old with, and the only way for that to happen is for me to settle down. Question is, when in God's name will that happen? Why can't I find the one? Does she even exist? Why can't one of these random drunken hook-ups turn out to be something more? Why can't I just meet a cool girl while sober and not have to socialize in an alcoholic setting?
Because really, I'm such a walking contradiction. I love going to the movies once a week by myself, but I'd be lying if I didnt say that having the same female partner sitting next to me, eating Twizzlers and sippin' on $5 flat soda wouldn't make the moviegoing experience much sweeter. Plus, I have some weddings to attend in the not-too-distant future, and I'd love to have a date to bring that was a true date, not just a friend or acquaintance who loves weddings. The middle component of a 'homie lover friend.' I have too many female homies and friends. Now it's time to find that lover. What a damn contradiction I am. I wouldn't have it any other way. The act of daily self-discovery is what ultimately drives me. The time when I think, 'I just totally figured myself out" will be a day that I'll forever refer to afterward as Doomsday.
"Smelllll Ittt!"
Just got back from seeing Pineapple Express for the second time, my first time being a couple months back at an early press screening. After that initial viewing, I was raving about it like crazy, telling all my friends that's damn funny and my favorite of all these Apatow flicks. After just seeing it again, I don't know if it'll ultimately be my "favorite," but I still love it in all of its sublime weirdness.
Problem is, I'm not sure what all of those people I've raved about it to will agree once they see it. On a second go-round, I've realized just how off-putting it truly is. Here's a comedy from the dudes behind such undeniably great comedies like The 40 Year Old Virgin, Superbad, and Knocked Up shaking their successful cage. It's hard to truly explain the bizarre feeling I have while watching Pineapple....it's like, I'm never laughing out loud, but I'm consistently pleased and entertained.
I do think, though, that if you've never been high before, the performances---especially that of James Franco, who is frikkin' spot-on here---may not strike you hilariously genuine as they did me. And in terms of tone and aura, I'd put this one in the same "I'm so confused but I really like it" category as Napoleon Dynamite. Random shit happens, and you're unsure why, but you can't help but laugh. Like when Craig Robinson's hired gun "Matheson" suddenly dips his hands into bowls of green beans and mashed taters, or when Franco and Seth Rogen innocently, and high-off-mary-jane-ly, play a good ol' fashioned game of Leapfrog in the woods. And then there's the whole exchange between Franco, Rogen, and the twisted Danny McBride, in McBride's 'Red's" kitchen. None of it really serves any purpose; it just floats around, never sticking to the central plot (two stoners on the run from drug dealers), yet never failing to feel right at home, thanks to the bewildering mood captured by director David Gordon Green.
So I'm curious as to how many of my friends and associates will love this flick as much as I do. If they hate it and curse me off, I'll actually understand why---it'll definitely polarize people. I doubt it'll be hailed as a non-stop laughfest like Superbad was, or unite both men and women in praise a la Knocked Up. And anybody who says "You have to be stoned to fully appreciate it" is fuckin' retarded. That's hogwash. Bottom line: you'll either submit to the subversive proceedings and have a good time, or you'll constantly be waiting for that one LOL moment that may not come. Fuck a LOL; Pineapple is more about great performances, extremely quirky characters, and talents just having a good time making a lighthearted action comedy. And that's fine in my book.
One small gripe that I can't help but condemn: during the last 20 minutes or so, Pineapple derails slightly with an onslaught of over-the-top violence. I'm all about blending comedy with gunplay, but how it's executed here doesn't quite gel the way it should. You're never completely sold on the action, and it's not as thrilling as it should be. Green and company should've studied the final portion of Hot Fuzz; now, that movie absolutely nailed excessive violence marrying cleverly-written chuckles.
Oh, and to elaborate on Danny McBride....dude is goddamn funny. I'm officially jumping on the "McBride is the next big comedy star" bandwagon. His small but effective role in Tropic Thunder kills, he was utterly brilliant in his stubborn assholeness in the underrated The Foot Fist Way, and he steals every scene he's in here in the Express. The line "You just got killed by a Daewoo Lanos, motherfucker!" will go down in my history books as one of the funniest movie lines I've ever heard. You'll understand once you see it in the scene's context.
Check McBride, in full-on "Fred Simmons" character (his character in aforementioned Foot Fist Way) on an old ep of Conan. Watch how hard Will Ferrell is trying to hold in his laughter. You can't beat this right here:
Problem is, I'm not sure what all of those people I've raved about it to will agree once they see it. On a second go-round, I've realized just how off-putting it truly is. Here's a comedy from the dudes behind such undeniably great comedies like The 40 Year Old Virgin, Superbad, and Knocked Up shaking their successful cage. It's hard to truly explain the bizarre feeling I have while watching Pineapple....it's like, I'm never laughing out loud, but I'm consistently pleased and entertained.
