A buffet of morning nourishment, served in an '80s cinema-bowl

I love this.

[Assuming you recall the original Breakfast Club poster. If you don't, I shake my head in your direction.]

“You see us as you want to see us, in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a leprechaun, a monster, a cap’n, a tiger, and a rabbit. Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Cereal Club.”



**Spotted over at Cinematical , but originally from Ironic Sans

Guilty pleasure now just making me feel guilty, period

This annoying, bimbo, airhead, talentless, waste of good air drama queen just got her own reality show. Didn't take Nostradamus to see this one coming, especially after her "controversial" beating at the hands of Sharon Osborne on that Charm School reunion mess.

Gold-diggers, say hello to your queen/spokeswoman:


From: Defamer
"Speaking of perfect marriages, you probably won't have one with Osbourne scratch post Megan Hauserman, who after a month is still looking for wealthy men to buy her, ahem, hand in her next reality atrocity, Trophy Wife. Come one, come all, you Los Angeles and Las Vegas Craigslisters — all this can be yours:

Looking for the ultimate Trophy Wife? Reality TV Star and Playboy Cybergirl Megan Hauserman is looking for a man who will shower her with love and money.

If you are a single man with the net worth of $1,000,000 or more, then Megan would love to meet you. Whether you are a CEO or a TRUST FUND BABY, she would make the perfect arm candy for any man...who can afford her!"

I can't shake this "I'm partly to blame for" feeling. I'd imagine this is how the party-loving best friend of an alcoholic feels. You know, the dude who is fully aware of his pal's sipping addiction yet still forces him out to clubs where shots pour in rapid succession. A shameful enabler.

I'm guilty as charged when it comes to watching I Love Money, Real Chance at Love, Rock of Love, Double Shot at Love, etc. But when a slut-bucket does a body shot out of another slut-bucket's cooch on Rock of Love Bus, an internal trigger begins firing at my better judgment like a tommygun, and it hits me: "I'm giving this asinine bullshit ratings right now."

Therefore, I'm as much to blame for Megan Ho-serman getting her own society-devolving quasi-reality show as the next Celebreality junkie. Trophy Wife will be a celebration of gold-digging that'll obviously be a smash hit, and introduce the world to a slew of money-hungry douchebags who'll eventually be awarded their own spinoff shows. And the cycle of brain-slaughtering will go on, and on, and on.

And, as long as there's gorgeous new faces blessed with killer curves and reckless inhibitions, I'll be compelled to stop doing productive shit and watch them make-out with each other, instead. What a pickle.

Trophy Wife, however....I'd sooner endure Bromance, the ultimate reality TV cesspool. Don't even get me started on that shit.

Eden Lake, a shitty place to raise your kids....

....or to take what you'd think would be a relaxing, scenic respite.



Bought this one on DVD yesterday, immediately watched it once I returned home from the wackness that was The Unborn, in hopes of salvaging the evening with some well-done shocks. The whole "couple is stalked and attacked by evildoers in isolated, unfamiliar woods" thing has been done to death, but never before with junior-high-school-student-aged kids as the assailants. Giving this an intriguing edge from jump street.

After The Unborn's stank, an improvement in entertainment was mandatory. Mission accomplished.

I'm still reeling a bit from Eden Lake, honestly. If Jack Ketchum were to write a screenplay and then sent it over to the United Kingdom for an upstart talented filmmaker (James Watkins, in this case), this would be the final product. Bleak as sin, real as life. Uncompromising, and rollercoaster in exposition. You get glass shards in pre-teen necks, while other young bucks are set ablaze while still breathing and pleading for their lives. But all this savagery feels right, not exploitative in any way.

Very tight, smart script, and fine acting. A new redhead actress for me to swoon over (Kelly Reilly), and an actor who'll appear in Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds (Michael Fassbender). Plus, the ultimate "nail jammed into person's foot" scene in film history, if I have any say in the matter. Not that there's actual a poll for such a moment, but if there ever is, this one's a shoe-in. Pun not avoided.

For a second, while standing on line at Best Buy yesterday morning, with Eden Lake and Pineapple Express (the 2-disc unrated edition...fuck yeah) in hand, ready for purchase, I asked myself, "I haven't even seen Eden Lake yet, is it smart to just drop $15 on it based off widespread critical acclaim?" Instincts got the best of me, ultimately for the best. A fine addition to the ever-inflating DVD collection, and one I'm hoping to put some friends on to in due time.

The Underwhelming, or, The Undercooked

Or, The Unworthy....You get the point.

Welcome to my scattered-brained reactions to The Unborn. Saw this less than two hours ago, and so many questions and complaints bouncing around my melon that I'm sure I'll forget some here. But again, as I've stated in the past: these post-movie write-ups aren't outlined, structured reviews by any means. Rather, they're knee-jerk reactions, free of editing and devoid of extensive proofreading.

