Archive for: April, 2013

Pacific Rim: Lizard-Fighting Muscle-Men Do Not Exist In A Vacuum

Pacific Rim: Lizard-Fighting Muscle-Men Do Not Exist In A Vacuum

The boy is up to something. He usually yells and goes running for the lady who puts me back in the see-through box. She puts on yellow gloves first. That’s fine. I don’t want to touch her either.

But this time, I didn’t like the look in the boy’s eyes when he found me in the middle of the den. There was no Mom! Paco’s out again! Mom! Come get the iguana! Nothing. He just crept back out of the room quietly, and he’s been gone for too long.

Where’s the woman? Come to think of it, I haven’t heard her for a while, either. She’s probably off with the one who sleeps over sometimes. The turd. This is what the bigger boy, He Who Feeds Me, calls him under his breath sometimes. He Who Feeds Me was here earlier with the little one, but then the thing in his pocket beeped and chattered and he left without locking my box.

Labyrinth: David Bowie Will Also Perform A Breast Reduction If You Give Him A Goblin To Turn Back Into A Baby

Labyrinth: David Bowie Will Also Perform A Breast Reduction If You Give Him A Goblin To Turn Back Into A Baby

There comes a time in every girl’s life when she’s approached by David Bowie to take an unchaperoned trip through a dry hell full of weird men and magic. [Ed note: To be fair, David Bowie took Mick Jagger on the same trip.] Supposedly this journey leads you through the conclusion of puberty into adulthood, or whatever. I remember the first time the Androgynous One came to offer me his crystal globes. I snorted milk through my nose and behaved like my generally unbearable self. And that’s the story of why Kat Greene doesn’t have boobs! [Ed note: Is that the trade-off? He gets to turn a baby into a goblin and the girl gets boobs? Shame on you, Jennifer Connelly.]

Elysium: Say What You Will About George Jefferson, But You Didn’t Need A Mech Suit Just To Get Into His Apartment

Elysium: Say What You Will About George Jefferson, But You Didn’t Need A Mech Suit Just To Get Into His Apartment

It’s the year 2154, fish aren’t frying in the kitchen, and beans aren’t burning on the grill. Because the Earth is ruined. Looks like the super wealthy are finally getting a piece of the pie, though. They’ve moved on up, to the Elysium side, to a deluxe apartment in the sky, leaving the rest of humanity to rot.  See you later, poor people! Don’t let the door hit ya where the Good Lord split ya. Come to think of it, who put the Good Lord in charge of splitting butts?

Carrie: Sissy Spacek’s Husband Is Sick Of Getting Hit On The Head With A Bucket Every Time They Make Out

Carrie: Sissy Spacek’s Husband Is Sick Of Getting Hit On The Head With A Bucket Every Time They Make Out

The trailer for the new Carrie movie finally made me curious enough to watch the 1976 original on Netflix.

Which completely spoiled the ending.

On the bright side, I no longer need to go out and see the remake, so Netflix basically just saved me $15—enough for like two more months of Netflix. (Your move, Hulu Plus.)

I’ve chosen to pay my $15 net savings forward by predicting the future of some of the stars of the new Carrie. I’m able to do this with the aid of data collected from the careers of the original stars, as well as an admittedly flawed sense of transitive logic.

Grown Ups 2: If You See Rob Schneider Lapping Water From A Forest Stream, Hold Perfectly Still Or He Will Bound Away Into The Woods

Grown Ups 2: If You See Rob Schneider Lapping Water From A Forest Stream, Hold Perfectly Still Or He Will Bound Away Into The Woods

“You can’t go home again,” as Thomas Wolfe once titled a novel. Which isn’t strictly true. Going home means returning to a place where everyone sees you exactly as you were when you lived there. So what if you’ve grown into a handsome, successful titan of industry? At home, you’ll always be “Lil Kev,” and will never live down that one time you saw a basketball hoop in a swimming pool, yelled, “I just gotta make this hoop shot!” and proceeded to get thoroughly soaked all the way through your snazzy Members Only jacket.