I do think, though, that if you've never been high before, the performances---especially that of James Franco, who is frikkin' spot-on here---may not strike you hilariously genuine as they did me. And in terms of tone and aura, I'd put this one in the same "I'm so confused but I really like it" category as Napoleon Dynamite. Random shit happens, and you're unsure why, but you can't help but laugh. Like when Craig Robinson's hired gun "Matheson" suddenly dips his hands into bowls of green beans and mashed taters, or when Franco and Seth Rogen innocently, and high-off-mary-jane-ly, play a good ol' fashioned game of Leapfrog in the woods. And then there's the whole exchange between Franco, Rogen, and the twisted Danny McBride, in McBride's 'Red's" kitchen. None of it really serves any purpose; it just floats around, never sticking to the central plot (two stoners on the run from drug dealers), yet never failing to feel right at home, thanks to the bewildering mood captured by director David Gordon Green.
So I'm curious as to how many of my friends and associates will love this flick as much as I do. If they hate it and curse me off, I'll actually understand why---it'll definitely polarize people. I doubt it'll be hailed as a non-stop laughfest like Superbad was, or unite both men and women in praise a la Knocked Up. And anybody who says "You have to be stoned to fully appreciate it" is fuckin' retarded. That's hogwash. Bottom line: you'll either submit to the subversive proceedings and have a good time, or you'll constantly be waiting for that one LOL moment that may not come. Fuck a LOL; Pineapple is more about great performances, extremely quirky characters, and talents just having a good time making a lighthearted action comedy. And that's fine in my book.
One small gripe that I can't help but condemn: during the last 20 minutes or so, Pineapple derails slightly with an onslaught of over-the-top violence. I'm all about blending comedy with gunplay, but how it's executed here doesn't quite gel the way it should. You're never completely sold on the action, and it's not as thrilling as it should be. Green and company should've studied the final portion of Hot Fuzz; now, that movie absolutely nailed excessive violence marrying cleverly-written chuckles.
Oh, and to elaborate on Danny McBride....dude is goddamn funny. I'm officially jumping on the "McBride is the next big comedy star" bandwagon. His small but effective role in Tropic Thunder kills, he was utterly brilliant in his stubborn assholeness in the underrated The Foot Fist Way, and he steals every scene he's in here in the Express. The line "You just got killed by a Daewoo Lanos, motherfucker!" will go down in my history books as one of the funniest movie lines I've ever heard. You'll understand once you see it in the scene's context.
Check McBride, in full-on "Fred Simmons" character (his character in aforementioned Foot Fist Way) on an old ep of Conan. Watch how hard Will Ferrell is trying to hold in his laughter. You can't beat this right here:
See more funny videos at Funny or Die
The dark side of Italy
from the almighty Bloody-Disgusting.com:
"Update: This story has been CONFIRMED as true! We heard some interesting rumblings this afternoon that we are trying desperately to confirm. What we've been told - and should be taken strictly as rumor - is that Handsome Charlie Films, which is headed by Natalie Portman (pictured inside) and Annette Savitch, will be producing the remake of Dario Argento's Suspiria. In addition, word has it Portman will topline the film that David Gordon Green is attached to direct. Green's PINEAPPLE EXPRESS hits theaters tomorrow. Remember that this is RUMOR until confirmed."
You may or may not know, but I fuckin' adore the original SUSPIRIA, by the Italian horror god Dario Argento. I saw it on cable back in like freshman year of high school, and it totally freaked me out. In the wake of that initial viewing, it's become one of my fave genre flicks ever. The music used in is quite possibly my all-time favorite score in any movie, like, ever (created by the group Goblin....job well done, you weirdly-named rockers), and the gore scenes are shot with such virtuoso style and grandeur, they're almost things of beauty (well, as beautiful as a chick falling through a giant glass chandelier only to be hung by a chord, after a close-up shot of her beating heart being jabbed with a knife, can really be, of course).
I generally hate the idea of horror remakes, but this one is pretty intriguing to me.....first, David Gordon Green, an on-the-rise filmmaker I'm really digging (especially after seeing PINEAPPLE EXPRESS, which I'll be writing about later tonight after I see it for my 2nd time) is behind it, and I'm super curious to see what he can with horror. And now Natalie Portman is looking like it's heroine, and if you've seen the original, you'd surely agree that she's pretty much the best casting choice around. She's a pretty great actress, and one with definite credibility. It's off to a good start.....
[original SUSPIRIA's trailer....since I'm assuming nobody else has seen it who'll check out my blog. This is a pretty cheesy trailer, but it's all I could find, but do trust, it does the actual movie very little justice]
"Update: This story has been CONFIRMED as true! We heard some interesting rumblings this afternoon that we are trying desperately to confirm. What we've been told - and should be taken strictly as rumor - is that Handsome Charlie Films, which is headed by Natalie Portman (pictured inside) and Annette Savitch, will be producing the remake of Dario Argento's Suspiria. In addition, word has it Portman will topline the film that David Gordon Green is attached to direct. Green's PINEAPPLE EXPRESS hits theaters tomorrow. Remember that this is RUMOR until confirmed."
