A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

Confession Time: Guilty Pleasures Edition

- I kind of like the Jon Lovitz Subway commercials. I attribute it to a fond recollection of his Llewelyn Sinclair character on The Simpsons.

- Deep Blue Sea is one of those movies I can't help watching. I should probably just buy it, but it airs so much on TNT I don't see the point.

- Ditto for The Mummy, though we actually did own this at one point. And to which one of you did I loan our Casablanca DVD?

- The trailers to Monster House look pretty good. I think it might be this year's Sky High.

- Half of my Sunday night TV viewing isn't really a "guilty pleasure" thing, as I consider The Venture Brothers to be one of the finest shows on TV right now. The other half, Cheaters, is decidedly not.

- I like blogging, but am rapidly running out of free time with which to keep it up.

Confession Time: My Irish Heritage

How's everybody feeling this morning?

I'm super, thanks for asking. She Who Shall Not Be Named woke up about 6:45, meaning my decision to go to bed at 11:30 (after a mere three beers) look like sheer genius. It was an uneventful St. Paddy's Day, marked by watching college basketball and talking with my friend JudyCK (no relation to Louis) on the phone for about 90 minutes.

Of course, not celebrating yesterday is more in keeping with my heritage anyway. The awful truth is, while I do have a little Irish in me (it was just a phase in college, I swear), that section of the family migrated to the Emerald Isle from...France. They fled, like all the other Huguenots, after Louis XIV revoked the Edict of Nantes in 1685. My direct ancestor settled, improbably, in Scotland for a time, then moved on to County Donegal in Ulster.

It was that or South Africa.

There are a depressing number of "Rev." prefixes in the family histories I have, as they were all heavily involved in the chruch and, here's the rub, teetotalers. They were also fairly wealthy and, my personal favorite, integral in introducing temperance and Protestantism to Ireland. You're welcome.

The Wife says (half jokingly, I'm sure) that my ancestors probably kicked her Roman Catholic ones off their land. I just nod sagely and savor the irony every time she shoves me over to the edge of our bed.

So, needless to say, it's not a holiday I feel I have a lot of personal stake in. Hope you guys had fun, though. And enjoy the lake of fire.

We'll talk again when Oktoberfest rolls around.

Confession Time: Scarlett Johansson

Sorry, not that type of confession. By which I mean, not the sort of confession elicited by long, unbroken shots of her underwear-clad derriere in Lost in Translation, or the endless publicity photos of her bosoms straining heavenward on the red carpet before the Golden Globes. No, I speak of something much more mundane: my questioning of her alleged talent as an actress.

I first became aware of Johansson, like most people, when she appeared opposite Thora Birch in Ghost World (no, I didn't see The Horse Whisperer or Home Alone 3, and - like you - even if I did I wouldn't admit it). GW was Enid's movie, but Johansson got some attention for her work, even if most of what she did was offer her counterpoint in awkward adolescent fashion. Which was kind of the point. Whatever the case, she was on the map.

Her star didn't rise too much in her next film, Eight Legged Freaks. it wasn't that she did a bad job, exactly, but when you're billed below the likes of David Arquette and Kari Wuhrer, I imagine you just grit your teeth, brandish your tennis racket at some giant spiders, and make the best of it.

Lost in Translation, which found her playing alongside Bill Murray, was her real breakthrough. But at the time we saw this, The Wife and I thought we must have been the only people on the planet who found it extremely overrated. Yes, Charlotte and Bob are alienated and lonely, but too much of the dialogue sounds like stuff Sofia Coppola cribbed from conversations she overheard in a bar, and I'm sorry, but presenting your ass like a ham in a windowsill and flirting with Bill Murray does not a great performance make.

It sure is funny how those Japanese mispronounce shit though, isn't it?

Didn't see Girl with a Pearl Earring, and thought she was severely outclassed (if you can believe it) by Dennis Quaid in In Good Company

Which brings us to Match Point (I could talk about The Island, but why bother?). Woody Allen's latest is getting some rave reviews, probably due to the fact that it isn't really a "Woody Allen movie." It's a competent enough thriller; adroitly filmed and just plausible enough to get your attention. Johansson, however, is almost painful to watch. From her stiff line readings to her obvious boredom during the scenes of supposedly smoldering passion, nothing she does convinces me she can actually act. I was, frankly, shocked when she was nominated for a Golden Globe as Best Supporting Actress, with the same Oscar a possibility as well.

I won't deny that she is unconventionally good looking, and has a great voice/body, but you will never convince me she's that good an actress.

And the bellwether for that, as we all know, is pretending to enjoy sex with Billy Bob Thornton (link goes to one of the most disturbing celebrity web sites I've seen).

Confession Time - Magnum P.I.

At Confession Time, we know what you're thinking, and you're right.

