A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

I Loathe the 80's

Shoot me now.

From today's Dark Horizons:

Police Academy 8: If I hadn't heard this from 'Turncoat', one of DH's top sources I wouldn't have believed it but apparently one 80's comedy franchise may be on the comeback - "To celebrate the 20th anniversary of the release of the first film, they're talking about doing another one. The plan is: Steve Guttenberg and Sharon Stone might be in it. Remember 'Police Academy 4?' At the end, Mahoney and a reporter flew off into a Balloon together? well the female lead was Sharon Stone. So they're talking to her and Steve about coming back and doing another one. Looks like a goer."

"Remember 'Police Academy 4?'" Actually, I had forgotten both it and Steve "Faust" Guttenberg until I read this. Thanks a pantload, Garth.

Wait, there's more:

Dukes of Hazzard: Ashton Kutcher and Paul Walker are inking deals to do a film based on the classic car-fuelled 80's series according to Variety.

Hell, if I was Ashton Kutcher I'd be milking the publicity from this Demi Moore thing as long as humanly possible. What else is he going to use to get roles once she kicks his flavor-of-the-month ass to the curb? Certainly not his "acting."

The real question is: who plays Daisy?

UPDATE: The Fates are cruel, looks like the answer to the Daisy question, according to Dot Music, might be Britney Spears.

Must Haves

I've been really neglecting myself lately in terms of buying useless crap. Granted, not owning these probably won't significantly lower my quality of life or cause detrimental long term health effects, but do you really want me to take that chance?

Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic (Xbox)
It's a sad fact of the Star Wars franchise that the best properties attached to the name these days are comic books and video games. And until Lucas figures out how to extend the number of hours in a day so he can get his clammy hands on them, they're your best bet for SW-flavored entertainment.

KOTOR is receiving rave reviews from just about every gaming website and magazine. The storyline is engaging, the settings and characters are well detailed, and best of all, you can turn to the Dark Side if you want. You won't get a chance to kill Jar Jar, but still.

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (DVD)

This one kind of flew under my radar, but Douglas Pratt at The Ultimate DVD Geek has a nice overview of what's included on the double disc release. Kirk Douglas, James Mason, and that Donald Duck cartoon where he destroys the Grand Canyon. Nice.

Two Cow Garage - "Please Turn the Gas Back On" (CD)

These guys played at Rudyard's, one of my all-time favorite bars, last Sunday. I missed the show because I'd been powerwashing my house all day and was in bed by 10, probably a good two hours before 2CG even took the stage.

I've listened to the MP3s available on their site and really regret not making the gig. I'm buying the CD this weekend and hope they'll be back in the Houston or Austin area again soon.

Cheap Joke of the Day

From the Associated Press:

Hundreds of portable toilets are seen at Downsview Park in Toronto, Canada on Monday July 28, 2003 at the site of the upcoming Rolling Stones' SARS relief concert.

The band will perform with more than 15 other acts as part of a concert that is expected to draw more than 450,000 people Wednesday.

Makes sense. The Stones' new stuff is total crap.

Ba-dum-bump.

Now they tell us

"Bennifer" has some sad news for everyone. From the IMDB:

Superstar couple Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez are so distraught at the critical backlash to their movie "Gigli" that they have vowed never to work together again. Sources close to the twosome - who met and fell in love on the set of the gangster comedy - say that although in public they have defended the flick, behind closed doors Latina lovely J.Lo is very upset at the bad press. And the sexy pair believe their incredible fame and the gossip surrounding their upcoming marriage doomed the movie to failure before it was released.

Funny, I thought the movie was doomed to failure by the howlingly bad reviews it was getting. Sony is reportedly hoping that the couple's popular appeal will "offset a torrent of negative publicity and disastrous test screenings."

Buh? What popular appeal are they talking about? There may have been some curiosity before the odious "Jenny from the Block" video, or that hour-long infomercial on "Dateline" last week, but now?

And the hits just keep on comin':

Several "unofficial" reviews have already appeared. FoxNews.com's Roger Friedman this week put the film at the top of his list of all-time bad movies. "Witless, coarse, and vulgar, 'Gigli' is worse than its advance buzz could have indicated," he wrote. "The film -- if you can call it that -- is a total, mindless disaster." Today's New York Post quotes Good Morning America critic Joel Siegel as saying tersely following a screening Monday night, "I was shocked."

Wow. Joel Siegel didn't like it. I think somewhere the seventh seal is opening.

Of course, if it is widely described as the "worst movie ever" I'll have no choice but to see it. It's my duty. And also my curse.

Does this mean they're done making those goddamn Pokemon movies?

When a movie tanks, everyone involved has to start pointing fingers. Yesterday, Paramount got the jump on all of us concerning the poor showing of the latest "Tomb Raider" flick:

Studio Cites Game for Weak 'Tomb Raider' Sequel

LOS ANGELES (Reuters) - The romance between Hollywood and the video game industry is suddenly a lot chillier after the studio behind "Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life" on Monday cited problems with a related game for the sequel's weaker-than-expected debut.

The movie and video game industries have grown closer in recent years as films increasingly are tied in to games and games, in turn, are licensed as movies.

But the comments by Paramount Pictures underscore the tensions between the two sides when sales disappoint.

"The Cradle of Life," the second film based on games heroine Lara Croft, opened in fourth place at the U.S. box office last weekend with sales of $21.7 million, well below the opening weekend of 2001's "Tomb Raider."

All this means is that studios aren't going to be so quick to drop $90 million ("The Cradle of Life's" estimated budget) on a video game movie. Disney and Columbia TriStar somehow survived the poor performances of "Super Mario Bros." and "Street Fighter," respectively, probably becase they didn't spend an obscene amount of money in the first place. Either keep your budget in the $20-30 million range, a la "Resident Evil" - that way even if the theater run isn't that great, you cans still recoup in DVD sales and rentals - or just make a low budget film that might as well go straight to video anyway. I'm talking to you, "Double Dragon."

There are exceptions, of course.

