.......put this on the air, immediately. I'd be one happy camper.
Behold, The Zombies That Ate The World:
"Stupid filthy zombie!"
.....I'd say HBO would be another good "step your programming game up" option, but then, I don't want to do anything that could possibly jeopardize my dude Tim and his Life & Times. So, Cartoon Network it remains.
Because without Tim and his friends, we'd be without genius nuggets such as, "Don't make me use these flesh-colored handcuffs!" Or, "Why does he have a whistle? Is he a baby lifeguard or something?"
Peter Rosenberg (from Hot 97) Presents: Noisemakers......DJ Premier.
Sort of like the great Inside the Actors Studio, but with a better soundtrack. DJ Premier = best producer ever, end of debate.
Here's a sample. Why can't Premier produce entire albums anymore? I'd kill a litter of kittens to hear something along the lines of Group Home's first album, or either of the first two Jeru albums today.
No wonder this country is full of so many obese people....its fucking expensive to eat healthy.
And, I wonder, why is this so? This morning, all I wanted was to sip on some nice, cold, refreshing cow juice, and being the health conscious dude I (unfortunately for my taste buds) am, I opted for a delish bottle of vanilla Silk, or soy milk for those who don't pay attention to catchy brand names. Grabbed one, feeling pretty good about myself for moving my sticky fingers past the Nesquik 'Vanilla Shake' option and going for the organic white stuff. Waltz up to the register, proud. Hand over my smart-guy choice. And the lady who'll in mere seconds bend me over, says: "That'll be $3.00 sir."
Three fucking dollars for a bottle milk the size that's smaller than a 20 oz. bottle of soda?! Are you fucking kidding me? Stunned and angered, I ask, "Well, how much would the Nesquik have been, then? Just curious." "That'd be $2.00, sir."
Yes, the fat-filled, chunky-monkey-special Nesqui is less money than a healthy serving of soy milk. I bought the damn soy milk, of course, but still walked to work feeling like my was sore from a raping. First class, grade-A sodomy at the hands of corporate red, white, and blue. As I sat by my desk, sipping on my overpriced drank, I started thinking---You know what? Come to think of it, any time I choose the 'health food diet items' when I order Chinese takeout, the meals are at least $3 more than the fried, carb-centric regular options, huh?
So I present this question: why? Why aren't companies forced to encourage health, rather than discourage through higher prices. Especially in this current economic hell ride. Just look at the Mickey D's dollar menu, for instance. You can leave having only spent four beans and have a full-on platter, but one that's a fast-track to poor health. Order one of their shitty salads, though, and you're dropping a good six bills, minimum. Fuck is that about?
I've heard that old bullshit about "oh, but steaming food is more work, and cost more money" or some dreck. "Organic products are pricier to stock," or some nonsensical jargon. Such logic and $0.25 will get me a gumball, and nothing more.
I want to be healthy, so why should I have to pay more in the process? Isn't "being healthy" important in the grand scheme? Apparently not, because the only thing that's losing weight steadily seems to be my f'n wallet.
This website Videogum has whipped up a pretty nifty clip: a retrospective of the year's greatest, funniest, most uncomfortably-awesome viral video hits. Some gems found within:
Post-viewing observations: -- Who knew Bert and Ernie could yap that fool so convincingly? -- My life would've been so much better had I not just seen some morbidly-fat-ass slob doing the "Single Ladies" dance. -- I'm still a fan of Tom Cruise "the actor" (holding strong, here's to Valkyrie not blowing); yet, I can't help but love watching him lose his marbles. -- That jerkoff Bill O'Reilly spontaneously spazzing = me spontaneously spitting up my Diet A&W Cream Soda on the comp screen
I'm still on the fence as to whether I'm really excited or pessimistic about this one, The Unborn. That trailer surprisingly impressed me, but then I realize that its being dumped into the January release sess-pool and it does have mucho potential to be like every other PG-13 American-made piece-of-shit horror flick out there. But then again, the great Gary Oldman is in it, and even when he's slumming I'd think he could elevate a picture. Plus, the director/writer, David S. Goyer, co-wrote The Dark Knight, and that's one head-crusher of a script that will never cease to amaze me.
And then there's its lead, the divine Odette Yustman, a newcomer I've been feenin' for since Cloverfield (I actually met her at a Cloverfield press junket, too, and she was even prettier in person, and extremely friendly to boot....I was in love). She's like some Weird Science experiment that combined the best attributes of Megan Fox, Jessica Alba, and Jennifer Connelly.
And now there's this new international poster, which, um, yeah. I'm a fan of. Guess why:
Damn wack-ass Blogspot server and its lean bordering limitations!