Now, on to the show.



Soooo many things wrong with The Unborn. I originally flirted with the idea of simply listing all of the film's faults, but then it struck me how boring that'd be; ranting in typed form endlessly seems so much more liberating.

David S. Goyer, the writer/director, approached this script in reverse, clearly. Sitting around on the set of The Dark Knight (which he co-wrote, but don't let this credit fool you into thinking The Unborn could even apply The Joker's makeup) one day, he must've saw a pitbull strutting down the street and thought, "Wouldn't it be cool if that dog's head was upside down?" And then, hours later, some cockroaches must've scurried on by his toes, and another image hit him: a sea of roaches swimming by atop a wave of putrid yellow mucus-sludge. A few more ghastly visions later, the lightbulb clicked above his head. "I got it....I'll formulate a pussy-willed PG-13 horror film around these images. Story last, specific scenes first."


I'm sure this looked cool in Goyer's thoughts. Too bad using it as a jumpoff point for a script is retarded.

Assuming this is how The Unborn was birthed, take one guess how it all turned out. Give up? A boring, scare-deficient, at-many-times laughable genre misfire that does feature a handful of inspired bits but falters seven times out of ten. From the opening dream sequence onward, the story unfolds in lazily episodic fashion, plodding along random "shock" scene after another, marching to a "twist" ending that Helen Keller would've seen coming about 35 minutes into this 90-minute film that felt way longer.

I really did want to like The Unborn. I was in the minority of those who found promise within its peculiar trailer and its stronger-than-usual-for-horror-flicks cast (Gary Oldman, Carla Gugino). Little did I know, though, that Gugino has a cool two minutes of total screen time, without dialogue, and that Oldman's rabbi character would be an invisible man in terms of fleshing out. Meagan Good, the eye candy extraordinaire that she always is, is stricken with some truly awful "perky, spunky best friend" lines, while this tool named Cam Gigandet brings less to his boyfriend role than required, which was nil to begin with, sadly.

The film rests on the sexy body of newcomer, and lead heroine, Odette Yustman, which would be even more tragic if the film's suckage was really her fault. She's trying her best here, though, and her subpar acting skills would be excusable in a flick packed with stronger writing and pacing. Gorgeous and tons of joy to look at, Yustman is magnetic enough in the physical sense to be a commanding lead, so all Goyer really had to do was surround her with quality scares and holy-shit imagery. Which he attempts, but fails.

I realize that my sometimes-tired "PG-13 horror sucks" complaints aren't particularly valid, since gore and other extremities do not always a scary film make. But in The Unborn's case, the PG-13 rating is the ultimate offender. Every, and I mean every, "terror" setpiece is cut short and/or edited down to show nothing more than scared facial expressions and all-too-quick glimpses of the evil at hand. Take the dream sequence where Yustman circles around her mom, who's seated in an otherwise empty room of the insane asylum she's committed to. Out of nowhere, mommy lifts her head up, only she's not Carla Gugino anymore but some freaky-looking tooth monster, with grimy chompers extended from forehead to lower neck. It's a pretty horrifying special effects creation, but before we can even get a good look at the bastard, the scene ends. Same goes for the film's best moment, where an elderly man spiderwalks after Yustman's grandmother down the halls of a retirement home. As he crab-crawls in rapid speed, his head contorts and twists like a bottle cap, and it's badass. But again, just as the scene is gaining momentum, Goyer chumps out and closes the curtain with a fucking lame jump-scare.


I was honestly ready stand up and cheer for this crazy old dude's money scene. Way to fuck it up, Sir Goyer.

You know what else Goyer and company fucked up? This little guy right here:


That's "Jumby," or whatever the fuck his name is, doing his best impression of "Matt Barone watching The Unborn." Spot on, Jumby. Spot on.

Speaking of which...what the fuck is a Jumby, anyway? Yustman's character's father explains to her that when her mother was preggers, they'd nicknamed the soon-to-be twin boy "Jumby," which leads the ghost to continually proclaim "Jumby is ready to be born now." Which is apparently a chilling sentence in Goyer's mind; in mine, its asinine, comical, and meaningless. How the hell does a parent nickname their unborn seed "Jumby"? ***Crickets. Tumbleweeds blow by.***

What's The Unborn about, though?, one might ask at this point. Try this on for size: Yustman begins suffering from "creepy" hallucinations full of ghostly kids and evil bathroom mirrors. Turns out, a demon spirit---hatched from the tortured soul of a little twin boy trapped in Auschwitz during the Holocaust (I'm dead ass)---had once tried to enter the world through Yustman's twin brother, but her sib died in utero. So now, said rugrat-poltergeist is pissed, and wants to kill all those around Yustman so he can have her body all to himself. Can't blame him for that much....she's one fine piece of ace.

