Archive for: May, 2013

This Is The End: Meanwhile, The George R. R. Martin Of Strippers Is Completely Unprepared For Armageddon

This Is The End: Meanwhile, The George R. R. Martin Of Strippers Is Completely Unprepared For Armageddon

Last weekend, my friend from New York came down to visit Atlanta, and she was all about shooting guns. “I don’t care what else we do, but we have to shoot guns. In a field. Outside. I want to do something I can’t do in New York.” When I said maybe we could go to a museum in addition to shooting guns, she said, “New York has a museum on every corner. Fuck museums!”

Man of Steel: I Hope Superman’s Friends Don’t Know Which Direction To Point At The Fortress Of Solitude

Man of Steel: I Hope Superman’s Friends Don’t Know Which Direction To Point At The Fortress Of Solitude

I’m glad there’s another Man of Steel trailer, because the studios need to drum up some interest in this obscure indie gem about a little-known comic book character. “Man of Steel? Is that a sequel to Steel, the critical darling for which Shaq was awarded the Palme d’Or at Cannes, in recognition of his portrayal of both Iron Man and Thor at the same time, except he could also use his big-ass hammer as a gun?” (Come to think of it, who wouldn’t pay good money to see that? Get cracking, Hollywood! And make sure you spell my name right on the royalty checks, please.)

Gravity: Never Mind The Bullock, Here’s The Space Panic

Gravity: Never Mind The Bullock, Here’s The Space Panic

Space travel has never really seemed like it was in the realm of possibility for me, but then again, I never thought the future would bring me a tiny espresso machine that could fit in my car’s cup holder. Actually, I don’t have that, but thanks to Facebook’s targeted advertising, I now know that I am, apparently, the kind of person who should want it. There are no pitches for space tourism yet, but that’s just a matter of time. Allow me to preemptively click “no thanks.”

When I was little, my first exposure to the terrors of outer space (or, at least, the ones that I didn’t learn about in Star Wars movies—watch out for monsters in trash compactors, by the way) came from a National Geographic coffee table book.

Caroline and Jackie: I Would Have An Easier Time If The Olsen Twins Were In This

Caroline and Jackie: I Would Have An Easier Time If The Olsen Twins Were In This

The biggest problem I have with this trailer is that the sisters look too much alike. I have no idea who’s the sick one, or whose birthday it is. Who’s the evil twin/good twin here? I would have an easier time if the Olsen Twins were in this. I already know which one of those girls is effed up. Thanks, Perez Hilton. [Ed note: I think we’d all have an easier time if the Olsen Twins were in everything. Movies, books, paintings, our DNA, our atoms—an infinity of Olsens showing us how the West was fun on a subatomic level. ]

Batman—Arkham Origins: What If Gotham City Was A Hot Half-Korean Girl?

Batman—Arkham Origins: What If Gotham City Was A Hot Half-Korean Girl?

Ever since I texted my girlfriend a joke about “Pussyville,” my phone’s been auto-correcting all the “P” words I type to “Pussyville.” So if I text you that I’m taking you to Pussyville, don’t get too excited—we’re probably going to P.F. Chang’s.

Batman probably doesn’t even need auto-correct. I’m sure every wireless communication Batman sends is flawless, concise, and to the point. If he texts you that he’s taking you to Pussyville, you can be damn sure you’re going straight to Pussyville. And then he’s going to take you to P.F. Chang’s.

One Direction—This Is Us: Summoned From The Blackest Pits of Canada

One Direction—This Is Us: Summoned From The Blackest Pits of Canada

Few people outside of conspiracy-theory circles know this, but Justin Bieber was created by a certain pop singer in an attempt to bring about world peace. After all, who better to usher in an era of harmony than, well, Usher, known for his soulful, harmonious crooning? Just like Ozymandias at the end of Watchmen, Usher knew that to save the world, he had to give it a common enemy. And so, wielding the dark studio arts, he summoned from the blackest pits of Canada a sprightly young chipmunk of a lad.

“Here world,” Usher cackled. “Here is your naked Doctor Manhattan! Look upon my works, ye ladies, and despair!” Lil Jon laid an infectious groove over it, Ludacris contributed a guest rap, and “Naked Doctor Manhattan” went to the top of the charts. [Ed note: Meanwhile, the single “Girl, I’m Not Locked In Here With You, You’re Locked In Here With ME” by “Naked Rorschach” failed to sell a single copy.]

Europa Report: Let’s Throw Our Most Hated Technology Into A Portal To Another World

Europa Report: Let’s Throw Our Most Hated Technology Into A Portal To Another World

There’s a floor in my office building that I think might be a portal to another universe. People on the elevator are always getting off on this floor with their suitcases, but nobody ever comes back down with any luggage. What if there’s a Bioshock Infinite-style tear in the fabric of reality on that floor, and people pay to travel to different versions of our world?

The Bling Ring: Word Gets Out About Your Party, Things Get Weird

The Bling Ring: Word Gets Out About Your Party, Things Get Weird

This is exactly—exactly—why I never let strangers find out I’m having a party.

Obviously, unlike Paris Hilton’s parties, my parties don’t involve me leaving my six-million-dollar mansion unmanned while I snort champagne in another state or whatever, but the principle is the same. Word gets out about your party, things get weird.

For instance, I once thought it’d be smart to circumvent potential noise complaints by inviting all the neighbors over for my birthday. I barely knew them, but I figured they wouldn’t show up, and so what if they did—it was worth a few beers and some Chex Mix to keep them from calling the cops.