You may or may not know, but I fuckin' adore the original SUSPIRIA, by the Italian horror god Dario Argento. I saw it on cable back in like freshman year of high school, and it totally freaked me out. In the wake of that initial viewing, it's become one of my fave genre flicks ever. The music used in is quite possibly my all-time favorite score in any movie, like, ever (created by the group Goblin....job well done, you weirdly-named rockers), and the gore scenes are shot with such virtuoso style and grandeur, they're almost things of beauty (well, as beautiful as a chick falling through a giant glass chandelier only to be hung by a chord, after a close-up shot of her beating heart being jabbed with a knife, can really be, of course).
I generally hate the idea of horror remakes, but this one is pretty intriguing to me.....first, David Gordon Green, an on-the-rise filmmaker I'm really digging (especially after seeing PINEAPPLE EXPRESS, which I'll be writing about later tonight after I see it for my 2nd time) is behind it, and I'm super curious to see what he can with horror. And now Natalie Portman is looking like it's heroine, and if you've seen the original, you'd surely agree that she's pretty much the best casting choice around. She's a pretty great actress, and one with definite credibility. It's off to a good start.....
[original SUSPIRIA's trailer....since I'm assuming nobody else has seen it who'll check out my blog. This is a pretty cheesy trailer, but it's all I could find, but do trust, it does the actual movie very little justice]
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Sesame Streetsweeper
than you, New York magazine.....this lip-synching is so close, it's damn scary. All I'm saying is, don't dare walk down Sesame Street alone at night. Full time jack moves.....
Monday, August 4, 2008
Black Hole, son
Just finished the graphic novel that you see above. Basically read it within a two-hour clip, and this bitch is 368 pages, so you know it was a damn good read. I'm slowly but surely becoming a total geek for these graphic novels, which---for those not in the know---are comic books but extended into novel length, more often than not a compilation of a long-running comic strip series packed into one extensive solid read. It's like reading books, but not really. You're reading a full-on story, but it's constantly illustrated and typically of the fantasy nature. Whatever. Explanations are meaningless here. I'm loving them and I'll be buying some more tomorrow on my lunch break.
But this particular one, Black Hole, is quite heavy, though. Super existential. Trippy as a mug. But fucking brilliant and one that I'll surely re-read for some time to come. I'd compare its lasting effects to movies like Memento or Mulholland Drive; not in the "what the fuck was that all about?" of Mulholland necessarily, but more so in the way it doesn't leave your thoughts. I'm still analyzing certain moments and working the whole story out in my head, and I finished the thing like five hours ago.
Plot wise, think the 70s stoner classic Dazed & Confused, only done by David Cronenberg and drained of nearly all humor, with laughs replaced by extreme melancholy, macabre, and horror, but rather than a masked murderer, the horror of this teenage nightmare is angst, alienation, and feeling like an outcast in high school's social order. It takes place in the '70s, in Seattle. There's a mysterious sexually-transmitted disease known as "the bug" that is spreading throughout this particular teenage circle. Rather than depleted health and a flu-like symtpoms, though, the effects are physical deformities, such as a tail or a mini-mouth found on a dude's neck that utters his inner-most thoughts (yeah, sick shit is afoot). But for those unlikely to hide their changes, too deformed and grotesque to blend in, they've all congregrated to "The Pit," a secluded area deep in the woods where they've formed their own leper-ish society. But then some of the truly-hideous sick start succumbing to murder at the hands of an unknown assailant, and this is where shit really hits the fan and crosses over into this insane dreamland-meets-reality world.
It's told through the perspective of two protagonists, one guy and one girl. Both storylines are well-plotted. But I'll stop rambling about the plot, because odds are that most of those who actually read this won't ever read it, which would be a shame, because it's unlike anything else you'll ever immerse yourself in. Charles Burns, both its author and illustrator, is somebody I need to do my homework on now. His artwork here is so detailed, so intricate, and so great at exuding dread and sadness that there were times when I'd stop reading the actual story and get lost in the illos. It took Burns over 10 years to create this, and after reading, I'm surprised it didn't take him 20. It's no joke.
[some examples of the artwork and storyboard....]