That "Holocaust" plot point seems a bit much? The entire theater audience I saw this one with agrees. At one point, Yustman declares, "I have to finish what was started at Auschwitz," to which every one in attendance burst out in uncontrollable laughter, not to mention several sighs of disbelief and contempt.

But again, I'd be willing to look past such a problem if the movie had went balls-to-the-wall with some real horror tension. Not the case, at all. This is the most dreadfully dull horror film I've seen in many a moon, even tougher to sit through than Alex Aja's disgraceful Mirrors. Shit was so painful, I found myself growing tired of ogling over Ms. Odette Yustman, and that's a fucking blasphemic feeling.


See what I mean? How could any many heterosexual man deny their eyes of this?

And don't even get me started on one especially heinous moment of monumentally-poor "suspension of basic time principles" stupidity. Okay, I can't resist. [SPOILER ALERT] So Yustman and Meagan Good are chatting via Instant Messenger webcam, right. And Yustman warns Good that Jumby is going to kill her loved ones to get to her, including Ms. Good, but Good is a bimbo and ignores this warning. Instead, she goes downstairs to answer the doorbell, which happens to have been rung by Jumby-occupying-the-body-of-a-butt-ugly-kid who proceeds to stalk and stab Good all the back upstairs. Realizing that murder is afoot at Good's house, Yustman calls her tool of a boyfriend and orders him to meet her at Good's house immediately in hopes of saving Good. Now, mind you, three seconds after Good answers the door, which is seven seconds after pausing her webcam chat with Yustman (who is back at her own house, which isn't next door to Good's), Yustman and her boy-toy are already at Good's house to the rescue. Any attempt at comprehending or logically explaining this lapse of time-travel has made me want to slam my cranium into the nearest wall, so I've decided to just give up and hate this movie even more.

The Unborn sucks. Odette Yustman is likeable and beautiful, but that's not enough.

The Unborn? More like Still Born. Get it? How about, The Abortion? **Slapping my knee** I guarantee you that at least five film critics will use that joke in their own reviews. Check Rotten Tomatoes in a week to see for yourself.

Kate Hudson, getting her Scar Jo on.....me, getting a ___ on (do the math)

As you can tell by the tags.....spotted over at: Perez Hilton (yes, I read his site....wanna fight about it?)

No question, Kate Hudson's always been cute. But these pics from the new issue of Elle are something else. Dare I say, she's fuckin' fierce here. Like, seriously tickling my fancy. Who knew, eh?

Watchmen trailer, number 736. Or something like that.

Though, this new Japanese one is by far my favorite to date.

The stuff with The Comedian's involvement in the JFK assassination, awesome. The Tricky Dick Nixon war room, campy yet cool.

If the Fox studio's lawsuit forces the film's March 6 release to be pushed back, I'm organizing a nerds'-only riotous march to their offices, waving firearms and knives, each of us dressed as Rorschach. Hrrmmmms, all around.

Maybe I can start getting excited about the music again?

Not that either of these songs is particularly stellar or anything. They're simply "strong," and will sound good in quality speakers, like these dudes' vintage records used to bump. Just that, both give me that excitable feeling I once had when superstars delivered the expected-yet-always-welcome goods. Plus, a 2009 Aftermath revival/takeover wouldn't be a bad thing, at all.

Eminem w/ Dr. Dre and 50 Cent - "Crack A Bottle!"




50 Cent - "I Get It In" (Youtube doesn't have an embeddable audio of this one yet, but as soon as it does I'll toss it on here....but trust me, if you haven't heard it yet, it's pretty tough)

I'm giving Mr. Romero ONE more chance....

....but this new promo trailer sends insecure shivers down my spine, spine-tingling shots of impending failure.

On repeat viewings, Romero's Diary of the Dead improves only slightly. Still a letdown of large, unavoidable stature. This new one, as of now being referred to as ...of the Dead (seriously), abandons Diary's whole handheld-camera-footage asthetic (wisely), but the acting here seems worse than Diary's atrocious output, which is just sad.

But this is merely promo, not official, so jury's out and about, twiddling thumbs and tapping toes (it's Alliteration Week, kiddies). But if this one sucks, I'm vowing to never watch a new George A. Romero zombie flick again. Three great ones was plenty, sir. Now, step away from the undead, and drop your camera.

***UPDATE: Said promo footage has been yanked from Youtube, unfortunately. But, all good. In its place, here's my fave chunk from Romero's Day of the Dead instead. The sea of zombies coming off that platform = an iconic image in my mind.