After Earth: I’m Pretty Sure This Is What The Guy From The Spin Doctors Was Thinking Of When He Wrote “Two Princes”

After Earth: I’m Pretty Sure This Is What The Guy From The Spin Doctors Was Thinking Of When He Wrote “Two Princes”

Do Will Smith’s kids, as heirs to his throne, have titles? Is the one in After Earth the Fresh Prince of Wales or is he just a duke of some sort because he’s not first in the line of succession? I don’t know what shocking twist M. Night Shyamalan has planned for this film, but I hope it involves both the ladies that played Aunt Viv.

RIPD: Ryan Reynolds Will Still Eat A Sugar Cube Right Out Of Your Hand, Though

RIPD: Ryan Reynolds Will Still Eat A Sugar Cube Right Out Of Your Hand, Though

ripddepartment1Jeff Bridges pushes Ryan Reynolds off a tall building, then rides him like a wild horse in mid-air! He waves his hat around like a proper cowboy and everything. He looks like one of the mice in The Rescuers riding that big bird around.

Ryan Reynolds does not like it. He’s a person, not a beast of burden! He should let Jeff Bridges know how he feels by posting a YouTube video of “Beast of Burden” on Jeff Bridges’ Facebook wall. And then Jeff Bridges could comment, “You got rode hard and put away wet!” all dismissive of Ryan Reynolds’ feelings.

The Purge: To Be Fair, Aaron Sorkin Considered Making “The West Wing” About Getting To Third Base With Hobos

The Purge: To Be Fair, Aaron Sorkin Considered Making “The West Wing” About Getting To Third Base With Hobos

If one night a year all crime was legal, what would you do? I’m having a tough time answering that question. I guess I could rob a bank, although I imagine that’s what most people will be doing and there are few things I hate more than big groups.

I Hope Ally Sheedy’s Feelings Aren’t Hurt That She Isn’t Mentioned At Any Point During This Review Of The Video For “Who’s Johnny” By El DeBarge

I Hope Ally Sheedy’s Feelings Aren’t Hurt That She Isn’t Mentioned At Any Point During This Review Of The Video For “Who’s Johnny” By El DeBarge

In which Jason and Hilary Kelley review “Who’s Johnny” by El DeBarge from the movie Short Circuit.

JASON

What we have here is a taut legal thriller in which El DeBarge is being brought up on charges for the plot of the movie Short Circuit. I bet John Grisham is biting his gavel in half, he’s so mad he didn’t write this first! And his wife is sick of finding gnawed gavels all over the place. “John, you’ve either been taking cases in beaver court again, or you’ve been watching El DeBarge’s Who’s Johnny, and I know you haven’t been to beaver court because your comically oversized buck teeth are still soaking on the bedside table.”

Has there ever been a robot more in contempt of court than Johnny Five? Has a robot ever shown a more flagrant disregard for our system of law? He’s planting explosives in the judge’s gavel! Imagine if John Grisham had been gnawing on it. He’d have to use his fake beaver teeth as his real teeth. It wouldn’t surprise me if there was a deleted scene of Johnny Five’s robotic hand groping the statue of Lady Justice.

Hilary.

This. Robot. Hates our freedom.

HILARY

I might have to disagree with you, Jason. This whole thing is very familiar, and I feel like this is actually a peek into a small convention for people born with a specific genetic mutation: Wrigglewrist Syndrome. The hallmarks of this syndrome are a proclivity to gesticulate effusively with one’s index finger or thumb in the faces of people whom you are trying to persuade, and also to waggle repeatedly (but this is not to be confused with Wagglerot Disease).

I tried to say “Wrigglewrist Syndrome” five times in a row once, and I snapped the little sliver of connective tissue under my tongue. For the rest of the year I was able to touch my cheek with the tip of my tongue. I was popular with fifth-graders and fit in with Lhasa Apsos. Things were looking up. But then I got my flap-implant. Since replacing that little piece of flesh, I notice that I don’t have the social freedoms I once so enjoyed. I guess what I’m saying, Jason, is that if I’ve ever been asked “How loose is your goose?” I have to say, “Not very, sir. Not very at all.”

