It's about damn time, huh? Finally, after years of false release dates, widespread fanboy blue balls, bittersweet nostalgia, and a ever-growing support base, MTV's cult sketch comedy series The State is hitting shelves in DVD format on July 14. A five disc set bringing Louis and his gold balls, Barry and Levon, the Prodigal Toothbrush, and every other hilarious skit together, at last. This overlooked gem of a comedy show only aired for two years (1993-1995), but has slowly built a faithful legion of lovers over the course of 14 years. No easy feat there. .
The State's alumni members have gone on to quietly strongarm modern-day comedy: directing the films Wet Hot American Summer and Role Models (David Wain), creating and starring in Comedy Central's Reno 911! (Thomas Lennon, Ben Garant, and Kerri Kenney), writing Night at the Museum and its upcoming sequel (Lennon and Garant, again), starring in Starz' new hands-down winner of a show Party Down (Ken Marino), stealing every one of VH1's "I Love the Whichever Decade" specials (Michael Ian Black), and a slew of other accomplishments. Who doesn't love Joe Lo Truglio in Superbad ("The tiger got outta the cage, man!"), or even Pineapple Express? Yup, he's also from The State.
Any time one of these post-State jobs is discussed amongst friends, I namedrop the respective funny-person's original home, but I'm routinely met with blank stares and disinterest. Save for some cousins and one of my friends (Ms. Cendra, if you're out there reading this), not one person I know can cite their favorite skit, and that's a shame. Will this new DVD set change that? Can a new crop of viewers be won over? I'd like to think so, but the end result is ultimately meaningless around here. I'm just happy that I'll have the entire series in my possession, rather than strolling down memory lane in Youtube's clip-heavy car.
My fondest memory of The State: staying up late with my Uncle Greg to watch the episodes in their first runs, his disregarding whatever babysitter rules he should've been following ("Put the kid to bed by 11pm, the latest") so we could watch Louis interrupt the Last Supper to dip his balls into something, to laugh our asses off as a grade school staring contest is ante-upped with the presence of a dude in full clown makeup. One of the happier memories of my adolescence, no doubt.
Here's a sketch that the cousins and I used to quote like we were being paid to do so:
True story, I actually did own a "Best of" The State VHS back in high school, but I gave it to the girl-of-my-high-school-dreams, a gift of personal romance. I figured, what better way to leave a permanent impression on this girl for when after our blossoming thing evaporates than to bestow her with something we mutually find hilarious despite our friends' lack of mutual enjoyment? Her heart went a-flutter, then she broke mine, and I was never able to watch "Porcupine Racetrack" again. Talk about your all-time backfires.
I try to avoid TMZ at all costs. Simply typing the website address into my Explorer's toolbar and then clicking "Go" leaves me feeling dirty, cheap, voyeuristic. I'd rather get my celebrity gossip necessities from second or third parties, like this story.
Woody Harrelson seems to have attacked a paparazzi douchebag recently and smashed the photo-stalker's camera. Harrelson was with his daughter, so you could chalk this up to the man protecting the privacy of his kid, but then you'd be innocently wrong. Turns out, Harrelson thought he was in his very own George Romero flick:
The Actor's Defense: "I wrapped a movie called 'Zombieland,' in which I was constantly under assault by zombies, then flew to New York, still very much in character... With my daughter at the airport I was startled by a paparazzo, who I quite understandably mistook for a zombie."
Whether he was high or not when this quote was said, it's still pretty awesome. Clearly the lamest excuse ever, but great. I too live in a dreamworld where a zombie invasion could break out at any minute; because, if so, I'd be the world's biggest hero. I've seen all the films, read some of the Max Brooks books. Used to sleep with a tire-iron under my bed as a kid so that if any flesh-eaters came into my room at night I'd be able to split their melons open, like Night of the Living Dead's "Ben" on that farmhouse's front lawn. I even wrote two 75-page zombie horror novels before I entered high school.