***BONUS

Saw this over at Film Drunk earlier, and deemed it worthy of attributed swiping. Dude at Film Drunk kills it with his Photoshop skills on a daily basis, and this one had me projectile giggling.

Jack Ketchum strikes (another literary victory) again.....

Started this one yesterday morning; just finished it about 30 minutes ago. If not errand-handling yesterday and pesky money-earning today, I'd have finished this one much quicker.



Jack Ketchum has officially become the tops, author-wise. The stories keep getting better, gorier, scarier, more extreme. This dude is a master at bringing otherworldly horrors into everyday reality. The Lost is still his best, to me, in terms of overall effect. But Off Season is paced at triple time, striking sharper and more often.

Off Season's "sequel," Offspring, shall be cracked open tomorrow morning on the good ol' PATH train. Could very well be ran through by Wednesday afternoon.

After Offspring, it'll be time to delve pupils-first into the compiled works of both Ray Bradbury and H.P. Lovecraft.

It's a self-imposed genre fiction workshop from here on out, punk mutha suckers.

What The Kids Will Be Playing With.....

......a pole-dancing, chick LEGO figure. Yikes.



Spotted over at: Geekologie

I must own these. Oh yes, these must be mine.....

Saving the necessary cash up. Placing the necessary special orders at Barnes and Noble, as soon as possible.

Slowly but surely, I think I'm finding my true calling....

Let's hope I'm on the mark.....

"That's the sound of the director giving up and leaving."

A simply amazing episode. Actually had to pause it a few times to catch my breath from laughing so hard.



I always wonder how movies as astonishingly awful as these are actually made (whoa, Matt...alliteration, much?), with earnestness and verve. But then I remember that without them there'd be no MST3K, and then I smile.

So now you know....

Courtesy of: Shock Til You Drop

I have an awfully good feeling about My Bloody Valentine 3D...great gory, sleazy, T&A-heavy, 1980s-throwback times seem to be in place. Plus, I've never experienced the whole "3D glasses in a movie theater" gimmick before, and I can't think of a better way to give it a go than with pick-axes flying at my face and boobies bouncing around. Just makes perfect sense.

I've gotten a sense, however, that too many are unaware that its in fact a remake of a 1981 slasher from Canada, obviously titled My Bloody Valentine. In the canon of low-grade, post-Halloween-and-Friday-the-13th slashers, My Bloody Valentine stands as a better-than-given-credit-for bit of debauch. And what's even cooler is that Lionsgate is re-releasing an uncensored DVD this month, timed with the remake, that includes extended moments of blood and guts previously unseen. Awesome. I will have to buy.

Here's a trailer, spotted over at Shock Til You Drop (as already disclosed), for the original's new DVD treatment. Which should help familiarize those not friendly with it, before you (potentially) see the remake in two weeks.

"Diarrhea, cha cha cha! Diarrhea, cha cha cha!"

...or, "Frogggg! Baaaseballl!"....or, "Are you them kids who've been whackin' it in my camper?"

Back in our earlier Wonder Years, my brother (Wayne Arnold in the flesh) and I (young Kevin, incarnate) meshed like oil and dabs of vinegar. Six years my senior, he played the "insulting, tough guy older brother" role more than well, while I fit the quiet, reserved, insecure younger sibling constantly feeling inferior. It wasn't fun.

But as years went by and the two of us matured, we slowly became closer. Common interests (girls, hip hop) crept into the mix thanks to my becoming a young adult. The fact that I shot up in height and bulk didn't hurt matters either. By age 13, I was taller than he was, the way our stature's have remained to this day.

Looking back on our relationship, though (which is great today, mind you), one of the first equalizers was a certain aniimated MTV program that we both fell in love with: Beavis & Butthead. [Ren & Stimpy was another, but that deserves its own post, which I'll get to at a later date.]



Background about the show isn't necessary here, I'd hope. If you don't know about the once-awesome Beavis & Butthead, I really don't even wanna fucks with you. Even I, a hip hopper since third grade, couldn't help but submit to these two underachieving, disgusting, loser metalheads, who did nothing but watch music videos all day, with occasional trips to school to piss off hippie teacher Van Driessen and gym teacher Buzzcut, or to spit into the french fries at TKTK.

Their out-of-house antics were hilariously-awkward and all, but for my buck, the episodes' main attractions were the video clips, because, similarly to my love of Mystery Science Theater 3000, I'm a fool for fourth-wall-breaking commentary on crappy art.