And I have some bad news for Paramount: people didn't stay away in droves from the second "Tomb Raider" movie because the latest game was buggy and almost unplayable, they stayed away because the movie is an incoherent piece of shit. For crying out loud, she rides a great white SHARK in one scene. If she'd tried that in the video game, you'd be hitting the restart button. Audiences were laughing out loud, which in and of itself isn't a bad thing, except "Cradle of Life" isn't a freaking comedy.

Black bikinis and lazy CGI also can't disguise the fact that this movie is a complete rip-off of a much better film. Action movies don't have to be mindless, you know.

Blog Update

Slightly new motif to the ole blog today. I wanted an image up there to break up the monotony of the banner, so here you go. Vielen dank to webmaster extraordinnaire Michael Croft for having the patience to help me figure out how to get it to look so groovy.

The pic itself is from a rather obscure sci-fi movie that's become somewhat more recognizable since the inclusion of a scene in a recent TV show's opening credit sequence.

Movie Miscellany

The remake of George Romero's 1978 zombie horror classic "Dawn of the Dead" is under way. I'm trying to remain optimistic about this (and it couldn't possibly be any worse that that rumored "Casablanca" remake with Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez), even in light of the following:

- It's written by James Gunn. Gunn may have cut his teeth on screenwriting with the inspired "Tromeo and Juliet" and the uneven "The Specials," but he also wrote the appalling "Scooby Doo." And while it's possible the blame for that particular fiasco could be placed at Freddie Prinze Jr.'s feet, Gunn's presence is still a source of concern.

- Romero isn't involved. The issues surrounding the rights and ownership of the "Dead" franchise almost require a degree in hyperbolic topology to understand, but one bright spot is if "Dawn" is successful we might finally get the long-awaited final chapter in his Living Dead series (possibly titled "Land of the Dead").

- It's rumored to be rated PG-13. I know we need to get the kiddies to show up, by come on. How in the name of Herbert West can you make a freaking PG-13 rated zombie movie? If true, you can kiss those greasy loops of intestines goodbye.

It's still possible this movie could be good. I think it's generally a good idea to wait for a finished product before heaping scorn and abuse upon it, so until then, go check out "Meat Market" from Frontline Films: zombies, vampires, and Mexican wrestlers. Oh my.
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"True Lies 2" will "never get made," according to Jamie Lee Curtis. Why? Because "terrorists aren't funny anymore."

Head over to Dark Horizons for more of her comments. She has some amusing ideas on who the new enemy could be.

Personally, I think they should combine the "True Lies" property with "Get Smart" and make a "Nude Bomb" sequel. I mean, how could that not be funny?
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"Bubba Ho-Tep" getting theatrical release.

The film, based on a short story by the great Joe R. Lansdale, has been making the festival circuit for the last year. Now it's set to start rolling out in selected theaters in September.

Here's the plot: Elvis and JFK team up to fight an ancient Egyptian mummy in a Texas nursing home. There are a number of reviews out there, including one by a certain handsome young go-getter.

Six-peat?

Rock on.

It was a close one, but Lance Armstrong won his fifth Tour de France in a row, joining Miguel Indurain as only the second person ever to do so. Not content with that, Armstrong has said he plans on going for six next year.

As most of you have deduced, I'm a pretty big Lance fan. I'll be watching in 2004 to see if he can break the record once and for all.

Conversations with Famous People, Pt. 1

During a recent drive back from Austin, I had time to reflect upon the many significant encounters I've had with various celebrities. In the interest of sharing, I've decided to include them here as an irregular feature called "Conversations with Famous People." Enjoy.

The Year: 1992
The Place: An unnamed fine dining club in Bryan, TX
The Person: Hall-of-Fame pitcher Nolan Ryan

Nolan Ryan: Excuse me, what is this?
Pete: It's mahi mahi, Mr. Ryan.
Nolan Ryan: Could I get a steak?
Pete: Sure thing. What kind of wine would you like?
Nolan Ryan: Could I get a Miller Lite instead?
Pete: No problem.

Join us next time for another riveting chapter of "Conversations with Famous People."

Please, Mr. Plesiosaur

So Werner Herzog, best know for directing the classic "Aguirre: The Wrath of God," is making a documentary about the Loch Ness monster. Herzog, according to the film's web site, will lead an expedition team to to "learn the real story behind the monster." He's accepting applications for cryptozoologists, paleontologists, eyewitnesses, and biologists to join him on his excursion.

At last count, there have been 4 documentaries, 3 movies, and 1 "Simpsons" episode based on the mystery of the Loch Ness monster. None of the documentaries have turned anything up, and none of the movies have done much to horrify audiences (besides giving Ted Danson a starring role).

Herzog apparently hopes to settle, once and for all, just what's in that damn loch. It isn't clear if he'll be working with Dr. Robert Rines, the Loch Ness Project, or Professor Frink and his vaunted Frog Exaggerator.

There is no monster, people. Loch Ness is too cold, it's fresh water, and I spent an hour riding around it in a tour van, staring at its maddeningly flat surface without blinking once, and I didn't see a damn thing.

There's still hope for the yeti, though.

Down(ey) for the Count?

Woody Allen is casting for his new movie, which from early rumors looks like it might be a big screen treatment of the TV show "C.O.P.S." From the IMDB:

Troubled screen stars Robert Downey Jr. and Winona Ryder are wanted once again - this time by legendary film-maker Woody Allen. Former drug-taker Downey Jr. and convicted shoplifter Ryder are in talks to join the cast of Allen's next movie, which is scheduled to being filming this autumn.

Allen, no stranger to questionable behavior himself, shouldn't stop there. Tim Allen hasn't had much to do lately, and I'm sure Christian Slater and Yasmine Bleeth could use the work (no one wants him to give Jeffrey Jones an audition, however).

But I can't be the only one of you thinking how nice it is to see Robert Downey Jr. getting a fourth or fifth chance to straighten up and fly right. Doubtless some of his biggest fans are guys in the state pen who probably love the fact that Downey keeps getting probation and early release for his felony coke, heroin, and meth convictions while they're doing the mandatory minimum for holding a couple ounces of weed.