I mean, come on? Obviously I'm well equipped. Even Woody Harrelson would have to salute the kid.
I honestly can't figure it out. If there wasn't an actual IMDB page for this, I'd think it was some Funny or Die like joke. But such an IMDB page does exist, so I'm just left befuddled.
Gooby
It's like Teddy Ruxpin and Fozzy Bear were kidnapped by some mad scientist, sliced into feathery pieces, thrown into some mass-expanding life machine, and cast out into the world of tongue-in-cheek family cinema.
Woke up this morning, and the piece-of-shit Sir Arthur Buick wouldn't start. Sitting around my 'rents' house, waiting to get my haircut, anticipating the return of tu madre so I can use her Durango to ride to the barbers. Sucks the large one, but 'tis what 'tis.
At least I just came across this splendid news:
HBO has officially confirmed that its original comedy series Eastbound and Down-—a /Film fave—-has been renewed for a second season. Better yet, given the fast ascent up the comedy ranks of the show’s masterminds, Danny McBride, Jody Hill, and Ben Best, one may have expected another six-episode season further down the pipeline. Instead, the next season begins filming later this year and will air in 2010. Woo. When we were on the set last year, co-director David Gordon Green revealed that a follow-up pitch was being entertained that centered on McBride’s profane bulletproof tiger Kenny Powers shipping off to South America to quasi-fulfill his baseball career. However, the idea seemed to be news to much of the cast, and given how well received the ensemble performances of Andy Daly, Katy Mixon, John Hawkes, and Steve “Ass Blood” Little, I wouldn’t bet on it.
I was hoping that HBO would be smart enough to bring this growing-number-of-fans' favorite back sooner than later. Glad they've proven me right. Easily the funniest show the network has aired in, I don't know, forever. And that's including my dude Tim from The Life & Times of Tim. HBO should just cancel that shell-of-its-former-self Entourage altogether and go all out with Kenny Powers. Shit, he has Stevie already, that's all the entourage that HBO needs, anyway.
You loved Borat, right? Well, if you didn't then I you must have the sense of humor of Hitler's rotting, worm-housing corpse. Assuming that you don't fall under that distinction, here's the trailer for comedy's walking nerves-and-huge-balls ("Pause," I guess) Sacha Baron Cohen's latest, Bruno.
This is the red band trailer, meaning R-rated, meaning its on some otherness. Just watch:
The fact that Cohen could still fool enough people in this world into thinking he really was this Bruno character and not the star of one of the biggest comedies of the new millenium is a monstrous feat in and of itself. Weirdly, my favorite bit in this trailer may be that all-velcro outfit. This movie is going to kick all kinds of body parts.
Bonus One of Bruno's greatest moments from the egghead-level awesome Da Ali G Show:
If there's a greater joy out there than engulfing your senses in a purely shit film that you hate to love, I can only hope that somebody points me in its direction. That one "feast of banality" can devolve a film lover into a totally blazed pothead minus any actual chronic. A fool suffering from uncontrollable laughter without the presence of a crackerjack stand-up comedian. The guilt never disappears, now, but it's a shame that you permit to wash over you like pig's blood on young Carrie White.
Appreciation for truly awful films seems to be the new black nowadays, and that's just wonderful. Last week, a notoriously terrible movie called The Room (2003) opened in downtown Manhattan for a limited run, thanks to popular demand. I wish I could've caught it; a few months back, there was this great story in Entertainment Weekly discussing The Room's rabid celebrity cult following, stars such as Paul Rudd and Kristen Bell quoting it regularly and namedropping it in interviews. And then there was Best Worst Movie, which premiered out at South X Southwest two weeks ago, which points its light all over 1990's Troll 2, another abysmal piece of wannabe-cinema that even its own cast and crew acknowledge as awesomely-bad.