All week, I've been knee-deep visually in VH1's countdown of the greatest hard rock song ever (even cleverly titled The 100 Greatest Hard Rock Song Ever, I believe). I love me some VH1-programmed countdown/list/pop-culture-nostalgic specials, so it didn't take long for me to lose myself within. Not only has it been great for time-killing entertainment purposes, but the shows have also been free-of-charge educational tools, opening my eyes/ears/mind up to some classic rock 'n' roll I'd only known through either secondhand chatter or Rock Band 2. One of the songs included Winger's "She's Only 17" (title may be wrong, but whatever), a song my brother was a fan of, though he'd probably deny it now (he had it on cassette tape, please believe). And in the Winger segment, they mentioned how the band became an easy joke-target for true hardcore metalheads, a ridicule fest made infamous on the shirt of Beavis and Butthead's nerdy classmate Stewart.



And that's where this Beavis-and-Butthead-riding-shotgun trip down memory lane began. So to show creator Mike Judge, I must say, "Thanks, man." Without Beaver and Butthole (my fellow fans will catch that reference. Or not), who knows.....perhaps my brother and I would've existed under heaps of friction for some time longer. But "ifs," "ands," or "buts" get you nowhere in this world, so fuck 'em each sideways.


Ahh, the amazing "Great Cornholio." That episode snuck up on my brother and I like Danny Ocean and his cohorts would the Bellagio. I've never seen a human being laugh as hard as Scotty B. did while watching that one for the first time. Unforgettable.

In Conclusion: Here's to the oft-forgetten by most, but never lost in my mind, Beavis & Butthead. Instead of wasting our brains away with endless reality show drivel, why not bring back some B&B reruns, MTV? Or, Mr. Judge, a new feature film, at the least. That Beavis & Butthead Do America was a bit of a letdown. My Uncle Harry, who shared the B&B love with my brother and I, took us to see it at the Ridgewood movie theater, and he was fuming with disappointment. Still expresses anger over that movie, over 12 years later. Bittersweet symphonies, he sings.



***Mental Bonus: You know what I also loved? Liquid TV. Where Beavis & Butthead first appeared (fun fact for that ass), playing a controversial game of Frog Baseball. The Tracy Ullman Show to B&B's The Simpsons. Liquid TV is also where sexy-squared Aeon Flux (yes, cartoon characters can be sexy) initially surfaced. Just a headtrip of a show, full of cutting edge animation and mind-fucking creativity. Like Ren & Stimpy, Liquid TV more than deserves its own post. Note to self.

"Lickety Split, split lickety......"

8 Mile is on VH1, and I'd forgotten how much I love this movie. Especially when he verbally incinerates those Free World bitches in the final battle setpiece.

"Tanktop screamin' 'Lotto, I don't fit you!"

In honor of this time capsule of a flick (for me, it represents a time when my Jersey friends and I were particularly into this hip hop shit, as a collective, and we saw this as a unit on opening night. I left the theater flirting with the notion of putting pen to paper, hoping I could one day kick ass in a battle just as B. Rabbit did....clearly, that pipe dream went the way of mushroom cloud smoke), here's the just-flawless "Lose Yourself," the flick's theme song.

Sure, this was a smash commercial hit and all that jazz. But did/do people realize how incredible this song really is? The way it charges your blood, and makes you want to go conquer the world. And then there's Eminem's untouchable flow, verses, message. Serious shit.

(for some reason, the actual video has been taken down from Youtube. Guess those labels and their new anti-Youtube policies are in effect)


Let's get this Relapse album sooner than later, eh?

official Gomorrah trailer hits like automatic weapon-fire

Been skimming through heaps of praise for this one for months now. Hits in limited release here in early February, and I'll be close-to-first on line. Won't say "first on line" exactly because I'm a realist (or try to be one), and that's just cliche crazy talk.

"Based on Roberto Saviano's incendiary best seller exposing Italy's modern day criminal underworld, the film centers on the Comorra crime family's absolute control of the crime syndicate in Naples."
--Presented by Martin Scorcese, so you know it's good.

Gomorrah

'Gomorrah' Theatrical Trailer @ Yahoo! Video

August 21, 2009....Inglourious Basterds will kick your ass (fingers crossed)

Spotted over at: Cinematical

So, Inglourious Basterds has been given an August 21, 2009 release date, it seems. Totally doesn't strike me as a late-Summer drop-in, honestly. That's the time when studios spew out the lowest-common-denominators of May-to-September moneymakers, isn't it? Has always seemed so to me---this past August 22, in fact (as Cinematical points out) saw Death Race and The House Bunny.... exactly. A WWII epic starring Brad Pitt, directed by Quentin Tarantino, and hoping to play in competition at the Cannes Film Festival feels about far from "lowest-common-denominator of May-to-September moneymakers" as a film can get, no?