She's quite the problem.
**UPDATE: Thank the lucky stars for Film Drunk and its wonderful thumbnail prowess. Here's the full-on, Blogspot-cockblocking-free goods, only smaller (me beggar, no chooser):
There's a three-way slugfest going on in my cabeza right now....a no-holds barred, all-parties-equally-qualified bout to see which film will emerge as my personal Best Movie of 2008. The contenders: Slumdog Millionaire, The Dark Knight, and, now, Revolutionary Road.
Just got back from the third, and man, what a knockout of emotions. Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet, reuniting for the first time since Titanic and both giving arguably the best performances of their respective careers. In a film that demands nothing but their most intense, draining, and verbal-head-butting chops. It's pretty late, so I'm saving the too-wordy reactions for a later date. But I'm still feeling compelled to say somethings about the damn-good Revolutionary Road.
First off, I must divulge: I was expecting this one to disappoint. Sure, the pedigree was all present (Dicaprio, Winslet, and Winslet's husband/talented director Sam Mendes, back in his familiar American Beauty territory of suburban strife here), but there's been one glaring elephant-in-the-space, and that's just how much I love(d) the Richard Yates novel this film is based on, and pretty much remains more-than-faithful to throughout. I honestly can't recall the last book-to-film adaptation where the movie version trumped the tome, and I was skeptical that this one could buck that trend.
The verdict: it didn't buck the trend, but not for lack of superiority or tried and true efforts. It's just that, the Yates text is so layered with inner dialogues and slow, revelatory character kinks and back-flushing that it'd be creatively impossible to transfer every last narrative morsel to the big screen. So what Mendes has ultimately done here is quite admirable, in that sense. I really missed certain elements (why aren't the Wheelers' kids more visible and utilized in the film, as they are in the book?....Why doesn't the film show the aftermath of Frank's affair with the young, naive secretary at his office, like Yates so wonderfully did?). Nitpicks, though, because the film held me captive and floored me in ways that rivaled the book at times, and left me reeled in the end.
Namely because of the performances from Dicaprio and Winslet, like I hinted at above. The scenes where they (as a married suburban couple in 1955-era Connecticut, who live ideal lives but both secretly strive for better things, bigger dreams, and their longing for true happiness is what inevitably crumbles their world) go toe-to-toe are some of the most riveting I've seen this year, if not even before January '08. Particularly the moment when their mounting-insanities and off-the-rocker anger tip the scales past the points of zero return. Dicaprio plays it with a real "tried to keep calm, but now I'm exploding," while Winslet is pure "bubbling anxiety and discontent, imploding into a quiet storm."
A rare genuinely-happy moment for Frank and April Wheeler.
And then there's the brief but two-scene-stealing work from Michael Shannon, as a mental patient son of the Wheelers' realtor who isn't fooled by their false happiness, and repeatedly calls their true colors out to shine. Shannon wowed me in the little-seen but much-slept-on Bug, and here he gives a ticking timebomb turn that reminded me of Heath Ledger's Joker in ways. I wish his character had more screen time here; its one trait from the book I would've encouraged Mendes to elaborate on, the presense of Shannon's "John" into a bigger role. But, still all good.
Michael Shannon....could be the best in the game at playing "subtle craziness."
Revolutionary Road is a real downer, but the reason it devastates more than 99% of horror films and disturbs more than any pristine psychological thrill ride is because its scares, shocks, eye-grabbing drama, and bleak sadness come from relatable, everyday-people places. What married couple doesn't go through their moments of "Why did I marry this person?" "I wish I could change everything, restart my life and be happier." The uphill climb for true inner peace is something that very few successfully complete, very few conclude by having reached their highest goals/dreams. And watching those aspirations disintegrate as a result of the casual, misjudged choices somebody has made, is tough stuff.
And that's what the story of Revolutionary Road represents to me, and I'm glad to say that this film spin is a triumph. Its a testament to what Mendes and crew have done here to say that, when the moments from the book that put me through the heaviest ringers popped up in the film, I was just as enamored watching as I once was reading. That's really sayin' somethin'.
This, Steven Soderbergh's Che, opens Friday, in extremely-limited release at the wonderful IFC Films theater, downtown Big Apple. I'd really like to offer some concrete opinion on the film, but honestly, it baffled the hell out of me when I saw it over a month ago. It's two separate 2-hour movies (shown back-to-back, with a brief take-a-piss-now intermission sandwiched between), covering specific episodes of Ernesto "Che" Guevara's life.