Bad is all good these days. So with that notion in mind, I've decided to shed some sun on a virtually-unknown little miggle called The Video Dead (1987). The first time that The Video Dead turned me into its tongue-in-cheek slave was back in my late grammar school days. I caught it late one night on the USA Network, when Rhonda Sheer (that lovable party woman with the huge upperbody-knocks) was the host of "Up All Night." If it weren't for the title's "Dead" inclusion, I never would've givent this shit the time of day, but I'm a sucker for zombie films. Can't turn them off, must see them all.
I'd consider myself (even back in those immature years) somewhat of a "zombie film expert," so the fact that I'd had no clue that something called The Video Dead even existed was my first red flag, but, alas, I jumped aboard. From the opening scene, I was under its every command, every beckon. The flick opens up with this random old television set arriving at a humorless writer's house, and of course the dumbass signs for it. And then, in a great bit of character development, he talks to himself, declaring, "I don't even watch TV!" Screenplay written by I HateSubtlety Jones. The box only plays one program (the fictional Zombie Blood Nightmare), and within minutes the film-within-this-shitty-film's walking corpses come through the TV thanks to some special effects that look as if Gore Verbinski could've used the scene as a reference point of exactly what not to do when he shot that awesome ending for his The Ring remake.
Three months later, two annoying, cardboard, very-'80s-looking teenage siblings move into the house, prepping it before their parents arrive. The boy is introduced with a such a lame sight gag that I'm only reminded at how brilliant Shaun of the Dead is for executing a similar touch flawlessly----we see a pair of worndown sneakers shuffling aimlessly through the woods, so we're "supposed" to think that its a zombie, when, TaaDaa!, its our protagonist, Jeff (played by a corpse of an actor, Rocky Duvall, in his worst Corey Haim impersonation).
Let's make a deal: If you can watch this clip in its entirety, I'll buy you a drink, whoever you are, whenever you desire.....sound good? I'm confident that you'll tap out right after Jeff is revealed.
Jeff is hands down one of the least compelling film leads of all time----lifeless, unsympathetic. His sister, Zoe, is slightly more likeable, but not by much. Which makes their impending zombie-triggered conflict all the less interesting. A threat that, I must note, only includes five zombies. Maybe six, I could've missed one. But no more than six, total. My guess, they couldn't afford any more makeup or prosthetics, nor the $100 a day it must've taken to pay for a couple more zombie-actors.
But then, writer/director Robert Scott does something transcendent......he manages to make The Video Dead so inept, so lacking in brain cells, that the film becomes an overachiever without even trying. For somebody who can't appreciate a crap-film, The Video Dead could very well be the slowest, least-magnetic movies ever. Nothing ever happens, except for sluggish exchanges between the siblings, cold-as-ice flirtations between Jeff and the even-more-vapid blonde next door, and an appearance from the most unqualified bounty hunter/hero character Robert Scott could have ever (under)developed. I've seen The Video Dead about five times now, and during each time I've repeatedly questioned myself, "How the hell am I sitting throught this? I can literally feel my intelligence bein insulted, as if that educated side of my brain is either Bart Simpson or Millhouse and this movie is Nelson."
Really, explaining any more of the plot is pointless, since, like I said above, nothing effective ever fucking happens. The following scene is all that needs to be seen for proof: After puffing some of that green stuff, Jeff notices that the robotic buxom blonde on his TV, who is trying to evade "The Garbage Man" killer (who looks like a sloppy, larger Mickey Rooney) in some movie, starts talking to him, seducing him with her non-existent sexual charm. This chick then enters his bedroom and puts the moves on Jeff, who responds like a 12-year-old discovering his first Playboy. Then, she's killed by Sir Garbage, who provides some useless survival tips, needlessly holds the final "R" on "Mirrorrrrr!" and he's never mentioned in the film again. Enjoy this spectacle of divinity:
In a rapturous world, The Video Dead would receive its just due, just as The Room and Troll 2 have recently. I totally understand why it never will---at least those two films aren't paced with the quickness of a turtle addicted to downers. You can have some effortless kicks watching those, thanks to rapid-fire randomness; The Video Dead, on the flipside, moves along at an unbearable clip. You either have to adore zombie joints or cheesy horror, or suffer from insomnia and require a foolproof means of insta-sleep.