I'm expecting this to shift to a later-2009 date sooner than later. But if not, all good with me either way. I just want to see the fuckin' thing already (even though I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Tarantino hasn't even finished shooting it yet....he's pumping this one out with rapid force).

At least this news is another excuse to post this pic from the film. Badass, it is:

the big 27.....30 keeps getting closer and closer

New Years = My Birthday = Twilight Zone marathon = my own private utopia

The Twilight Zone's New Year Eve-through-Day 48-hour marathon. A cornerstone of not only my late childhood, but also my teenage years and current phase of adulthood.



The yearly tradition started back sometime around 1994. Give or take a year or two. This is just a rough guesstimation. Back when the New Years marathon was on Channel 11, not yet having relocated to the Sci-Fi Channel. The Twilight Zone had been one of those cool-sounding classics that my pops and uncles would chat about, one that always seemed like the quintessential "Matt Show," but I had been hesitant to watch. The reason: it all seemed like it'd go over my 12-year-old head. The images and suspense would register, sure, but from what my elders had been saying, it seemed like a show that went deeper than the bizarre and often chilling. Social issues were dissected, and considering that the show originally aired during the early '60s, the relevancy of the subjects and themes covered were decades of their time.



But all this changed the New Years party celebrating the arrival of 1995, a shindig at my parents house that ushered in several of their longtime friends. Plus myself, a pre-teen ready to ring in my 13th birthday in mere hours. Being a New Years Baby has its instant advantages, most notably the built-in party that comes along with it. This time, it was me and about 10 forty-somethings in attendance. One guest, my dad's sarcastically-arrogant friend Dennis, was a huge Zone head, and asked to have the television set switched to Channel 11's ongoing T-Zone onslaught. In a lucky twist of fate for Mr. Dennis, his favorite episode just happened to be on: "A Game of Pool," the one where Jonathan Winters plays a ghost who challenges Jack Klugman's hotshot pool-player into a life-or-death game of billiards. Dennis loved to play pool, so it made sense.



Sitting on the couch next to Dennis, watching as the great episode bobbed and weaved from funny to morbid in quick strokes, I was hypnotized. Unable to look away. Even as the ep ended, Dennis went back into the kitchen for some more grown-up sipping, but I remained fastened, hooked into the Zones. The only time I allowed the partygoers to change the channel was to watch the ball drop. Moments after the New Year officially began, I swiped the remote control from one of my mom's sloppily-drunken gal-pal's hands and put Channel 11 back on.

I stayed up 'til about 5am that night, and ten Twilight Zone gems later, I fell asleep on the couch, officially a Zone fanatic. And every New Years since, whether it be for hours in a row or merely a few episodes scattered, I've made it an ritual to watch some of the marathon. It's been on the Sci-Fi Channel for the past half-a-decade, maybe longer, but its just as magical as it was on Channel 11. The funny part is that I actually own all 168 Zone episodes on DVD, thanks to my awesome parents and their greatest-birthday-gift-giving-effort-ever a few years back, when they gave me the entire "Definitive Edition" DVD set. One of my prized possessions, it remains, far behind but not lost amongst the thoughts of my dog Zoey. No joke.

As I type this, I'm watching the sneakily sinister episode "Queen of the Nile," about a journalist sent to profile a beautiful, seemingly-ageless actress, who ends up being the actual Queen of the Nile, kept alive and gorgeous for centuries thanks to the evil deeds of Egyptian gods. Sweet. The roommate and I are having guests over later for some pregame drinks before we head on out to our NYE celebration, but please believe that I'll do my damndest to keep The Twilight Zone the tube for as long as humanly possible. If anything, I'll use the trusty old "....but its my birthday, man! I should get final say on what to watch, no?" That probably won't work, since Rock Band 2 will surely trump my sentimenal, imaginative ass. But its worth a valiant shot, I say.

Everything about The Twilight Zone connects with every side of my personality, my outlook, my imagination fascination. Even when decidedly heartwarming, the show was never too stuck-up or lunkheaded to totally skirt the unknown. The supernatural was always looming, a mindbender of an ending found within the majority. As somebody who cherishes superb storytelling and screenwriting, the show has never lost its touch; no matter when I turn on any particular episode, the pacing and ideas-beneath-peculiar-dressing impress. Often times, astonish. Some simply enjoy The Zone for thrills, genre-muffling entertainment of the most enjoyable caliber. Others, though, such as myself, can't help but dig deeper to uncover the high intelligence and topical relevance. It isn't just TV....The Twilight Zone plays like a one-of-a-kind 30-minute, sometimes hour-long, trip into your theater of the mind.