See, I went in expecting a straightforward biopic (stupid, momentarily-close-minded me), but what I got was sort of an anti-biopic in ways. Rather than fully form the infamous revolutionary's life (and explain to hipster wannabes wearing his face on their trendy T-shirts who exactly they're supporting, and what made him such a polarizing yet in-ways inspirational figure), Che sticks to three periods: the Cuban revolution he helped spearhead alongside Fidel Castro; a trip he took to the United Nations in 1964 (both this and the Cuba portion are found in the first half, The Argentine); and his tragic failure to duplicate a Cuba-like uprising in Bolivia (which takes the whole of the second half, Guerrilla). Steven Soderbergh, director here (the Ocean's 11 flicks, Traffic, etc), acts as more of an observational documentarian who occasionally employs some top-notch technical tricks, but mostly watches with his camera as key events in Che's revolutionist career unfold.
Slow-paced, meticulous. Pretty brave, and not for attention-disorderlies. After seeing that first time a month ago, I left a whole-lot confused. Why don't I feel like I truly know what made Che tick now? or, Where was the backstory, the childhood that formed him, the love affairs? In fact, I'd decided that I didn't like the film. Felt more cheated than enlightened, empty than fulfilled....
...looking back, though, after some time filled with mulling-over and deliberation, I think I'm somewhat in awe of the film. Must find time to see it again, soon. Visually, its downright breathtaking in spots, and merely wonderful in others. And the sporadic action moments hit hard, for sure. Then, there's the powerhouse by Benicio Del Toro, who's on screen a good 97% of the time and never fails to command. I'd love to see him score an Oscar nomination, but the field is looking quite full this year, so my hunch says he'll get looked over. Let's hope not.
If nothing else, I'm recommending Che simply on the grounds of "you've never seen a biopic quite like this before." Its an arduous task, sure, but if you've ever possessed a history-buff urge, or the desire to watch master talents exercising their artistic freedom and lack of "but this isn't commercial" fears, its really something else.
Now, Mr. Del Toro.....bring on the cot-damn Wolfman! Wait, The Wolfman just got pushed back to November 2009, you say? Fuck a duck!
This dude is going to be the most awkward host on the tube. That much is obvious. And my spidey sense is giving off heavy "he'll totally suck at it" vibes, but we'll just have to wait and see. The one positive here, though, is that Conan O'Brien will be on an hour earlier, giving me an extra hour of sleep to work with, finally. Staying up 'til 1am just to watch my dude Conan takes its toll.
This weblog, vlog, whatever-the-fuck-people-call-these-things only proves just how annoying Jimmy Fallon is, and will surely be when he starts hosting Late Night, but there is one ray of hope here: this clip proves that he did, in fact, have the wise sense to hire The Roots as his in-house band. And that's certainly something to applaud:
***And Jay Leno in primetime now, huh? Just what primetime needs: another unfunny show. Have you watched The Chin's program in the last five years or so? Its like a retarded group of kindergarten students comprise his writing staff. Just a shame.
UPDATE: Just came across this, Conan's response from last night to this "Leno in primetime" ordeal, which pretty much sucks for our redheaded friend, stealing much thunder from his once-prestigious new Tonight Show gig. Here's why Conan is, and forever will remain, that dude:
That's right, you can't. Not saying this is something I should take pride in. Though I do. Tremendous amounts, at that.
Call it a fit of brilliant, depraved inspiration. Or merely sick time-killing. But whichever you choose, know that this is really just me collecting some truly kick-ass, iconic scenes. "Iconic" in my neverending theater of the mind, no mediocre-when-it-should've-been-great Ludacris old-news album. This site entry was motivated by a brief convo I had with a friend earlier, online, when she asked me, "Have you seen the original Friday the 13th? [M.B. Note: Come on, man. Are you seriously asking me that?] There's this sick scene where Kevin Bacon gets a spear jammed through this throat, but from up under the bed he's lying on. It's awesome!" My inner dialogue: "My friend, you ain't seen nothin' yet...."
So, rather than just simply watch these classic bits for my own enjoyment, I figure, why not share with those who are fortunate enough to check out my little mind-on-line, cyber joyride.
That all being mumbled and long-windedly said, I present: Truly Kick-Ass Movie Scenes from Some Real Horror Geek Fave Films, Thus Meaning I Like 'Em A-lllott (This is only Part One, with more certainly to come. Stay tuned).....
....from Lucio Fulci's Zombi (this is the textbook def of "prolonging the tension")
....how about something from The Burning, an obscure yet kinda wonderful '80s slasher knockoff; saw this on basic cable during my teen years, and left one helluvan imprint (this is quite possibly the most slasher-issued casualties in one quick-hitting scene, like ever)
...and, lastly for now, the opening off-ing from Suspiria, aka Dario Argento's EZ-Pass into my good-side
There's more where those came from. In due time. Like anybody will actually anticipate more, who am I kidding??