I fall into both categories. Thus making The Video Dead a slice of heaven atop my shoulders.
It was only a matter of time, really. The most quotable movie ever (Anchorman) pilfered by the ever-unimaginative music industry. I'm sure a few rappers have paraphrased our boy Ron Burgundy before (I just can't recall any specific lyrics off top), but never in this way.
Sad part is, I'm not mad at this song. Has "smash" exuding from its mp3 file. A bit too close in tone to "Bust It Baby," but still works.
Full disclosure: If not forFilm Drunk, I would've never been exposed to this video clip. And my life would've been all the darker, emptier for it. So, credit is completely due. Film Drunk is the most consistently funny movie news site on the Net, in my opinion, so get familiar with it. Just a suggestion.
Now, to this video. Speaks for itself. If anybody can figure out what its original source material is, I'll be forever in your debt.
Film Drunk: "So I had a choice between (A) telling you all about Queen Latifah’s new play-on-words titled rom-com (Just Wright) and (B) posting this clip of a dog milking a goat. You can see how that went. My only criticism is that the goat character is just screaming for some sunglasses and a cigarette. I believe this is actually Brett Ratner’s demo reel."
I'd be surprised if more than five of you fine heads out there even knew that a fresh Street Fighter film came out within the last two months. More like rotten, actually, because the reviews were excruciating and the flick, Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li, died an early lights-out in theaters. I skipped it, as did the rest of mankind, but I'm thinking that it'll make for some fun comedic viewing once the DVD comes out (which will probably in another month or so).
Case in point: this now-infamous bad acting performance from Chris Klein, a never-really-that-talented guy who could've had Hollywood in the palm of his hand post-American Pie films but then made a little miggle called Rollerball, and then his toilet flushed. And now he's achieved a rekindled notoriety, but for all the wrong reasons. Some crafty joe compiled eleven minutes worth of his (exact opposite of) finest scenes from Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li, with clever "Pop-Up Video"-ish comments to add insult to the guy's injury:
Look at this way.....even if Klein's acting causes some in-the-mouth vomiting, at least there's plenty of Moon Bloodgood to go around there.
Maybe the resemblance is intentional. Dude is definitely one to do such random shit. I'm doubting it's on purpose here, though.
That's a shot from the video for Eminem's new single, "We Made You," set to surface on April 7. 50 Cent isn't on the song (fortunately), he just appears in the video. Produced by Dr. Dre, back to the old Em days (I'm guessing).
I'm psyched. Literally. Seriously. I'd emrabce a mediocre Eminem album with open arms these days. No pause necessary; I'm talking about the album.
Seems there's a new foolproof formula for idiot-box comedy: the word "down" + veterans from the school of Judd Apatow + weekly alf-hour basic cable airtime = goodness.
First there was HBO's Eastbound and Down, the laugh-perfect rule-breaker that not enough people watched, foolishly, and now it's gone forever, seemingly. The plan all along was to restrict the series to only six episodes, so this was all predetermined, yet still frustrating and depressing. I've only come across a small handful of folks who've told me that they watch(ed) and love(d) the show, and that's irritating. HBO promoted Eastbound and Down poor as hell, relying purely on word-of-mouth for a show that didn't have lasting legs in the first place. What good does graudally-increasing buzz do for a show that only has six weeks to live? Instead of beating that gone-to-mundane-shit snooze Entourage down our throats every time a new season starts, HBO should've invested a few more dollars into marketing and spreading word about Eastbound, the ballsiest, sharpest comedy I've seen on the tube in ages. And easily HBO's best comedy in the last decade.