With parts in recent, smaller films like "The Singing Detective" and a role in the upcoming "Gothika" with Halle Berry, Downey's career looks to be getting back on track, which is the worst thing possible for him. For the last ten years, every time Downey has gotten a high profile gig or some critical praise, he's inexplicably decided to self-immolate.

Is he a good actor? Sure. Is he "the most extravagantly gifted actor of his generation," as noted blowhard Michael Sragow put it? Well, no. And I think Sragow might need medical attention to boot (in the same article, he calls "The Pick-Up Artist" a "burgeoning cult film"). Downey's made some compelling films, but many of his performances have been depressingly erratic, if not plain bad. The annoying thing is that Downey himself has admitted that his past drug use has affected his performance negatively. Will Hollywood finally shun him if he continues to screw up? Or will they continue to publicly offer support just to squeeze the last box office from his train wreck of a life? And what about the audience? Will Downey ever realize that we don't want the erratic, supercilious Robert Downey Jr. of "Home for the Holidays," but rather the focused, driven Robert Downey II of "Tuff Turf?

For a man at the crossroads of his life, I can offer this advice: there's absolutely no better way to cement your reputation in the entertainment firmament than to Belushi at a relatively young age. With that in mind, Robert Downey Jr. should ask himself a serious question. What would be better, going out in a booze and coke-fueled maelstrom of carnality, surrounded by hangers-on, circus animals, and strippers, leaving everyone to speculate on the stratospheric heights you would've reached had your star not burned too bright, too fast? Or conquering your demons, meekly apologizing to friends and family in true 12-step fashion, and going on to make lackluster, hackneyed crap like every other formerly brilliant-while-shitfaced entertainer?

I'll be waiting at the bar.

Tales from the Multiplex, Pt. 1

Growing up in a moderate sized central Texas town in the early 1980s, we had a grand total of two theaters from which to choose. Combined, they supplied us with a whopping six screens (which often shared at least one movie). One was in a mall well out of bike riding range of my house, the other a mere five miles away. As you can imagine, many rides were cajoled from parents and older siblings so we could experience the transcendent joy of seeing "Krull" on the big screen.

Just in time for high school, a brand new 6-screen Schulman theater opened up near downtown. It was situated right next to the (by then) defunct Skyway Twin Drive-In, which my friends and I would sneak into after dark, looking for (and sometimes finding) relics of B-movie glory.

The Schulman 6 was a real lifesaver for local kids who were in the habit of exhausting the other theaters' supply of movies in a single weekend (especially while the Manor East 3 was busy breaking the record for most consecutive weekends screening "The Man from Snowy River" (seriously, it played there for over two years). It not only doubled our community's total screen acreage, but by the time most of us were of driving age, it had become a regular date spot. Movies were something every area teenager had in common at the time, along with beer (the drinking age was still only 19, meaning most high schoolers could still fake out the local Stop 'n Rob clerks), a love of Austrian pop singer Falco, and working at McDonald's.

And you could only take a date to the cemetery so many times before she thought you were a little strange. Trust me on this.

I was certainly no stranger to the Schulman's joys, and saw just about every major studio release there in my day. There are a million stories in the naked cinema, but I'm choosing this particular tale because a) it comes first chronologically, and b) most of the others are just plain dumb.

It was 1986, and I was on a double date with my best friend, Sven (NOTE: this is obviously not his real name, but describing him in too much detail is inconsiderate both to him and to the fine citizens of Pennsylvania who allow him to live among them).

Anyway, Sven and I were squiring two lovely young ladies to a showing of "Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives." At least, I'm pretty sure it was "Part VI." It's the one where they're digging Jason up and Tommy Jarvis sticks a pole in his corpse, which is then struck by lightning, naturally bringing Jason back to life...it's really not important. What is important is that being the cheap bastards we were, Sven and I had neglected to take our dates to dinner. Eager to rectify this mistake (and hoping to salvage valuable post-movie makeout time), we decided to order pizza.

The pizza guy we called from the lobby pay phone seemed a mite befuddled, but took our order and agreed to deliver the pizza to the Schulman's lobby. Satisfied, we returned to our theater, basking in the accolades we received from our companions.

Mongol General: "Pete, what is best in life?"
Pete: "To order your pizza, see it delivered to you, and to hear the appreciation of the women."

About twenty minutes later (and not too engrossed in the machinations of one Jason Voorhees), Sven and I went to the lobby...only to be confronted by the terrible sight of the manager talking to a (justifiably) irritated pizza delivery guy. We approached, attempting to explain our situation. The manager (who looked eerily like Stephen King) was having none of it, insisting that outside food or drink was not allowed. We pleaded with him, for the sake of our rumbling stomachs and the potential of some heavy petting, to let us take it in. No dice. We were told to either leave the theater or put the pizza in our car and come back. The slam of his office door was a grim metaphor for the gate that was about to be shut against our raging hormones.

Sven and I realized there was nothing for it but to fetch the girls and go eat in the parking lot. And so it would have been had the girl working the concession stand, thoroughly amused by our predicament, not suggested a little stealth operation: Sven would take the pizza around the outside of the building to the external theater exit, and I would go back into the theater and open the door for him from inside. It was a hell of a plan, even if she did go to a rival high school. I could only imagine what other contraband (booze, hookers, WMD) had been smuggled in this manner.

We followed her instructions and brought the pizza into the theater to the cheers of the audience (all five of them, not counting our dates) who were no doubt relieved to see what I had been doing rustling around behind the film screen as I hunted for the door. So pleased were we with our success, we shared out the pizza with everyone there. Our dates were suitably impressed, and while I can't speak for Sven, I reaped the rewards of my labor in a more...personal manner later that night. We liked to imagine the manager finding the pizza box after the movie and shaking his fist at the sky, like Snoopy in his bullet-ridden Sopwith Camel, cursing our teenage ingenuity.