Johnny Five knows what it means to be constricted. These people hate him because his joints are fixed, and he doesn’t have to worry about flopping fingers, or wrists that become a slapping hazard in high winds. He’s in control–and they hate that. I hate that. But I’m also a robot bigot. A robot traded my ancestors on a human plantation in the 1800s. Rumor has it, I’m 1/32 robot on my mom’s side, but we don’t bring it up at dinner.

Man of Steel: Sometimes I Call My Dog Sweet Pea, But She’s Not On Superman’s Level Either

Man of Steel: Sometimes I Call My Dog Sweet Pea, But She’s Not On Superman’s Level Either

Why do people who abandon babies on doorsteps always leave them in such nice baskets? You’re already abandoning a baby, why go to the trouble of getting a nice wicker basket? Just put the baby in the Bed Bath & Beyond bag the basket came in! Now you’re baby-free and you’ve got a great basket.

The Hunger Games Catching Fire: Meanwhile,The ICEE Bear Goes On ONE OkCupid Date And Five Months Later He’s Engaged!

The Hunger Games Catching Fire: Meanwhile,The ICEE Bear Goes On ONE OkCupid Date And Five Months Later He’s Engaged!

Damn, those Hunger Games cops will draw a gun on anybody. The last time someone was this eager to draw a gun in front of the entire nation to demonstrate their absolute power, Burt Reynolds was hosting Win, Lose or Draw.

The Lone Ranger: My Third Grade Teacher Might Also Be Haunting Me Because I Told Her She Looked Like Oprah

The Lone Ranger: My Third Grade Teacher Might Also Be Haunting Me Because I Told Her She Looked Like Oprah

Looks like nobody can decide whether or not the Lone Ranger is a man or a ghost! You know who I think might be a ghost? My third grade math teacher. When I asked her if it was okay to count on my fingers, she got mad and said, “Absolutely not!”

Much Ado About Nothing: Shakespeare And Joss Whedon Doing Hand Stuff Together

Much Ado About Nothing: Shakespeare And Joss Whedon Doing Hand Stuff Together

“Buy this hand, I love thee.”

Interesting sales pitch. “Try my product — I love you.” Evidently, the prosthesis market is one of shallow desperation, a bazaar for the needy and limbless.

“Buy this hand, I love thee.”

Hands, here! Git ya hands here! Bona-fide fillers of mittens! Four fingers, a thumb, and a certificate of authenticty! Straight from The Manufacturer! No two alike! Ring-ready! Git ya hands here! Gen-u-ine human digits affixed to a quality palm! Hands for sale! I love you!

“Buy this hand, I love thee.”

I can’t believe this. After all I’ve done for you? After all I’ve done, I’m reduced to this? Begging the woman I love to buy this hand? I’m putting it all on the line right now. If you wanted it, would I not buy it for you? Would I not deliver you everything you could possibly ask of me and more? No, no. Don’t patronize me. I won’t ask again. No. Forget it. Love means nothing to you, I guess.

Obsession. Hatred. Friendship. Love.
Loyalty. Power. Deceit. Truth.
Sex. Dishonesty. Devotion. Deception. 

Hand.

Seriously, buy this hand from me. My back-alley prosthetic hand store is going out of business.

[Ed. Note: Readers will be happy to know I did finally buy a prosthetic hand from Dan Nadolny, but he still refuses to put a ring on it.]

In theaters June 7th.

The Conjuring: Vera Farmiga’s Eyes Are The Window To The Soul, Because Regular Windows Are For Souls To Throw Kids Into

The Conjuring: Vera Farmiga’s Eyes Are The Window To The Soul, Because Regular Windows Are For Souls To Throw Kids Into

I’ve always found Vera Farmiga’s eyes frighteningly compelling. Seriously. Limpid pools. I could drown in them. Or be attacked by eels in them. Or something. The prospect of seeing her as a tormented paranormal investigator in The Conjuring kind of chills me to my soul.

My wife and I have a recurring discussion whenever we see a promo for a horror movie that looks disturbing or super creepy or has somebody doing that freaky, jerky crawl-walking thing, but that ends up being rated PG-13.

“How is that just PG-13?” my wife asks, wincing. “How is that not rated R?”