In the wake of Eastbound and Down comes the Starz channel comedy Party Down, about a ragtag group of struggling wannabe actors and screenwriters working as caterers in Los Angeles. Eastbound's cast was almost entirely comprised of "who's that?" heads (aside from Will Ferrell's small role and star Danny Mcbride's scene-jacking in Pineapple Express); Party Down, though, is packed with proven studs. Still has an ounce of the "I know that face, but from where?" but not as strongly. The lead is Adam Scott, who fans of Step Brothers will recognize as John C. Reilly's douchebag brother; its two female players are sexy/funny Lizzy Caplan (Mean Girls, Cloverfield, HBO's True Blood) and always-on-point Jane Lynch (Role Models, The 40-Year-Old Virgin); there's an Apatow bit player mainstay, Martin Starr (dude from Knocked Up who grows his beard out); and then there's Ken Marino, who, if you're cool, you'll know as an original member of the oft-forgotten but still-working steadily The State comedy crew.
Any opportunity to post a Lizzy Caplan pic is one not to miss.
The show doesn't seem to have the anarchist touch of Eastbound, but that's not a bad thing. Party Down approaches its laughs with a calm confidence in the characters. This first episode has a couple sight gags (drunk guy swan-diving into a pool naked; Marino "rubbing one out" in a teenage girl's bedroom), and both work, but otherwise the show doesn't seem to harp on punchlines, or "zingers." Just casually humorous conversations, engaged by colorful, troubled, reality-detached dreamseekers dressed in white button-ups and pink bowties.
Fun fact: the pilot was directed Fred "Kevin Arnold" Savage, and represents a huge leap forward for the man (his last kinda-high-profile directorial gig was Daddy Day Camp 2, painfully). Also fun: One of the pilot's writers is Paul Rudd, which explains a ton. Watching the episode, I thought to myself a few times, "I could see Rudd playing Adam Scott's character." Being that Rudd is emerging as a perennial favorite in these parts, that's reason enough to stick with Party Down, ride out the rest of the 10-episode season.
"A new half-hour comedy on cable that I could very well grow to love" can only mean one thing ---- it fall off the programming map within months, like every other one from my recent past. Dear lord, let The Life & Times of Tim come back!
These days, the idea of this faux trailer feeling totally real isn't far-fetched. Though, I'd gladly welcome this than most other remakes. Figures this'll never be made, then.
Could there be a better job in the world than naming Skinemax spoofs? I highly doubt so. It takes a higher plain of genius to come up with gold medals such as The Bare Wench Project, or Spiderbabe. And don't even get me started on the masters who construct the accompanying screenplays. You can just color me red with envy and go on your merry way.
The latest genre knockoff courtesy of Cinemax's late night programming lords is Cleavagefield, a film so cleverly titled that I'm mad I didn't think of it before. I'm assuming, like the great Cloverfield, it's shot cinema verite style and stars pretty young people with mediocre to above-average acting skills but unafraid of excessive nudity and unnecessary sex. It premieres after hours the evening of April 1, on Cinemax.
Now, I hardly expected the monster itself to even hold the enormous jock strap of my dude Clover (I like to call the creature that), but this Cleavagefield image is a huge disappointment. Seriously....your movie is called Cleavagefield, people! How in the hell does this monster not have ginormous breasts?! Admit it, you were expecting the same thing. How could you not?
Wait for it.......
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Is that the bastard child after-product of sex between a duck and a turtle? My three-year-old niece plays with animal toys that look better than this ish. Like it really matters, though, of course. Still, we're talking total "missed opportunity" here.
I won't even be able to enjoy the film now, thanks to this half-assed creature. Lies and fairy tales.