I realize, of all the old timey TV shows from which to choose, Magnum P.I. is hardly the bottom of the barrel. Owning up to liking it isn't on par with admitting you had a fondness for Hunter, or T.J. Hooker, or...Hill Street Blues. Magnum, for all its Donald P. Bellisario-ness (razor sharp demarcation between heroes and villains, unswerving devotion to the armed forces), was a damn good show. It was one of the first TV programs to address - however superficially - the mindset of Vietnam vets trying to reenter society, the chemistry between Tom Selleck and John Hillerman was outstanding, and the series creators made sure to mix in humor and the occasional wholly comedic episode to keep things lively.

The first two seasons are out on DVD, with the 3rd coming next year. Season Three opens with probably the best episodes of the series, "Did You See the Sunrise?" Magnum, T.C., and Rick have a run-in with a Soviet operative from the war, resulting in one of the best endings of all time. These will probably join my rapidly growing list of TV shows I'm buying on DVD, as my DVR isn't big enough to get them all off of TV Land.

Rumors of a movie have been floating around for over a decade. In the '90s, Tom Clancy was supposed to be coming in to make a movie about Magnum returning to Naval Intelligence and Tom Selleck tabbed to return as the star. Then, last year, Clancy was reportedly out and Michael McCullers - he of Austin Powers and Undercover Brother fame - was in. Universal had supposedly put it on the fast track with George Clooney set to don the Hawaiian shirt, but here we are a year later and the rumor mill is as silent as the Molokai Pipeline when you've fallen off your surf-ski.

Considering the recent treatment given to Starsky and Hutch on the big screen, it's probably just as well.

Finally, I see Target actually has a Thomas Magnum costume for sale in time for Halloween:

That's not Thomas Magnum, it's Mr. Kotter.

First off, I can grow a better moustache than that on my toes. Second, Magnum never wore boots - he wore tennis shoes or docksiders (usually with those SEAL swim shorts). Third, that's not a Detroit Tigers cap. And fourth...oh the hell with it, I could pull a more authentic Magnum costume out of my laundry hamper. And just might.

Confession Time - The Spice Girls

At Confession Time, we know what you really really want.

Oh, frabjous day:

You thought you'd never see them again, but you were wrong. Now it is decided that the Spice Girls are to make a comeback. The girls are going to head out on a world tour with all the original members, including Ginger Spice, Geri Halliwell.

Scary Spice, Melanie Brown, gave the news to GMTV last night. In addition to the tour, Spice Girls are to release a ‘Best of' album. The tour is also said to ensure the girls a large paycheck.

A "Best Of" album? Do they still sell EPs?

Ah, who am I kidding. I love the Spice Girls. Cheesy dance pop groups manipulated by their own particular Colonel Parkers are a dime a dozen, but the SGs always seemed to be in on the joke, at least. At the risk of causing cerebral implosion, I usually found myself thinking of the Big Boys' "We Got Your Money" whenever I saw their videos.

And then I thought of something else, but this is a family blog.

The Thing That Walks Like a Man and I saw their "film," Spice World, in the theater back when it came out. The oldest patrons by a good 20 years, I think we also made the most noise. And the cast: Roger Moore, Alan Cumming, Hugh Laurie, Bob Hoskins...even Marvin Lee Aday himself. That's like a Cornelius Ryan picture.

I was worried that catching up with the former first ladies of lipsynched Britcrap would be a chore. Ho ho.

Ginger Spice (Geri Halliwell) - My favorite, hands-down. I doubt she could sing a lick, but after seeing that brief glimpse of her as Wonder Woman in Spice World, I'd even forgive her if she did a Zevon cover. Maybe. Halliwell looked to have switched places with Sporty on the weight spectrum for a while, which was a drag. Happily, she appears to have regained some of her voluptuosity.

Sporty Spice (Melanie Chisholm) - Of the five, one of two who (I think) could actually sing. She, like the rest of the Girls, has released singles and albums overseas. I couldn't tell you how any of them did, since none of them made it (to my knowledge) to American airwaves. She has been touring lately, which makes her career somewhat more active than that of...

Victoria Beckham (Posh Spice) - Nee Adams. Together with husband David, makes up the most famous couple nobody on this side of the Atlantic gives a rat's ass about.

Emma Bunton (Baby Spice) - The lollipop and those frigging pigtails always creeped my ass out. I had hoped she'd end up making a lviing catering to men with diaper fetishes, but she's apparently enjoyed some success with her solo stuff. And, of course, she's probably the former Spice Girl who's shown the most skin next to Geri. They grow up so fast.

Melanie Brown (Scary Spice) - Every group needs the "edgy" one. NKOTB had Donnie "The One Who Can Act" Wahlberg, Backstreet Boys had AJ "Bad 'Boy'" McLean, the Kingston Trio had Bob "Bonzo" Shane, and the Spice Girls had Mel B. She may or may not be less tone deaf than the others, but the Spice Girl Most Likely to be Mistaken for "Downtown" Julie Brown has a new album coming out next month either way. No word on whether she still wears that crazy-ass leopard skin outfit.