I'd love to write ad naus about my personal favorite episodes here, but I've got a busy day on the horizon. Time is a-tickin'. But fuck, how amazing are "The Monsters are Due on Maple Street," "The Hitchhiker," "Five Characters in Search of an Exit," "After Hours," "People are Alike All Over," "Nervous Man in a Five Dollar Room," "Eye of the Beholder," "Deaths-Head Revisited," "The New Exhibit," "The Howling Man," and "The Masks"? Just to cite a few.





New Years Eve/Day: not only significant and timelessly special because its my born-day, but also because it first introduced me to unbeatable, never-will-be-matched greatness of The Twilight Zone. It'll forever remain both my favorite television show of all time and my top source of narrative superiority. Rod Serling (creator, head writer, all around genius), my idol and endless supplier of inspiration and brain satiating.



The hardcover book volumes of original Twilight Zone episodes scripts, the entries into my reading-material collection I'm most proud of, and intend to put to the most career-beneficially use in calendars to come.

Now, back to the marathon, a wonderful birthday gift I'd like to think that Rod Serling and the good folks at the Sci-Fi Channel give to me once a year. If only it came encased in wrapping paper.

Year in Review: How did I miss this story when it happened??

From AOL News:

"Silly Filly: On a fine October day, Gracie the horse decided to investigate a hole in a tree, but she went a little bit too far and got stuck. Owner Jason Harschbarger of Pullman, W.Va., snapped the photo before using a chainsaw to cut Gracie free. She was not seriously hurt."

This picture is having a profound impact on me, and I can't call why.

2008, The Shitty Year That It Was for Rap

Yeah, 2008 was even more of a shitty year for rap than it was for American-made, theatrically-released horror films. Infinitely more so.

Sad that the only albums I can honestly say I still give a shit about are: Elzhi's The Preface and Europass, Black Milk's Tronic, eMC's The Show, Planet Asia and DJ Muggs' Pain Language, Q-Tip's The Renaissance, Scarface's Emeritus, and T.I.'s Paper Trail. Why "sad"? Because only one of those albums made any impact, and we all know which one. And yes, I do realize that The Carter 3 came out, but I'm still as indifferent about that one as I was upon initial listen(s).

After such an uneventful, lackluster year on my ears, I have zero energy and/or motivation to write about it. So thankfully Smoking Section has taken the initiative to compile a hilarious-because-its-all-true list of the year's biggest turds. Enjoy.

The Smoking Section's spot-on "Most Disappointing Hip Hop Albums of 2008

Some good shooting of the shit....

A couple of interview clips from the Charlie Rose show with Brad Pitt (a top actor in my book) and David Fincher (very well could be my top working filmmaker today). For somebody like me, this is coolness, considering that neither guy gives too many sitdowns. So having both together in one room is pretty eventful.

Ah, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. A film I'd been waiting all year for, in hopes of it smacking upside the left-cheek with amazing-ness. Instead, it just backhanded me with mostly greatness but some weakness that has prevented it from leaving a huge mark. Maybe I need to see it again before I totally chalk it up to an admirable, well-conceived, somewhat letdown.

There's like nine parts to this, all found on Youtube. I'm just posting a couple here. And note the creepy little mustache that Pitt has; its for his Inglourious Basterds character, so it's a-okay. Quit giggling at it. No, he doesn't look like your pedophile neighbor.

Part 2


Part 3

"Why are you wearing that stupid man-suit?"

Revisiting this one tonight was a stellar idea.



After a good four years away from it, this one is still as hilarious, profound, unsettling, and perplexing as the first dozen times I watched it.

I refuse to believe that writer-director Richard Kelly is a one-cult-hit wonder. Here's to his next one, The Box, wiping the frustration-stains of his too-daring-for-its-own-good Southland Tales clean off. I mean, its based on a Richard Matheson tale, and Matheson is a pillar (in my mind). All the pieces are in play. Now, knock 'em down, Richie boy.

Oh, and Jena Malone truly is one of the most slept-on natural beauties in the game. I've seen plenty of her movie-press-run interviews, and she's never less than equal parts charming, quirky, and free-from-restraint.

I'd kick it with her any time, any place, any second.

Goblin ruled, still rules

Here's a case where I'll let the sounds do the justifying/explaining/entertaining here.

Goblin = a group of progressive musicians from Italy who scored some of the best genre flicks to come out of the 1970s/the best soundtrack-providers in cinematic history (at least for my corrupted sensibilities)

Listen to their work, and fall in love. Or not, though be warned: if you don't, I'll think less of you. Maybe just keep the far-from-impressed reactions to yourself, then.

George A. Romero's Dawn of the Dead, the first time I noticed the collective group name Goblin in the credits under "original music by..."