Adding to my "Who loves me, man?" post, here's a quick tribute to the best friend a dude could ask for, "Stevie," my favorite character (aside from the man himself, Kenny Powers) on HBO's Eastbound & Down. Or, as I like to call it, "the greatest show ever created." Okay, that's a bit much. It's still the best show currently on the tube. The "only six episodes long" aspect is rather heartbreaking, unfortunately. That means only one episode remains, and who knows if we'll even get a second season. Consult your Shamrocks tomorrow in hopes that we do.
Here's "Stevie," played to pitch-perfect perfection (alliteration masturbation) by Steve Little. I knew nothing of Steve Little prior to this show, but now I'm hoping to pops up on every television program from here on out. He's dynamite as Kenny Powers' unstable, obsessive biggest fan/personal assistant, and owns every scene he's a part of.
If you haven't been watching Eastbound & Down, you've been fucking up, then. Rectify that, pronto.
Okay, so I'm kinda drunk right now. Sitting here sipping on my cranberry-and-watermelon-vodka cooler (don't ask), and watching that Andy Samberg comedy Hot Rod. Mad at myself for finding this shit pretty hilarious. But this scene just came one that made me rewind my DVR about three times to make sure it was really happening and not just some figment of my intoxicated imagination. Apparently, it's real, as proven by glorious Youtubes. See for yourselves, it's actually quite for-the-laughs:
Funnny as shit, right? No? Well, fuck you then. Back to my sippy-sippy I go....
A movie that should only be appreciated after you can blame it on the alcohol.
Most New Jersey lifers associate the Jersey Shore with meathead/guido-filled clubs such as Temps or Merge; others dream of eating sloppy cheesesteaks while walking the boardwalks with family. Oh, please don't associate the Jersey Shore with that loser Tommy Cheeseballs from MTV's True Life special, out-of-staters. Yes, most of the dudes down there in the summer are as lame as your boy Tommy, but that doesn't mean its a bad place. He's about as piss-poor a tourism advocate as a Cancer-Grabbing Crane Machine in an arcade. I, on the other hand, distinctly recall the days of exiting my grandfather's oceanside trailer with my brother to hit the local convenience store, where packs of Garbage Pail Kids trading cards awaited us, in bulk. My parents, the supportive types that they've forever been, shelled over bills voluntarily, and without argument, even though they were fully aware that my bro and I were about to purchase little pieces of tree-carcus designed with pics of kids in nasty predicament, the likes of "Disgusting Justin" or "Intense Payne." Such juvenile absurdity made us happy, though, which was the important part.
Over some Indian cuisine last night amongst friends, the topic of Garbage Pail Kids came up. Courtesy of yours truly, naturally. Turned out that three out of our four-head dinner party had collected these as kids, a higher ratio than I was anticipating. Seeing a green light, I went on to tell the sadly-true story of one particular Garbage Pail Kid, the name of which escapes me at the moment, but whose image is still stained onto my brain. It was of this little kid being sucked into the drain at the foot of his bathtub, and it looked more horrifying than any scare film I've ever watched. I was somewhere in between eight and eleven years old at the time, so my pussy-footed ways were excusable, but fuck was I petrified to take a bath after first seeing that card. Feet never touched the bath drain ever since, even to this day. Any time my big-toe inches near the drain, visions of a vacuum-like force pulling my body in surface mentally, bringing to mind that scene from the Creepshow 2 (best of all within that overall-meh flick) installment "The Raft," when the jock-y dude Deke is pulled underneath the raft, his left leg violently snapping upward, by that oil-slick monster. Not a good mental look.