I know, I know, it wasn't technically our idea. But we told our dates it was, which is all that matters in the final analysis.

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I went on my last date at the Schulman in 1994. It had become a dollar cinema by then (driven to desperation by the opening of a Cinemark googleplex nearby, I guess), and the showing of "The Fugitive" we attended convinced me never to go to dollar movies again. Last I heard, it was being converted into classroom space for the local community college.

It's probably just as well. The manager I mentioned, who served as antagonist in my little story, was murdered in his office a few years after the Pizza Incident. That had a sobering effect. It won't suprise anyone to know that my friends and I had crossed paths with him on numerous occasions, usually by behaving in a manner common to groups of adolescent boys in a theater. As you can imagine, we made his job more difficult than it needed to be. Even so, he seemed to delight in making the lives of teenaged theater patrons miserable. We gave him no end of grief, but he threw it right back at us with gusto.

There was an article in a local paper that his ghost had been seen in and around the projection room in recent years. I hope he sticks around when the college's renovations are finished. I'd like to read a story in the near future about students who were going to class and inexplicably had their outside food or drink knocked out of their hands.

Leykis My Ass

Everyone up in arms over a Los Angeles area disc jockey's decision to air the name of Kobe Bryant's accuser needs to take a deep breath, go to the guy's web site, and decide if you really think it's worth the effort.

Do you really believe the author of "Leykis 101" - "An unapologetic primer to help men get laid with minimum effort" - cares about the reasons behind shielding an alleged sexual assault victim's identity? Does it sound like a guy whose web site describes him as an "oracle of psychosexual truth" gives a rat's ass about the invasive microscope this woman will now be under?

From his web site, we can determine that the guy hasn't had a piece of "hate mail" worth publishing since May 29. The Bryant case must've seemed like it dropped out of heaven just for him, because for all his half-assed squawking about men's rights and how he performs a "different type of talk radio," a quick perusal of his site finds the same old "morning crew" shtick practiced by every Howard Stern wannabe from Mancow in the Morning to Opie and Anthony: breast flashing, lingerie pillow fights, and gloating about how "the cops" are always called out to break up his crazy shenanigans.

Leykis isn't new to this particular stunt, having been the first to name Marv Albert's accuser in public as well. Far from being "different," he embodies the worst cliches of radio: loud, offensive, and willing to do anything for ratings.

Which is why it doesn't do any good to ask him, as I'm sure many have, how he'd feel if someone he was related to had been sexually assaulted and their name made public. Truth be told, he'd probably have them on the air himself. Rest assured every angry e-mail and phone call will be eagerly rehashed tomorrow morning by this insensate Larry Flynt clone. And he won't get fired, at least not until people stop calling and e-mailing him in indignation.

Even more amazing to me about this whole thing is the Bryant defenders (like Leykis, coincidentally) who assert the woman is seeking attention and money. Step back for a moment from the ridiculous idea that any woman, assault victim or not, would want to be known in perpetuity as "that girl Kobe Bryant raped" and ask yourself, "Why Kobe?" This is the NBA we're talking about. If she's just after money, there are easily three dozen players with a track record of this behavior that even a dimwit like Tom Leykis wouldn't have bothered to defend.

Okay, enough Kobe. Tomorrow we'll see if I can't find a Gamera movie to talk about.

UPDATE: Surprise, surprise. Leykis has a rap sheet of his own. From The Smoking Gun:

JULY 24--The Los Angeles shock jock who has been broadcasting the name of the woman Kobe Bryant has been charged with sexually assaulting was once arrested for domestic violence and had to enter a batterer's program as part of a plea deal with Massachusetts prosecutors, court records show.

Seems Leykis was charged with felony assault for hitting his now ex-wife in the head with a drinking glass during an argument and allegedly pushing her head into a fireplace. Charges were dismissed after Leykis attended a domestic violence class and made it through a year's probation.

So I was right about him lacking empathy for female victims of violence, but wrong about why. It's not because he's an ignorant publicity hound, but because he is, himself, a wife-beating scumbag.

Hero or the Goat

There won't be much in the way of new information about the whole Kobe Bryant sexual assault imbroglio until August 6, which hasn't prevented everyone from bloviating about it ad nauseum anyway. If it gets to trial, I'm sure we'll be treated to exhaustive coverage and metric tons of mud flung by both sides. The first salvos have actually already been fired, with reports leaking to the media about the accuser's allegedly unstable past and friends of hers speaking of "visible evidence" of a physical assault. All we really know at this point, by Bryant's own admission, is that he and the alleged victim did have sexual intercourse.

Predictably, people have already started forming up into opposing factions over the case. One of those in the "not guilty" camp that I've come across on the web is FreeKobe.com, which is making a pretty naked grab for notoriety with pro-Kobe t-shirts and buttons. What actually grabbed my attention about the site (aside from its largely illiterate, bile-spewing forum that is) was its tagline: "Because We're Running Out of Heroes."

Even a non-basketball fan like myself knows Kobe Bryant is regarded as one of the best players out there today, but a "hero?" Sure, one could make the argument that, up until a few weeks ago, he was a "role model." By most media definitions he's also a "star" and a "celebrity," but a hero? Just how loose have our standards regarding that term gotten?

I'm of the opinion we should exercise a fair amount restraint when applying the H-word to celebrity figures (unless they do something heroic, of course). The original definition might have been pretty narrowly applicable to guys like Heracles and Theseus, but should somebody still have to act in an extraordinarily courageous manner to help others, preferably under life-threatening circumstances, to warrant the title?

It's understandable why people (especially youngsters) look up to athletes: they effortlessly perform amazing feats of physical prowess while the majority of their parents have difficulty reaching for the remote without pulling a hamstring. Many pro sports figures also devote time and money to charitable causes. Of course, professional athletes are paid better than your average 100 history teachers to be able to run a 4.4 40, and I know many "normal" people who volunteer and give to charity as well, should either group qualify as "heroes?" Perhaps the fact that young people admire you is sufficient. If so, I should let everyone know that I babysat a couple kids a while back who were highly impressed by my mastery of "Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3" on the PlayStation. When should I pick up my key to the city?