[this is how all of the chapters are introduced, with a left black page and right illoed one; notice the similarities in the structures of both. That's how it is for every chapter breaker]
There's been talk for years about a movie adaptation, and honestly, its news that makes me super-nervous. This is some truly unique shit, and I'm not sure if anybody other than Burns can properly execute it again. But on the other hand, the almighty David Fincher (Seven, Fight Club, Zodiac....all great pieces of cinema) is attached, so all hope isn't lost. And if Zack Snyder seems to be able to actually translate Watchmen into a convincing motion picture (jury's still out until March 09, of course, but all the pics and that trailer are doing a great job thus far of proving haters wrong), then the impossible would become possible.
Now, on to Wanted, the graph novel that the Angie Jolie flick was based on. Much diff than the movie, I hear, so I'm pretty stoked. Or, I could just start reading Black Hole over again. Ahhh, decisions, decisions....
my kind of bitch
I fuckin' love this handpuppet/dog.....his report from last week's nerd-fanboy festival (which I wish I was at, so badly) Comic-Con. Enjoy, nerds:
Corona Light, Done Right/ Babywatch
a couple things still fresh on my mind from this past weekend down in Wildwood, NJ:
1) I may have a new favorite cerveza to sip on....now, Corona is my definite shit, not that watered down bellywash known as Corona Light, though. The OG 'cerveza mas fina,' I'm referring to here. Otherwise, Heineken Lights always hit the spot.....well, looks like Heiny Lights are falling back for a new kid on the bar, Bud Light Lime....my cousin's fiance put me on to these last night, and boy are they satisfying. I'm surely snagging a sixer this weekend. I advise you all partake, as well....
2) So I'm strolling down the boardwalk yesterday afternoon, sweating my ass off in the 90-plus-degree heat. Aimlessly walking from arcade to arcade, trying to win either a Wonder Pets or a Dora The Explorer stuffed animal for Baby G, though the cranes in this grabby machines grab terribly. Couldn't lift a feather. Wasting my hard-earned $0.50 per try, pissing me off royally (all I've come home with is a Baby Betty Boop doll, a stuffed pig, and some weird worm thing in a flower bed. weird). But as I'm heading toward Arcade Numero Cuatro, I happen across a girl, couldn't have been 16 years old, but maybe I'm shy a couple calendars here. At least I hope so, because this girl was extremely preggers. Belly sticking out immensely, fetus ready to come bursting out at any moment.
But what grossed me out here was this's soon-to-be-mother's choice of garb: a barely-there two-piece teeny bikini. Dang. Belly fully exposed, yet she's strutting her shit around the b-walk like she's heading to a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue photo shoot. Am I the only one who thinks very-pregnant women shouldn't be seen in two-piece bikinis out in public? I mean, a shirt covering one works, but not being worn in the "I'm so sexy, this should be my Myspace default pic" sense. Am i wrong here? Clearly, I've never been preggers, so I don't know the mindset it takes. Is this insensitive, like, women should be able to wear a bikini and not bake in the sun even when bearing seed(s)? Let me know, because I was rather disturbed by it. And I almost gagged on my delish Polish Water Ice (man, that shit is cracktastic).
1) I may have a new favorite cerveza to sip on....now, Corona is my definite shit, not that watered down bellywash known as Corona Light, though. The OG 'cerveza mas fina,' I'm referring to here. Otherwise, Heineken Lights always hit the spot.....well, looks like Heiny Lights are falling back for a new kid on the bar, Bud Light Lime....my cousin's fiance put me on to these last night, and boy are they satisfying. I'm surely snagging a sixer this weekend. I advise you all partake, as well....
2) So I'm strolling down the boardwalk yesterday afternoon, sweating my ass off in the 90-plus-degree heat. Aimlessly walking from arcade to arcade, trying to win either a Wonder Pets or a Dora The Explorer stuffed animal for Baby G, though the cranes in this grabby machines grab terribly. Couldn't lift a feather. Wasting my hard-earned $0.50 per try, pissing me off royally (all I've come home with is a Baby Betty Boop doll, a stuffed pig, and some weird worm thing in a flower bed. weird). But as I'm heading toward Arcade Numero Cuatro, I happen across a girl, couldn't have been 16 years old, but maybe I'm shy a couple calendars here. At least I hope so, because this girl was extremely preggers. Belly sticking out immensely, fetus ready to come bursting out at any moment.
But what grossed me out here was this's soon-to-be-mother's choice of garb: a barely-there two-piece teeny bikini. Dang. Belly fully exposed, yet she's strutting her shit around the b-walk like she's heading to a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue photo shoot. Am I the only one who thinks very-pregnant women shouldn't be seen in two-piece bikinis out in public? I mean, a shirt covering one works, but not being worn in the "I'm so sexy, this should be my Myspace default pic" sense. Am i wrong here? Clearly, I've never been preggers, so I don't know the mindset it takes. Is this insensitive, like, women should be able to wear a bikini and not bake in the sun even when bearing seed(s)? Let me know, because I was rather disturbed by it. And I almost gagged on my delish Polish Water Ice (man, that shit is cracktastic).
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