Less than 24 hours after our dinnertime chat, coincidentally, Topless Robot (the best nerd site on the 'Net) has posted a list of the 13 best Garbage Pail Kids of all time. Debatable and lacking that bathtub-set one, it's still great to see others paying as much close-eye to the wonderfully-sick children's card series. The least you could do is visit Topless Robot and see for yourselves, then:
......with, first, this, the new Star Trek trailer. Tons to do today so I'm unable to offer much opinion here, but I think it says a lot that I'm really excited about this flick despite haven't ever really given two shits about the Trek franchise prior. Makes me part of the new audience that Trekkies will no doubt hate for being so late to the party and having arrived on J.J. Abrams' bandwagon, but so be it. The man is great at what he does:
This second trailer is one I wasn't expecting to see so soon, but am glad for it. It's a new comedy called The Hangover that's hitting this summer, and my "intel" (as if I actually have legit intel; it's really just colleagues fortunate enough to catch early screenings mixed with online reactions) says that it's pretty hilarious. A potential Summer sleeper hit on our hands. From the dude behind Old School and Road Trip, so you know it's good. The scene with Iron Mike alone shows promise of being a showstopper:
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And, before I go off about my busy day, one final item: this amazing "Saturday morning cartoon spoof of Watchmen" made by some wiz guy named Harry Partridge. It's egghead material, and the best piece of pre-release Watchmen insanity yet. Since the movie finally streets today, I figured this was a nice parting gift for the "pre-release express."
Lot29 recently dropped this hoodie, for losers and uber-nerds to wear with "pride."
Seriously, if I ever see anybody I know wearing this in public, expect me to go that way. Apparently this thing is sold out online everywhere you look....there better not be any of you to blame.
Sure, I bought one of those old Scooby Doo shirts made by Iceberg off of Ebay back in college, for like $40, but did I ever actually wear it out? Hell no, Gina. Waste of money, of course. But sometimes, you gotta Doo what it Doo. In this Dark Knight case, however, I advise against such closet enhancement. Imagine if a pretty-young-or-old-thing comes over, slinks into your bedroom, and before getting it in she opens your closet doors to get a better peek at your style, and sees that mess. She'd scram with haste, and you'd be left alone with Palmela and Handgela. Sad, sad.
Last weekend, by chance, or divine intervention if you're like me and view such things as positive, I basked in the sheer awfulness of a forgotten '80s piece-of-shit film, Ghoulies 2 (1987). Yes, that much-needed, plothole-filling sequel to 1985's Ghoulies, that for some odd reason took place at some cheap-ass local carnival and neglected the cardinal rule of a horror film: at least attempt to create some tension.
Never before, or after, has a movie's poster image been so metaphorical.
My friends who were also watching knew all about the film, yet ironically enough I, Mr. Movie Junkie, knew nothing other than a basic knowledge gained by having seen its predecessor. As Ghoulies 2 plodded forward, though, I realized just how fortunate I'd been. Truly one of the worst movies I've ever seen. One of those flicks that has me wondering throughout, "How in all that's mighty did this even get made?" Of course, the bar was set much lower for genre cinema back in the glorious 1980s, but still. I wish Youtube had the entire carnival-set climax, one of the most overlong, tension-free, all-around-botches setpieces imaginable, 15 minutes of the ghoulies (who are more cuddly than creepy) causing little more than slapsticky mischief throughout the premises. Making people fall off of rides, have refreshments splatter all over their clothes. Stuff that'd make you laugh, not shriek. It turns into a Farrelly Brothers horror film, and, yes, that's as horrible as it sounds written out.
That hungover afternoon, Ghoulies 2 was a total fuck-off of time. An hour and a half I shouldve dedicated to reading, or eating, or bashing my head into a wall. Now, though, a full two weeks removed from that debacle, I see the fateful purpose of that viewing nightmare. Earlier today at work, I brought Ghoulies 2 up to a co-worker who also appreciates a good piece of schlock moviemaking, in hopes that he'd share my angry sentiment. Much to my shock, he actually sang the film's praises; apparently, he has a higher tolerance for feces than I. But right as I was about to toss insults and bile his way for such an unjustifiable opinion, he hit me with the nostalgic A-bomb: "That reminds me, have you ever seen Muchies, or Munchie Strikes Back?"