Here's where I see the spectrum on this: at one end there are those who want to create a more inclusive definition. This is your Emersonian camp ("Each man is a hero and oracle to somebody"), where people like athletes, and also teachers and parents, are heroes to others by virtue of the inspirational effect of their actions.

At the other end are those who adhere to a stricter Classicist definition, where only the bravest and most selfless individuals are given the label. And how pathetic is it that I can't think of an offhand example (except maybe Audie Murphy) for someone like that?

Obviously given this range, you can argue for just about anyone's inclusion in the "hero" category.

There are, of course, exceptions:

For example, merely enlisting in the armed forces does not make you a hero, never mind what the 700 Club says. It certainly does increase your chances, however (even a supply clerk at Ft. Dix is expected to take up arms against the Hun if needed). Similarly, if you happen to be part of a wayward supply convoy and you get captured, then rescued by Special Forces, you're one tough kid, and you've been through a hell of an ordeal, but I don't know that you qualify as a "hero."

And the Bronze Star is arguable, as well.

Also, surviving incredible physical adversity that resulted from your own poor planning does not make you a hero, Mr. Ralston. Maybe if you'd had a goddamn cell phone or signal mirror when you were out hiking you wouldn't have had to cut your arm off. And for future reference, it's a lot easier to cut through your elbow, using a blade that isn't a cheap Leatherman knockoff.

And on a local note, anyone who calls that phone number to fink on people who don't have an EZ-Tag for using the EZ-Tag lane on the toll road is not a hero. I wouldn't bring this up except the number, up on signs at the toll plazas here in Houston, is in fact 800-XXX-HERO, which is just sad.

Back to Kobe Bryant. Guilty or innocent, the shine is off. No one will look at him with the same bald-faced adoration they once did (except for those guys at FreeKobe.com, I guess), even if he beats the rap. And maybe that's a good thing. I mean, is the NBA really where you want to go looking for role models?

Finally, when Bryant says he's "a man just like everybody else," I'd like to be excused from whatever classification he's using. I've been married longer than he has, and somehow I've managed not to make "the mistake of adultery." And I'd be willing to bet a month of Jack Nicholson's palimony payments he wouldn't have fessed up to that much had all this happened in the days before DNA testing.

It's all in the reduxes

No, no, no.

From the Wing Kong Exchange:

AND: Update from screenwriter Corey Mitchel - Corey reports that he spoke with producer Debra Hill and director John Carpenter last week, and John is "totally on board" for a Big Trouble sequel, provided that Corey can get it set up. Kurt Russell is similarly interested, and work is underway in getting in touch with Jackie Chan regarding the project!

Woof. I think a "Big Trouble in Little China" sequel is a stupendously bad idea. Carpenter's and Russell's track record with sequels to date hasn't been very impressive, to say the least. What's more, I'm afraid they won't be able to duplicate the ensemble magic of the original. Victor Wong is gone, it sounds like James Hong and Dennis Dun would be relegated to cameos, at best, and good luck getting Kim Cattrall to get her camp on again as Gracie Law.

Another great thing about the first "Big Trouble" was how fresh the classic kung fu look was to American audiences in 1986. Now, everyone from the Wachowskis to the Wayans brothers to MuchMusic has bled the fun out of the genre. And frankly, the idea of casting Jackie Chan doesn't make a possible sequel sound substantially different than "Shanghai Noon"/"Shanghai Knights." Maybe we can look forward to bullet time or worse, the "Big Trouble" sequel becoming nothing more than another throwaway martial arts comedy-actioner.

Can Carpenter preserve the old Jack Burton charm? Will we get another CB monologue? I have my doubts, but I'm grudgingly willing to wait until a finished product comes along to hopefully prove me wrong. If not, Carpenter can join John Landis and Steven Spielberg in the Hell of Directors Who Should Have Left Well Enough Alone.

D'oe!

I mentioned this possibility when I blogged about the Hunting for Bambi phenomenon earlier, now snopes.com has reported the story was a hoax.

You can read the whole entry here. They assert the whole thing was a set-up in order for this company to sell its videos of alleged "hunts."

KLAS, who broke the, uh, story, maintains the hunts are real. They went back to interview Michael Burdick, the alleged mastermind of the operation, and he denied staging anything. He did, however, say that the women hunted will now wear protective eyewear.

Personally, I think it would be a lot more entertaining to have naked women chasing me with paintball guns. I don't know if I'd pay $10,000, but it would be a nice tribute to the Arthur Jarrett scene from "Monty Python and the Meaning of Life."

Deep Dooku

I found myself fast forwarding through "Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones" the other day (we loves our PVR, yes we does), trying to home in on the non-suck portions of the movie. They were few and far between (any action scene featuring Obi-Wan, basically), but at least more numerous than in "The Phantom Menace." While rewinding the Obi-Wan/Jango Fett duel for the nth time, it finally dawned on me why the two prequels, to date, have been so bad. It was so obvious, I could pull the ears off a gundark for not thinking of it sooner.

But let's back up a bit. You've heard the criticisms since "Episode I" came out: Lucas writes worse than the bastard child of Jackie Collins and John Grisham; Lucas is drunk on power and no longer listens to the wise counsel of former confidantes like Gary Kurtz; Lucas should hand the writing/directing chores over to someone else; Lucas experimented with trepanation and lost his mind. The howls of protest went up well before the end of that first midnight screening in 1999, and have scarcely abated since.

Is there validity to these claims? Sure, to a point. Even the films in the original trilogy, which most of us still remember through the hazy and idealistic prism of childhood, were written in a stilted and ponderous fashion. Really, "I've got a bad feeling about this" can only be tossed out so many times. And the best line in the trilogy, Han's "I know" to Leia right before being frozen in carbonite, was ad-libbed.