Dario Argento's Suspiria, officially my all-time top movie score, hands crashed-down on the table of decision (seriously, how fuckin' brilliant is this right here? Cool points forever awarded to Cage and RJD2 for sampling it on "Weather People," too)


Argento's Deep Red....Goblin and Argento went together like Danny Elfman and Tim Burton (Argento even produced Dawn of the Dead)


**Just watched Deep Red for the second time. The "painting is actually a mirror" trick is perfectly-executed, and genius maximized. Well played, Argento-sir. Well played.

>>>>BONUS
This one's not by Goblin; rather, it's the work of another great Italian horror film composer: Fabio Frizzi. And it rules just as much as the above Goblin stuff.

The main theme for Lucio Fulci's awesome-in-every-gloriously-overdone-Dawn-of-the-Dead-ripping-off-way Zombi. (Necro, that aforementioned horror-loving sick fuck/horrorcore rap producer, also sampled this one. What a guy.)

Valkyrie, post-watching thoughts...

It's late. I'm tired. Why couldn't the fuckin' AMC nearby have shown this closer to 9pm, not 11pm? Those inglourious basterds! Going with a bullet-point approach to my specific reactions here. But overall, I dug Valkyrie more than enough. Was highly entertained, never anywhere near bored. Taken as a straightforward suspense thriller, it was damn near first-rate; as a historical account, though, a bit hollow, lacking the meaty layers necessary for full impact. Go into this one as you may.



The Good:
**as just mentioned, the rapid-fire pacing and dedication to the "assassination plot against Adolf Hitler by members of his own army" mission at narrative hand made for what lazier folk would label as a "nail-biter." I, I'll just call it a great piece of tense entertainment. Aside from Colonel Stauffenberg, the head of the anti-Fuhrer mutiny played by Tom Cruise, the rest of the traitors are given zero backgstory, leaving their specific reasons for turning against Hitler mysteries. We just know that they're tired of the tyrant and his civilian-slaughtering, destructive ways.

**considering that we all know the film's outcome before even buying a ticket (the assassination attempt, although the best and most closely-effective of its kind, was unsuccessful, and all involved were executed immediately), the fact that Valkyrie still manages to captivate with ample suspense is something that director Bryan Singer (Superman Returns, X-Men, The Usual Suspects) should be saluted for here.

**and finally, a surprisingly well-handled aspect...the use of all English language here. The intention with the film (at least how it seems to me) is to deliver a top-notch popcorn thriller (albeit one with a bit more truthfulness and importance than other "popcorn" fare), and in order to do so, asses need to be in seats, thus rendering the use of German speaking and subtitles obsolete, unfortunately. I don't mind subtitles, but many (lame mofos) do, so be it. But at least the way the film's English-speaking is eased into within the opening minute it nicely-pulled-off.

And now....

The Bad:
**the stunt casting of Tom Cruise. Sure, Cruise sort of resembles the real Stauffenberg (Google him, I'm too lazy to search for a pic and post it here), but he's way too miscast here. Just see the scene where he angrily exclaims the infamous "Heil Hitler!" salute. The audience I was with erupted in laughter at something that should've been stone-cold serious. And really, if his performance was grade-A+, I wouldn't even have cared that it was a megastar in the role, but his work here is pretty flat. Not his best job done, by any means. He isn't terrible; he's just mediocre, and being that he's surrounded by some very-fine supporting talent (such as Tom Wilkinson, Bill Nighy, and Terence Stamp, all performing greatly here), his faults bleed through the screen.

**related to Cruise, the film's over-dependency on humanizing Stauffenberg by including a brely-there subplot involving his wife and children, as well as an opening scene where he's severely wounded in battle. Neither proves sufficient enough to the basic "assassination attempt" storyboard as things progress, and Stauffenberg is more of a supporting character here than the true lead, so efforts to give him narrative padding fall way short. I can think of at least three other characters in the film that I'd rather have learned more about, but never got to as Valkyrie approaches the all-real-people roster.

**and lastly, an additional negative flipside to the whole "lean, straight-to-the-core approach"....certain spots of the story would've been better served with some explanatory injections. For instance, just how did the choice of "hand-delivered bomb into one of Hitler's private meetings which would set off Operation Valkyrie" end up being the plan? What led to this exactly? Were any other elaborate ideas flirted with at any point? As Valkyrie has it, the plan is decided upon seemingly nonchalantly, and agreed upon rather quickly. Which I'm sure wasn't really the case.

Final Statement:
Valkyrie is totally worth seeing, as long as you go in expecting nothing more than a fast, lean, potboiler of a suspense ride. In no way a "great" film; just a very entertaining, though flawed, one, and one that I'd definitely watch a few more times. I'll just have to turn my critical switch to Off and enjoy the at-times-bumpy-but-ultimately-satisfying ride.