Archive for: February, 2013

The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones

The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones

In which Jason and Cristen Conger review the trailer for The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones.

JASON

Well, Cristen—I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is there’s a race of invisible half-human/half-angels running around killing demons on our behalf. The bad news is, they think we’re totally lame. They even call us “mundanes” behind our back. So catty!

In fact, in their TV Guide’s “Cheers & Jeers” section, us humans always get Jeers. I know that your greatest fear has always been that you’d end up in the Jeers column. I hope you can take some comfort from knowing that nobody reads TV Guide anymore, not even the version published by half-angel demon hunters. Also, every month they inexplicably feature Delta Burke on the cover. We get it—she’s half an angel! But the part of her that played Suzanne Sugarbaker was ALL HUMAN.

CRISTEN

I’m bowled over by your insightful connection between TV Guide reviews and the effervescent Ms. Burke because Suzanne Sugarbaker, you see, is fully the human — half-angels aren’t blessed with such voluminous décolletage; it would hamper their flame throwing and demon ass-kicking — embodiment of the Cheer AND the Jeer, the only mortal capable of straddling both ridicule and praise without breaking a sweat. Case in point: Suzanne Sugarbaker didn’t actually go by Suzanne Sugarbaker. Nope, that racially insensitive beauty queen toted around the name Suzanne Sugarbaker Goff Dent Stonecipher acknowledging all three of her failed marriages. She gave not a shit, that Suzanne.

I really wish the Designing Women writers had delved more into the character of Mr. Stonecipher, though. Not that I would ever want the spotlight cast too far away from dear Delta, but with a last name like Stonecipher, I wonder if Suzanne Sugarbaker was last married — and divorced — to some sort of wizard or warlock, not unlike those whom would be hunted down and barbequed to death by a band of Shadowhunters.

And speaking of Shadowhunters, I can’t get that spooky latte art out of my head. That ghoulish face in the cappuccino foam sent shivers down my spine! I tell you what, Jason, if I am ever contacted by half-angels from the other side, it goddamn better be through designs in hot frothed milk. What the hell else could latte art be good for anyway?!

As you can probably tell from my salty language, I get pretty steamed over latte art just like you do. I hope I haven’t hit a nerve by bringing it up.

Through The Door Of The Moon: The Last Days Of The Rainbow Gaits Natural Horsemanship Club

Through The Door Of The Moon: The Last Days Of The Rainbow Gaits Natural Horsemanship Club

“See, I bet you didn’t even know there was a person in there.” said the pretty hair stylist, holding my newly shorn head and admiring her handiwork.

She was right. I’d let my hair and beard run wild in a state of distraction, and my personhood had been feeling debatable.

But thanks to this process of subtraction, a person had been added back into the world. Meanwhile, a slower form of subtraction was happening just down the road, at my grandfather’s house, where my mother was dying of cancer.

Like Father Like Son

Like Father Like Son

In which Jason and Kat Greene review the trailer for Like Father Like Son. Part of a series of trailer reviews for body-switching comedies of the 70′s, 80′s, and 90′s. 

JASON

Kat, I hate to break this to you, but everything you know about Dudley Moore and Kirk Cameron? Flip it. Arthur 2: On the Rocks? Flipped. Your Mike Seaver from Growing Pains poster? Flip. That. Shit. We got a real Christmas in Australia situation going on here.

Going forward, all Dudley Moore related matters will go directly to Kirk Cameron. All official Kirk Cameron business is now under the jurisdiction of Dudley Moore. Sean Astin stuff will continue to go to Sean Astin, unless Elijah Wood says otherwise. However, the magnetic poles of the Earth have been reversed, so Morgan Freeman will need to re-narrate March of the Penguins to reflect the change.

If you have any letters addressed to D. Moore or K. Cameron, please place a strikethrough on their names and write their corrected titles above the address field, followed by RE: LIKE FATHER LIKE SON. Also, the rapture has been postponed until God can finish watching the last half of this movie, so he can be sure that when he calls Kirk Cameron home to receive his heavenly rewards, it’s not actually Dudley Moore’s soul hiding out in Kirk Cameron’s body trying to scam his way into a free golden harp and halo.