Less than three months (hopefully....get that legal biz str8 Warner Bros.!) left to read the graphic novel, sleepers. If you haven't already. Go buy it, right this second. It rocks harder like a magickist. Word to Wesley Willis.
UPDATE: HERE'S THE NOW-AVAILABLE, FULL, DOMESTIC TRAILER....I'M CONTINUALLY IMPRESSED:
McG (the director, previously known for those painful Charlie's Angels films....never mad at seeing some Lucy Lui, though, so they weren't altogether "painful," I guess) takes critical turds to the face like a shitty, failing cartoon comic does tomatoes, but this T:4 , or whatever it'll be referred to as, doesn't look bad at all. So far. The fact that Christian Bale signed on to it as a second franchise for his career must say something about the script's quality, and his faith in the McDirector. He seemed to trust Christopher Nolan with his other once-possible franchise, and we all know how awesome that's turned out.
Of course, Terminator Salvation will ultimately < to The Dark Knight. Let's not kid ourselves. But simply give me a gritty bit of popcorn-chomping fun, Sir McFilmmaker, and we'll be kosher.
Oh, and this chick is in the flick, too. And that's no bad thing: Moon Bloodgood.....cool name; smokin'-hot frame.
There was a time, many moons back, when Jennifer Lopez was untouchable, a freak of nature so sexy and stop-dead-in-my-tracks steamy that the mere thought of her could fill my grill with cheese-grin(s). During the period when she had just started her music career, and was dropping those hot-ass videos where she was none too bashful about her curvy goodness. I can't recall any of the song names at the moment because, frankly, I never liked the tunes themselves. Pure "on Mute" viewing. Seems like eons past now, though; I can't even recall the last time I saw her and felt a deja vu tingle.
'Til today, courtesy of the Curious Case of Benjamin Button premiere, no skeleton-man Marc Anthony on her arm, and a fits-just-right dress that accentuates her best talents. She's back, baby:
Chick should just put out a seductive calendar, honestly. Kiss the movies and music goodbye. Sort of like Cassie---acknowledge the fact that your bod is your saving grace, and take advantage. I mean, right?
Graphic novels based on the original scripts of some classic Twilight Zone episodes.....
Okay, so let's crunch the numbers here: I love reading graphic novels, so that's 10 cool points already. Then add in the amount of admiration and overall fanaticism I have for The Twilight Zone, creator Rod Serling, and his brilliant crew of storytellers (Richard Matheson and Charles Beaumont = narrative gods), and that's another 90 cool points. And then, for extra credit, they go and make one of their first two entries "The After Hours," which is one my top T-Zone eps ever (it scared the urine outta me as a wee lad, and made every subsequent department store visit a nerve-wracker).
Great googly fuckin' moogly! I'm one happy nerd, right now.
Here's to hoping "The Hitchhiker," "The Howling Man," "Five Characters in Search of an Exit," and "The Monsters are Due on Maple Street" are all on deck, amongst many others. Oh boy, oh boy!
Mario Bava's totally awesome Black Sabbath (1964) was on Monsters HD earlier, and I just had to watch. His bright, lavish colors; the tension that builds gradually and meticulously, like watching a game of Jenga in slow motion. I wish the majority of the music used wasn't such campy jazz, but no biggie. Still works. It took me some time to get into Bava's stuff, but once I did, I understood all of the fawning and accolades; the man was sick with it. Viva Italia!
This goes down as one of my favorite scenes, like ever. Black Sabbath is an anthology, meaning multiple tales in one film. The first is "Drop Of Water," with a bitch of a nurse whose crazy-old-lady patient dies. The elderly dame was known for her belief in and practicing of the occult, to boot. On her deathbed, the woman's precious ring is stolen by the nurse, who lives to regret it hours later. Here's the payback, in glorious Bava-shot wonder:
****I fucking love horror anthologies, by the way. Especially the ones from the '70s, courtesy of the British. Any one with Peter Cushing in a role = golden.
When will somebody make a new, actually-good one? I hear Trick R Treat is the answer, but who the hell knows when I'll get to see it. Geez, Hollywood is a bunch of pussies when it comes to horror, huh?
....recognize this flick for the amazing, underrated gemstone that it is:
Superior acting; stunning visuals (including that milky, hallucination-like camera distortion that's frequently used by director Andrew Dominik...and then, only singling it out 'cause its fresh on my mind, the whole train robbery setpiece, with the white masks glowing in the locomotive-lights moving through the darkness); long, involving narrative that lassoes you in and keeps tightening the noose; and sparse, haunting soundtrack throughout.