Look at the facts, though: Lucas directed both prequels, sure, but "Return of the Jedi," the movie that allowed a handful of Teddy Ruxpin's country cousins to defeat the most feared military force in the galaxy, was directed by Richard Marquand and co-written by Lawrence Kasdan, who also co-wrote "Empire." Obviously, quality is not wholly incumbent upon who sits in the little folding chair.

So what's the real problem with the prequels? Is it that they lack the loveable rogue character Harrison Ford supplied in the OT? Possibly, though Ewan McGregor allowed a bit of the swashbuckler to seep into his portrayal of Obi-Wan. How about the antiseptic CGI? Could be. Any sense of wonder one had from the earlier movies' special effects is certainly lost when better work is evident in most Pixar releases.

All these avoid the heart of the matter, however. I've heard the love of Star Wars movies compared to being in a relationship with an abusive spouse (and have detailed it myself in another forum), and it isn't too far off the mark. Lucas makes you work for it, struggling to find the one elusive nugget of gold in an otherwise endless river of silt. He continues to up the difficulty factor by refusing to release the first three movies on DVD, and worse, insisting that the original versions (minus Quick Draw McGreedo) will never be released at all. He champions the inclusion of Jar Jar and makes Anakin Skywalker less a tragic hero than a petulant bastard we care nothing about. So why is he doing this?

It's because he wants us to hate these films.

Think about it: do you know anyone who honestly hates Star Wars? I know, I know, every group has some crank who claims they were never impressed when they first saw it on the big screen. We'll leave them to clutch their DVD copies of "The Hidden Fortress" and mutter blackly to themselves. For many of the rest of us, most notably those under the age of 40, "Star Wars" sparked a lifelong love of movies. Even knowing what we do now about Lucas' penchant for "borrowing" from other filmmakers and his reliance on brilliant people around him, we're still hard pressed to find too much fault with the original, much less actively dislike it.

But this is, I believe, exactly what he wants. Maybe he's tired of all the adulation heaped on the original trilogy ("Hey, I directed 'American Graffiti' too!"). Maybe he's getting death threats. Perhaps he even entered into some weird arrangement, a la "The Producers," where he actually stands to make even more money if the prequels fail. I'm not sure of the rationale behind it, but taken in that light it makes a kind of twisted sense.

The man obviously doesn't need any more money. And the backpedaling he did after at one time saying he wanted to make nine movies only cements the idea that he's sick of Star Wars. Granted, he could coast by until his dying day without making another film and his legacy would be complete. Besides, after seeing the impressive job Peter Jackson has done with his two "Lord of the Rings" movies, I doubt Lucas would be missed. If six films are all that are required to tell the story (and "Episode III" will have to be subtitled "Ignoring the Continuity" to help it jibe with the other five chapters), why not have a little fun with them? For example, Anakin is not, as you assumed he was, the sympathetic character who succumbs to his inner demons, but rather an unsympathetic, easily manipulated little prick. What, you thought the Force was this mystical energy field binding the universe together? Wrong, now it's a biological anomaly, akin to having webbed toes or being able to roll your tongue.

Maybe if this was actually Lucas' agenda, I could relax some and enjoy the prequel train wreck a little more. And while I'd like to believe my little conspiracy theory, that sinking sensation comes over me again after carefully selecting the 30 or so bearable minutes of "Episode II." I'll go see "Episode III" when it comes out, but the thought no longer fills me with anticipation like it did a scant five years ago. At most, I have a tiny glimmer of optimism awash in a sea of black dread. And that comes from the prospect of seeing a certain Gungan bite the dust.

The best way I can describe it is like being obligated to attend an aquaintance's housewarming party. He may be an insufferable blowhard who will go to great lengths to gloat over his new pool and home theater system, but hopefully he'll have free beer.

Once again, I've got a bad feeling about this.

Tour de Lance Update

The reports of Lance Armstrong's demise in his bid for a record-tying fifth consecutive Tour de France title may have been exaggerated.

Armstrong gets back on bike to win Tour stage

After a fall early in Stage 15, Armstrong went on to win the stage and extended his leads over Jan Ullrich to 1:07 and Alexander Vinokourov to 2:45.

This year's Tour is the closest since Armstrong starting winning back in 1999, and after Ullrich's surprise performance in Friday's time trial (which Armstrong has historically dominated), it looked like the the five-peat was not to be. Now, who knows?

On a related note, I don't know if this article, by ESPN's Jim Armstrong is a joke or not. If it is, it's not very well written. If not, well, then the guy's an idiot. Lance Armstrong may not be the Greatest Athlete of All Time (we all know who that is), but give the guy a little credit.

Our friendly columnist also asserts that cycling is boring to watch...I guess he didn't tune in to last week's Tampa Bay-Texas series. As for comparing it unfavorably to bowling, I have one standard rule of thumb I consult in discussions like this: any activity you can perform as well or better after drinking is not a sport. This will come as bad news to all you bowling, darts, billiards, and golf enthusiasts.

I'm open for debate on curling, however.

I Melt with You

The Alamo Drafthouse recently opened here in Houston, and aside from the fact the theater is located halfway to San Antonio, this is a good thing. A plate of nachos and a pitcher or three of beer can make almost any movie enjoyable.

This doesn't always count for Weird Wednesdays, however, when the Alamo rolls out films long since hidden from the sight of Man. This time around, audiences will be treated to the sublime wonders of "Street Trash," which has more melting/exploding characters than "Raiders of the Lost Ark," "The Incredible Melting Man" and "Scanners" put together. Even better, head over to Greg Wythe's site and you could get in for free.

The Houston Drafthouse offers more conventional movie fare than its downtown Austin cousin, so show your support for Le Weird by heading over on Wendesday for the 10 pm show and letting your freak flag fly.

"Frankly, because you've got nothing to live for."

The trailer for "Once Upon a Time in Mexico," the sequel to 1995's "Desperado" and the third film in the "El Mariachi" series, is up at the Sony web site. Check it out here.