KAT

The really unfortunate thing about all of this is how much hate mail I’ve now accidentally sent to the wrong person. Listen to me, Jason: Mike Seaver is a little shit, and don’t you forget it. I know I won’t.

You know what would be really great, though? A little Sean Astin, all to myself. I don’t think it’s too much to ask to have a tiny hirsute admirer bring me food and carry me up mountains and shit. That’s what’s terrible about this economy, if we’re really getting down to it. There are too few hairy handmaidens, because they’re all too busy trying to earn a living in a currency more universal than my disdainful praise and the glory of being in my presence. The low supply of human Giving Trees is forcing the price up, and I just don’t know how much more condescension I’m willing to dole out in exchange for groveling and chores. Then again, nothing’s worse than having to make your own second breakfast, Jason. Nothing.

Plunging Fully Into The Meese Hole Of Adulthood: Jack Walsh’s Summer Of Krull

Plunging Fully Into The Meese Hole Of Adulthood: Jack Walsh’s Summer Of Krull

When I look back on childhood, I realize that some of the best memories I have are from summer camp. There were the pillow fights, the scavenger hunts, the dance at the girls’ camp across the lake, and the zany hijinks we pulled during arts ‘n crafts. The look on the counselor’s face that time! And then, of course, there was my bunk-mate Rudy, who spent the first half of the summer dragging me along on zany escape attempts, but by Family Visiting Day, we realized we were having the best summer of our lives!

Of course, it’s possible that I am remembering my repeated readings of the children’s novel I Want To Go Home by Gordon Korman, a Canadian author whose books were all I wanted to read as a kid. That seemed like a fun camp.

As for my other camp memories, I recall a bench outside the mess hall that I always stuck my face up against because it kind of smelled like pancake syrup. There was a swimming hole I never wanted to go in, although it occurred to me some time later that it was probably named the “Meese Hole” after the owners of the adjacent piece of land and not because of some infestation of grammatically incorrect plural mice. I remember an eleven year-old who was said to give out handjobs to younger boys who inchwormed their sleeping bags over next to hers, although I don’t think I knew what a handjob was at the time. That might be about all I’ve got, despite having returned to the same YMCA camp year after year. But, this stands to reason, as I only got one-third of the true camp experience, anyway. See, I was a day-camper.

Vice Versa

Vice Versa

In which Jason and Kate Sweeney review the trailer for Vice Versa. Part of a series of trailer reviews for body-switching comedies of the 70′s, 80′s, and 90′s. 

JASON

You know how I can tell this is going to be a good movie? The trailer starts off with a young Fred Savage holding a skull and sassing his dad. It really adds emphasis to your sass when you’re holding a skull. A lot of people don’t know this, but Hamlet’s famous soliloquy in which he’s holding a skull is supposed to be performed in a sassy voice. Hamlet was the Jackée of his time. And Macbeth was the Marla Gibbs. In fact, Shakespeare’s entire body of work was essentially the 227 of the 1600’s.

Even the skull has a sassy expression on its face as it vomits body-swapping magic all over Judge Reinhold and Fred Savage. It’s all like, “Gotcha’, bitches!” Much like Jackée, it has a complete inability to understand context when you’re holding it and making wishes. “Figure of speech? Figure this speech—you need to go out and get new shoes! I can see your rapidly aging toes, you body-switching dummies.”

Another way I know this is going to be a good movie? The trailer describes Judge Reinhold as a “successful businessman and self-professed workaholic” inside of whom “beats the heart of a little boy.” Yikes!

KATE

So, they swapped hearts? That’s what’s going on? Because I’m no medical expert here, but I’m unconvinced that the heart of a little boy could adequately power the body of a 36-year old man. Their souls switching: Sure. But if it’s literal heart-swapping hijinks, then I’m not prepared to believe this. Because, look at this: We’re led to believe that Fred-as-Judge’s first move in his father’s grown body is to go all wild on a skateboard—as it must be, because this is an ’80s movie, in which skateboarding must necessarily be the ultimate shorthand for rascally joie de vivre (See also, most notably: Marty McFly.) In this case, though, he’d better watch it, because the heart of a little boy shall not beat inside him for long if he doesn’t take a breather.