Kick-Ass 2: At The Center Of Whom Burns A Molten Core Of Attention-Lust

Kick-Ass 2: At The Center Of Whom Burns A Molten Core Of Attention-Lust

Jim Carrey quite clearly fears painting himself into a Rip Taylor-style corner.

Yeah. Boom. How’s that for a thesis statement?

Stop shame-shaking your head at me, man. You think I don’t know?

Look, Judgey – just hear me out, OK?

Jim Carrey—his mounting desperation to avoid the Confetti Cannon of a Rip Taylor Fate impels him to adopt evermore implausible grabs for Versatility and strained claims at the Legitimacy that will never come.

Because for every Eternal Sunshine, there shall remain a Cable Guy, for every Truman, there shall persist an Ace Ventura.

The Hangover Part III: The Mullet Is The Only Fish With A Gizzard And Is Said To Possess Mystical Properties

The Hangover Part III: The Mullet Is The Only Fish With A Gizzard And Is Said To Possess Mystical Properties

In real life part three of a hangover is usually getting drunk again, but sometimes it also means you end up shirtless in a cemetery drinking Tab, which is what happens in the trailer for The Hangover Part III.

Or maybe it means your friends drive you to rehab, or to Alabama! Past casino billboards, a vintage store called This’ll Do, and a spear-hunting museum! Going to the Florida/Alabama border is kind of an action movie, if the action you’re looking for is waiting for your friend to pick you up in her grandparents’ minivan after you woke up two miles away from your condo in the bed of a 24-year-old who you only slept with because he wrote his thesis on Faulkner. [Ed note: Meanwhile, guys who write their thesis on Tom Clancy can’t even get a peck on the lips!]

Ender’s Game: Maybe Dogs In The Future Take Their iPads To The Restroom

Ender’s Game: Maybe Dogs In The Future Take Their iPads To The Restroom

I’m bringing back “Great, kid. Don’t get cocky!” You know, from when Han Solo says it to Luke Skywalker in Star Wars. I say it all the time now. Watch out, people who just did something great but are starting to get cocky about it—you’re about to get put in your place. By an old man quoting Star Wars.

Byzantium: When I Hit On Girls At The Bar, I Pretend To Be “The Lincoln Lawyer”

Byzantium: When I Hit On Girls At The Bar, I Pretend To Be “The Lincoln Lawyer”

Has the FDA approved a drug that turns the general population into “Paranormal Teen Romance” obsessed moviegoers? Honestly, I wish it was a fucking drug that caused this hysteria, because it seems like people are still obsessed with werewolves and vampires fucking without any good goddamn reason. [Ed note: What if a genie reads this and grants your wish?! Man, I hope nobody’s holding a monkey’s paw and reading your review out loud. Nobody grant Johnny’s wish, especially not in Robin Williams’ voice!]

Ghostbusters: Ray Parker, Jr. Still Ain’t Afraid Of No Ghosts, Is Terrified Of Intimacy

Ghostbusters: Ray Parker, Jr. Still Ain’t Afraid Of No Ghosts, Is Terrified Of Intimacy

Sometimes an adult person wakes up one day to find himself in a loving, grown-up relationship with another adult person, a person who is really pretty special once you get to know her and is actually really good for the first person and has totally helped him mature a lot and get serious about starting a productive grown-up life and that, despite what the first person’s stupid idiot friends think, is not at all a horrible controlling succubus bitch who manipulates the first person’s emotions and uses them like child soldiers in an endless fucking trench war of a romantic partnership, which, now that we’re thinking about warfare analogies, likely boasts a similar body count in terms of emotional casualties as the real-life Rwandan genocide. [Ed note: Or to use a “crossing the streams” analogy, try to imagine all life as you know it stopping instantaneously and every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light, and Janine Melnitz Instagramming it. #totalprotonicreversal]

Only God Forgives: This Explains Why There Was So Much Soup On The Set Of “The Notebook”

Only God Forgives: This Explains Why There Was So Much Soup On The Set Of “The Notebook”

In Only God Forgives, director Nicolas Winding Refn promises to take us through the seamy underbelly of Bangkok’s red light district, blue light district and then back through the red light district. Not since 2007’s I Know Who Killed Me have we seen such a bold attempt at tinting things red and blue and I, for one, am excited to see how such a daring director applies this tactic to a movie with male strippers in it instead of female ones. [Ed note: Remember when Gizmo the Mogwai wore 3-D glasses in Gremlins? What if he wore them to famous Atlanta male strip club Swinging Richards? Like that, maybe?]

Filth: Please Remember Me As The Teenage Christina Ricci Fondling Devon Sawas Hair And Not The Snout-Nosed Christina Ricci Who Kisses Vagrants

Filth: Please Remember Me As The Teenage Christina Ricci Fondling Devon Sawas Hair And Not The Snout-Nosed Christina Ricci Who Kisses Vagrants

I’ve noticed that James McAvoy treats women like pigs in a lot of films. [Ed note: Which explains why he keeps writing “Some Pig” in a spider web above many actresses’ heads in his movies.]

The most literal example I can think of is Penelope, starring Christina Ricci as a girl cursed with a pig nose and McAvoy, a vagrant who doesn’t kiss Ricci until the curse is broken. Ricci dates him anyway, and the movie ends with them swinging on a hill while Sigur Rós’ “Hoppípolla” plays in the background. Little do they know that the last line translates to “I get a nosebleed, but I’ll always stand up again.” To me, this insinuates that McAvoy falls off the swing and busts his nose, leaving both characters with new snouts. [Ed note: Aren’t most Sigur Rós songs about getting new snouts?]