I'm really looking forward to this. "Desperado" was a nice little orgy of stylistic violence, and "Once Upon a Time..." looks to continue that tradition, only more so. And not only does it reunite Banderas, Hayek, Cheech Marin (which should make for some amusing retconning if he's playing who I think he is), Tito Larriva, and Danny "The Mayor" Trejo, but it introduces Johnny Depp as CIA Agent Sands, who at one point can be seen wearing an "I'm with stupid" t-shirt. Those never go out of style.

I haven't seen "Pirates of the Caribbean" yet, but Depp is a good enough actor to elevate even medicore movies ("Blow") with his performances - although nothing could salvage "The Astronaut's Wife." Casting him in "Once Upon a Time in Mexico" was an inspired decision, and one that I hope pays off.

Of course, it can't all be good news. I was unaware that Enrique Iglesias has a part as well (as Lorenzo, or "Mariachi #2"). Hopefully he'll meet the same fate as Nino and Campa from "Desperado." And keep your fingers crossed that director Robert Rodriquez was able to avoid casting his buddy Quentin Tarantino in this one. Tarantino's a good director, but on screen he makes Paulie Shore look like John Barrymore.

"To the Bat-Grotto!"

Stan Lee is officially a dirty old man. From Variety.com:

Bunny boss Hefner turns toon

Stan Lee's found a way to make Playboy founder Hugh Hefner a little more animated.

The comicbook guru has partnered with Playboy to develop a cartoon TV series starring Hefner as the leader of an elite crime-fighting team -- staffed, of course, by various Playmates of the Month.

Lee's Pow! Entertainment will produce the adult-oriented project, "Hef's Superbunnies," along with Playboy's Alta Loma Entertainment. Lee and Hefner will announce the series today at Comicon in San Diego.

We'll ignore the fact that Hef had already been given the animated treatment in "The Simpsons," but come on, Stan...first "Stripperella" and now this? What can we look forward to next from the Mansion of Ideas? ViagraMan? The May-December Dynamic Duo? Did you escape mid-life crisis just to become a full-blown letch?

I can imagine the thunderous indifference with which the assembled masses at Comicon will greet this news. Fanboys already have plenty of options if they have a jones for adult-oriented or just plain freaky-deaky animation. Unless Hef and Stan are planning on airing the cartoon on the Playboy Channel, I can't see there being a lot of excitement for yet another parade of gravity-defying, spandex-clad "heroines."

The only way the show might be different is if they use the Playmates of the Month in innovative ways. They could do battle with Bunnies from Beyond the Grave (Marilyn Monroe, Dorothy Stratten), for example, or take on the Diabolical Dworkin and her army of "Femi-Nazis."

Besides, everybody know what we really want is a Femforce cartoon.

"But will it play in the sticks?"

Found while perusing Melanie Haupt's delicate flower blog:

Chucklehound's Box Office Oracle

Pick a genre, director, writer, and cast and see how much your movie will gross and what its chances for an Oscar are.

After I couldn't get my Justice League vs. the Banana Splits movie to score a projected gross of more than $115 million, I decided to submit to my baser desires:

Knight of the Living Dead (R)
(Historical Epic/Talking Animal/Horror)
Starring William Shatner and Jennifer Love Hewitt
Also Featuring Sisqo, Bill Paxton, and Pam Grier
Directed by David Mamet
Screenplay by Dan Schneider

Projected Budget Range: $1-10 Million
Planned Release Date: February

Projected Box Office Receipts:
$10.97 million (Opening Weekend)
$46.62 million (Total Domestic Gross)

Chance of getting Oscar Nomination: 3%
Chance of winning at least one Oscar: 1%

Critic Most Likely to Praise: Ron Wells, Film Threat
Critic Most Likely to Skewer: Rita Kempley, Washington Post

(Dan Schneider, as you well know, wrote the screenplay for the 1997 political thriller "Good Burger")

Obviously, there are some kinks in the program. For example, I wish it were possible to specify roles for your cast (Paxton as King Arthur, Shatner as the zombie Uther Pendragon). Still, it's funny that Ron Wells' name came up.

Besides, there's no way a zombie holocaust movie set in Arthurian Britain with talking animals only makes $46 million.

UPDATE: If Chucklehound is taking too long for you, you could always Write Your Own Mel Gibson Movie.

Thanks (I think) to Michael Croft.

It's craptastic

"Practice" creator David E. Kelley: Network executives "celebrate junk"

Kelley, at the Television Critics Association's summer press tour, lamented the proliferation of 'reality' programming and said today's execs no longer champion "quality scripted programming." "Today," he said, "They celebrate the junk."

Well let's just see here...

+ "The Practice:" cliche-ridden lawyer soap opera. - Written and produced by David E. Kelley

+ "Boston Public:" preposterous look at public school life which last season featured appearances by "American Idol" contestant Tamyra Gray. Former "New Kid on the Block" Joey McIntire is a cast member. - Written and produced by David E. Kelley

+ "Girls Club:" petulant chick-lawyer show featuring Chyler Leigh of "Kickboxing Academy." Canceled after two episodes. - Written and produced by David E. Kelley

+ "Ally McBeal:" aggravating 'lawyers-in-love' train wreck centered on an unsympathetic anorexic who, through her apparent inability to function as a human being without a man and annoyingly repetitive fantasy sequences, set the perception of adult women in prime-time television back ten years. Managed to make "Doogie Howser, M.D." look like "I, Claudius." - Written and produced by David E. Kelley

Hot damn, I think he's right.

Hungry Like the Wimp

Courtesy of my friend Justin, who has an uncanny knack for digging up this kind of crap:

"Bizarre Game Targets Women"

"Hunting For Bambi" has a deceptively simple pitch: get socially maladjusted men to pay big bucks for the chance to shoot nekkid women with a paintball gun. Hey, it's Vegas, and what better way to get rid of that pesky "family friendly" tag they've been trying to shake recently than by organizing naked lady hunts?