My mind was blown. No, I thought, I've never even heard of those. Do tell. Rather than depending on his gift of gab to do his dude Munchie justice, he kept it at, "The first one was a Gremlins ripoff, but then the sequel brought it into some shitty E.T. ripoff territory for no apparent rhyme or reason. But the sequel is awesome." He then expressed his love of all things Gremlins-esque, meaning those Ghoulies flicks, the Critters series, and the Munch. "Those movies are all great, but Munchie is still the ultimate badass."
And then he advised that I consult Youtube for some clips of Munchie in action. After watching these following two clips, I realized the divine reason behind that Ghoulies 2 experience:
Leather jacket and a varsity sweater? Munchie had style, son. How was he not a bigger genre icon back in the '90s? Oh, right, because his movies were atrocious abortions. Yet, I can't deny the power of Munchie, and how badly I need to see Munchie Strikes Back (1994) while drunk and/or stoned. Do they even sell it on DVD? If so, should I buy it right now, or wait 'til tomorrow?
After meeting Munchie, I figured I'd try putting my co-working friend on to another E.T. jackoff that I watched whenever on cable back in the day: Meathead, that Big Mac-loving alien who charmed his way through Meatballs 2 (1984), another sequel that, like Munchie Strikes Back, totally diregarded anything and everything about its namesake original.
Check Meathead out in live action, and decide which extraterrestrial/creature BFF you'd rather chase some tail with....Munchie, or this guy---Meathead:
The Arrival and Discovery of Meathead
I'm going with Munchie, only because he'd be much better for my rap. Meathead is more the dude you confide in after Munchie's arrogant, smooth-talking ways grind your gears thin.
In conclusion ..... Munchie > Meathead (but only by a slim margin)
As they frequently do, Vanity Fair has another creative, amazing-looking multiple-actor photoshoot coming out in their next issue, this time celebrating 2009's new class of comedy royalty, or something to that effect. I guess it doesn't matter that every one of these actor-comedians was around last year, too, making this just an extension of 2008 rather than some sort of prediction/speculation statement. When the shoot is this awesome overall, though, small details like that are frivolous.
Included in the shoot are: Seth Rogen, Paul Rudd, Danny McBride, Jason Bateman, Anna Faris, Bill Hader, Jonah Hill, Jason Segel, Russell Brand, Will Arnett, Amy Poehler, and Leslie Mann.
All are deserving choices....even Jonah Hill, who hunch tells me will soon prove himself to be much more than that little fat dude who scores big-deal projects by simply making Judd Apatow laugh off-camera. Seems he has some screenplays sold all of his own storytelling abilities, which says something. Russell Brand is one that I've yet to fully converted on; he was pretty funny in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, but that MTV Awards hosting gig was way too awkward, fish-terribly-out-of-water. The choices of Jason Bateman, Bill Hader, and Leslie Mann, however, are cash-money. Especially Mann, who deserves to headline her own romantic comedy already, fuck a Katherine Heigl. Mann owned Heigl in Knocked Up.
And then there's Danny McBride, who is currently proving on HBO's Eastbound & Down what I've felt since I ho-hum-ly watched that Foot Fist Way screener last year and became a fan: while type-casting as the "arrogant, caveman-like slob who hates everybody but himself" is possible, he's still looking at one hell of a "comedy giant" future. The fact that Vanity Fair shot him a la Jack in The Shining just makes me like the guy even more:
Here's the dude who could be considered my "man crush" if somebody put a gun to my head and asked me who mine would be: Paul Rudd, getting his Young Frankenstein on....
Finally, the funniest shot of the bunch: Sir Man Crush as Tom Ford, and Rogen, Hill, and Segel as Scarlett Johansson and Keira Knightley (three as two....use your imagination), poking fun at that 2006 Vanity Fair cover:
And they say that magazines are dead. Name me one website that could pull off a shoot such as this. All you'd get from these bloggers/websites would be disses and potshots thrown at these folks, possibly a Q&A paired with some seen-that-before publicity shot. So not cool.