Gets better every time I watch. And I'm convinced that it's one of the most underrated, looked-over films in recent years.
Not saying this would be even remotely good, or justifiable in any even-minor sense. Just saying, I'll tune in with the utmost quickness, and pretend like I don't, a la when the show was originally on air and I was developing the viewing of it into my all-time most guilty of guilty pleasures. Which it still is, mind you. Good looks, Family Channel!
That play off of headline-words must've been too easy to resist. Can't blame 'em.
Yes, Full House is that televisial crack. True, indeed. And, after years of ridicule from my parents, brother, and friends-who-know-my-dark-secret, I'm no longer ashamed. I'm wearing my Tanner Family Fan pride, loud and clear. Now, I'm going to go and get me some outs-cream and a Mr. Woodchuck hand puppet. Pardon me.
"Whatever happened to, predictability? The milkman, the paperboy, even TV......." -- Sing it with me, now. Don't act like you don't know the words, muthafuckas.
1) Spotted at Empire Magazine's site: "LVK, as the film is known to its friends, sees the pair stumble into a rural Welsh village only to find the menfolk being slaughtered and the women being carted off and forced to join a sapphic society of undead temptresses."
Give this shameless project my precious time-of-day.....Sure, why not? --
2) For purely shallow, superficial reasons only (can't say her music does it for me, like at all), I've long loved this woman. Still do, too:
Think immature, dirty things while looking at her contortion here......Sure, why not? --
3) And, for bloody-obvious reasons:
Daydream about the greatest three-way ever.....Sure, why not?
I'm not going to sit here and lie, acting like I've personally, well rather "directly," been influenced by this man. He's a pillar to those who grew up alongside the horror genre, the lucky-as-hell folk who rode their bikes across statelines to catch midnight showings of Night of the Living Dead at drive-ins (oh, how I envy thee). But I certainly, undoubtedly, wholeheartedly respect the ever-holy shit out of Forrest J. Ackerman (1916-2008) and all that he did. I've seen those Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine covers throughout my entire horror-loving life, and have many times wished I could get my mitts on the entire catalog. Being part of the younger horror faithful, I wasn't even a fetal thought in my momma's eye when Ackerman was running things, but I surely sit here, wondering what it would've been like to do a profile on the man during his heyday. Or, simply read his creation in its regular print rotation.
He's also credited with coining the term "sci-fi," which is pretty monumental in and of itself, huh?
So, this is my R.I.P. to a man whose work has indirectly, second-and-even-third-handedly inspired and motivated yours truly.....Mr. Forrest J. Ackerman.
Has this dude Andy Samberg always been this funny? First, that brilliant Mark Wahlberg bit he did on SNL, then the Rahm Emanuel one. I go to see an early screening of this flick with Paul Rudd (my man-crush, I can admit it) and Jason Segel, I Love You, Man (highly recommend it, two laughs up), and Samberg is there, playing Rudd's gay brother, to humorous measure. And now this, which is apparently the first "single" from his comedy crew The Lonely Island. That means they're releasing an actual album? Interesting.
But this video/song right here, either way, album or not....pretty damn funny.
I knew that I should've watched Hot Rod when I had the chance. Rental time.
The Sunday itinerary: 1) completely recover from this shockingly-mild hangover, considering that its the post-game product of four lemondrop shots, four Jager-bombs, four Coronas, and two Long Island Iced Teas (go hard or go home, drunkards); 2) continue reading World War Z, and possibly the next installment of my Hack/Slash: Omnibus (I really have a thing for Cassie Hack, true story....now I get how those nerds can sweat Lara Croft so hardcore); and then, 3) watch this, courtesy of the 'Flix:
****UPDATE: This movie is/was utterly boring, mind-numbingly slow, and incredibly terrible. Thanks Netflix!! (Though, the whole "pissed-off bitch on a boat, fucking shit up" finale does have a certain peculiar hypnosis to it)....and who is this chick on the poster, exactly? Clearly not the girl in the actual movie; movie-girl is rail-thin and Casper-pale. I demand an explanation!
All I've ever seen of this is/was that "donkey punch"/rape scene. Back at a friend's frat house off the Syracuse campus, after I'd hotbox-ed with a couple pals. Stoned was the way of my walk, and the initial plan was to watch that modern-day classic Whiteboys, while baked like ziti. Thwarted was that agenda, though, due to some of the frat-guys bogarting the tube with the film that I'll shortly watch, today. A room full of Buzz Killingtons, that was. Fuckers.