I suppose it was high time the venerable "sport" of hunting followed boxing into the realm of self-parody. Not that it hasn't been flirting with crossing the line for years, as the advances in weapons and tracking technology have eliminated most animals' natural defenses of scent, camouflage and speed. There are still areas where people hunt for food, but for most of us that venison sausage you obtained by outsmarting a primitive mammal is just going to sit in your freezer for nine months before you finally throw it out to make room for more Stouffer's pizzas. Hunting is still seen as some sort of "rite of passage" by people in many parts of the country, to others it's amazingly boring. I went hunting once, and while spending the time with friends was enjoyable, getting up at 4:30 in the morning and trudging around all day with a rifle slung over my shoulder made me feel more like a National Guard reservist than a "sportsman."

Regardless of how I feel about hunting, do I think it's ridiculous that apparently sane men spend ten thousand dollars for the chance to shoot "adult entertainment workers" with a paintball gun? Well...yes. Yes I do. I know guys who've spent more in strip clubs, and they never got any real return on their investment from that, either, if you know what I'm saying. And what about the women getting popped by goombahs like George from New York? They make $2500 if they don't get hit, after all, and if the hunters all tend towards George's level of athleticism, it'll be the easiest money they've ever made.

There's a real question about the violence involved, certainly. A guy plunking down that kind of green to shoot naked women with paint makes me think that not all of his dogs are barking to begin with, and the presentation on the web site is also pretty repulsive. It depicts naked women posed like bagged deer and containing pitches to fans of both "Bumfights" and the Howard Stern show. And you know they're trolling for some serious mulletheads when they use verbiage straight out of "Swank" magazine, such as: "...if you are the ultimate sportsman and are seeking the ultimate adrenaline rush then come out to our ranch and shoot one of these nagging whinny bitches where it hurts and shut her the f*ck up. Then mount her like a 'Real Man.'"

'Mounting' in this case means you get some kind of wall hanging commemorating your accomplishment. But I would've guessed "whinny bitch" referred to a horse, or a weird sounding dog. Shows what I know. I guess we'll find out the violent ramifications as soon as some idiot runs around Lake Havasu popping coeds in the ass with a pellet gun. It'll make next year's Spring Break festivities more exciting, at any rate.

An even more ridiculous part of this story, to my mind, is HuntingForBambi.com founder Michael Burdick saying, "For the individual who's used to saying 'I can't go out with the boys tonight' or the wimp of America, it's a chance for him to come out and vent his aggression and really take charge and have some fun."

I've got some bad news for you Mike, the individual who laments not being able to 'go out with the boys' is in for a DefCon One level ass-kicking once his wife finds out he spent ten large to shoot some stripper in the butt. Hell, the 'wimps of America' probably don't have the yarbles to go behind their significant others' backs and fund a misadvanture of this magnitude in the first place. I have no doubt "The Most Lecherous Game" will be popular for a while, but it's main draw will be drunken frat boys and guys on business trips who'll put the excursion on their corporate card to keep The Missus from finding out.

Never mind the fact that referring to your prospective clientele as "wimps" isn't a very sound marketing strategy.

I suppose it's too late to tell these guys that $10,000 can buy you a lot more from an "escort" (or two or three) in Las Vegas than the opportunity to shoot her with a paint gun.

UPDATE: Latest word is this may all be an elaborate hoax, at least according to snopes.com. If so, my hat's off to whoever did it.

Howdy

Happy Bastille Day. I'm Pete Vonder Haar, and this is A Perfectly Cromulent Blog.

Because I like to pretend you care, I'll tell you that I live in Houston, Texas and make intermittently successful attempts at freelance writing. I like movies. Just how much can be seen in the column I write for Film Threat - it's called "Footage Fetishes" and it showcases the movies no one but an obsessive film geek could love. I write reviews for them as well, but you can find anything of mine by searching on "vonder haar." I also write movie-related articles for "NewType-USA" - all of which demonstrate the amazing restraint I'm capable of once I'm actually getting paid for my work. Unfortunately for you, the "NewType" articles aren't online, you gotta actually cough up for the magazine.

Just don't try to track down the "Bulletproof Monk" issue. I'm still embarrassed about that.

I also like music, reading, video games, and other manly pursuits. But we'll delve into those topics later. I'm also married, and quite happily. Which is all you really need to know about that.

APCB does not cover politics or punditry in general. Neither you nor I really want that, and anyway there are plenty of others who do it better than I ever could. Further, APCB has no political affiliation, unless someone is actually running on the Annoying Navel-Gazing Smartass ticket. No, the purpose of this little exercise in ego-gratification is to goof on the doings and transpirings in the world of entertainment. Or my definition of entertainment anyway. This includes the aforementioned movies, music, games, and books...but also sports, food, items of an annoyingly trivial nature, made-up crap, booze, and non-specific schadenfreude.

You see, I'm a firm believer in the concept of playing to one's strengths, and while I studied History and Political Science and International Policy many moons ago...frankly, I'm better at the stupid stuff. I'd hit the books for a good week in order to pull out a 'B+' in "History of Renaissace Italy" or "Medium State Political System Dynamics," but found I could take a nap halfway through the midterm for "History of Film" and still turn it in twenty minutes before the bell rang.

I also did pretty well in "Media and Foreign Policy." Probably because we watched a lot of TV in class.

This used to bother me. Once upon a time I had a nagging suspicion that one's existence was somehow more validated by the depth and character of their interests. I mean, how could a person who doesn't even need to watch "Entertainment Tonight" to remember the Celebrity Birthday possibly hold their own, in the cosmic sense, against someone opining on issues of real substance? Won't everyone laugh at lengthy essays about my Atari and the films of Andy Sidaris when there are Important Events taking place all around us?

That was when Jesus (or Chuck Negron from Three Dog Night, whoever) came to me in a dream. It was then that I realized we were all just randomly scattered dust motes, barely perceptible as we swirl for the briefest of instances in a vast and uncaring void before our inevitable and meaningless deaths. Let me tell you, that made me feel a lot better about myself.

So enjoy. I'm new to all of this, so if things look a little hinky for a while just ignore it. Or better yet, tell me how to fix it. I'm not proud. I can also add you to my measly blogroll if you like.