“I dunno. They probably don’t curse that much or there’s no boobs or not a lot of blood,” I reason, not without adding a condescending chuckle. “You can’t rate something R just for being too scary.”

Then I read somewhere that The Conjuring had received an R-rating just for being too scary, a fact I’ve not, of course, called to the attention of my wife.

This was surprising, because the first trailer, completely devoid of Vera’s eels/eyes, could best be summarized as, “If you’re spooky and you know it, clap your hands.” This is rated R? Surely a bloody, naked woman drops the F-bomb at some point, right?

It all makes a little more sense after seeing another, much scarier trailer. At the very least, it definitely makes The Conjuring seem more exciting than the* paranormal investigation I’ve been on. I met up with some ghost-hunters at an old cemetery in the woods where they said they would look for “orbs” and record Electronic Voice Phenomena, ghostly whispers allegedly hidden in the ambient noise of audio recordings.

But, before we could get to any of that, it really needed to get darker first, so they suggested we hit Hooters for dinner. Do they sell buckets of oysters there? I’m not completely certain, but I seem to remember sitting for ages picking at a terrible chicken sandwich while one of the Junior Necromancers slowly worked her way to the bottom of a giant tub of shellfish. I do, however, distinctly recall the ghost-hunter with a mullet flaunting his pistol to me when we finally got back to the cemetery. It wasn’t for the ghosts; by this point, it seems they had all called it a night. He said it was to keep rednecks from messing with us.

Paranormal activity remained minimal to nil, and even with guns, the Hooters girls, and the looming specter of Deliverance-type shenanigans, I don’t think we pushed past PG territory. But, I shot some footage with one of those greenish night-vision cameras, so it looked like everyone had really scary eyes. Take that, Vera. In theaters July 19th.

*I say “the” singular, but it’s actually “one of the,” because I’m that much of a sucker.

Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2: What’s Next? Making That Ass Clap At A St. Vincent Show?

Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2: What’s Next? Making That Ass Clap At A St. Vincent Show?

Wait—this machine is making living animals out of food? We’ve already got machines to make animals INTO food. That’s like making a baby out of a skeleton!

I’m not surprised, though. This is the same machine that threw giant pies at the faces of our founding fathers on Mount Rushmore, and yet neglected to throw any pies at the faces of Stonewall Jackson, Robert E. Lee, and Jefferson Davis carved into the side of Stone Mountain, Georgia. Racist-ass food machine. I bet it’s like, “Some of my best foods are black!”

One of my friends once told me the first time he ever saw women flashing at a concert was at a They Might Be Giants show at Stone Mountain. That seems like an odd venue to go topless at. Showing your breasts at a They Might Be Giants show is like twerking for Ira Glass at a live taping of This American Life (although I’m sure Torey Malatia would be happy to make it rain, what with all the WBEZ management oversight he provides).

I wonder if Robert E. Lee and his redneck buddies saw a lot of Civil War boobs when they were alive and not stone carvings. Either way, your boob-seeing days are over, Confederate dream team! Hope you made the best of it while you were alive.

How many boobs (Northern or Southern) do you think Robert E. Lee saw, in his lifetime? Do you think he saw more than the members of They Might Be Giants? They’re still alive, playing shows, and have access to the internet, so they probably got him beat.

Wouldn’t be the first time a bunch of yankees got the best of ol’ Robert E. Lee. I do think if we’re tallying up boobs seen over a person’s lifetime, They Might Be Giants should at least have to see them in person to beat Lee’s high score. Or low score? Wikipedia doesn’t have a “boobs seen” section for Robert E. Lee, oddly enough.

Who do you think will be the the last woman in human history to flash her breasts at a Stone Mountain concert? Will Jefferson Davis’s cracker ass be there? In the form of a big chunk of carved quartz, I mean.

If a living Jefferson Davis is present at the end of the world, that can only mean one thing: the racist food machine from Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2 finally figured out how to make Confederate presidents out of tacos, and is preparing to wipe out humanity by taking over the Earth Planet of the Apes-style (Planet of the Crêpes?). Oh, looks like Obama is conspicuously absent from your new society, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2 food machine. Guess we know what your “new world order” is all about. In theaters September 27th.

mountrushmorepie2