I can hear the gnashing of teeth and rending of garments from here. Lighten up. Truth be told, I'm more put off by the idea of another Rolling Stones tour.

Confession Time - Bullish on the Rodeo

At Confession Time, we preferred Pam to Sissy in Urban Cowboy.

It's Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo time again in Houston, which means most of us will be avoiding the South Loop and the Astrodome area like Jonah Goldberg avoids enlisting. I've attended the rodeo quite a few times in the past, mostly to catch a musical act (nothing says initmate, fan-friendly venue like sitting on the front row and still being 100 yards from the band) or crash a friend's BBQ tent. Sometimes, just sometimes, I would head in and check out the actual events.

Not being from Texas originally, I never fancied myself the cowboy type. My friends and I played at it occasionally as kids, but were more prone to emulate our favorite TV cops (I was Hutch) until Star Wars came along and made us fight over who got to be Han. Still, I had come curiosity about the ins and outs of calf-roping and bronco busting, so in I'd go. Most of the events left me pretty cold, except one: bull riding.

I love bull riding. I'll even watch Country Music Television to catch it, and not because I have any kind of admiration for these guys who mount a pissed off animal of that size and then try to stay on, it's because I root for the bulls.

Face it, most events in the rodeo have some kind of antecedent in the Old West. Cowboys had to break horses by riding them, calves had to be roped and bulldogged to be branded. You can argue about the need for this kind of activity to be performed in an air conditioned stadium for entertainment, but at least they all have a certain historical legitimacy.

Not bull riding. I'd like to see these guys from the Professional Bull Riders Association go back in time to the 1880s and tell some trailhand, "Hey Zeke, we need you to climb up on the back of this 2,000 pound bull and try to stay on after we annoy it with cattle prods*. It's not to break him to the saddle or anything, but just because we think it looks cool." He'd spit chaw on your foot, at the very least.

Bull riders get what's coming to them, as far as I'm concerned. The only reason the sport even exists is because saddle-bronc riding wasn't "extreme" enough. Well, nothing's more extreme than a colapsed lung and a crushed femur or two. Ride 'em cowboys.

And no diatribe about bull riding would be complete without this passage from the PBR's own web site about one of their "top bulls:"

At the end of 2004, Little Yellow Jacket had been ridden only 11 times in 76 BFTS attempts to an average score of 93 points. PBR Livestock Superintendant and Vice President Cody Lambert described Little Yellow Jacket as, "a once-in-a-lifetime bull. He has the kind of heart, desire, and athletic ability that true champions in any walk of life possess. If they're athletes, once they leave their sport, it nevers seems the same."

I wish we had ESPN back when whaling was still practiced by this country. Imagine the "athlete's profiles" they cook up of giant sea mammals being stuck with harpoons.

* For purposes of this entry, we'll assume you won't have to explain electricity to him

Confession Time - Tearjerkers

Confession Time means never having to say you're sorry.

Generally, I don't cry at movies. It's difficult to pinpoint one reason for this, but I can narrow it down some. For starters, I was raised on a healthy diet of cartoons and monster movies, the latter necessitating the occasional intervention from my parents to assure me that Rodan did not, in fact, live in the mountain overlooking Salt Lake City. It was similarly impressed upon me at a young age that movies, cartoon, and most TV shows weren't real. I think the intention was to make sure I didn't emulate the gremlin from "Falling Hare" and whack someone with a pipe wrench, but it also meant I didn't get too emotionally entangled in the doings of cartoon characters.

For example, my mother says was seriously worried about me when I didn't cry at the death of Bambi's mother. We went to the theater with a dozen or so other kids, and I was apparently the only one not bawling at that scene. If questioned, I could've responsed that I'd seen Daffy Duck, Tom, Yosemite Sam, and Sylvester the Cat killed dozens of times, and that if any of those deaths were going to resonate with me, it would've been Daffy's.

The same held for most movies. This must've been when the bugaboo of TV violence started rearing up, which might explain my parents' zealous efforts to keep me from taking anything I saw in film too seriously. I think the only childhood movie I saw that brought on the waterworks was Disney's Robin Hood (seen at the tender age of 6), and I couldn't begin to explain that one.

I'm not made of stone, however. Even as I matured into the devil-may-care bon vivant you see before you today, I retained my humanity. I may not shed tears in the theater to the extent that many people do (like my sister, who - swear to god - cried during A Bug's Life...and she was 23), but it still happens. To prove this, I present you with a list of movies that have moved your stoic narrator to tears in the course of his short life.

Robin Hood - Disney version. Still don't know why, but it may have been out of fear. This would go a long way towards explaining why I'm not into furries.
King Kong vs. Godzilla - No way did that hairy piece of crap get the better of the Big G. No way. You're lying. Why do you lie like that?
Shane - Come back, Shane! And kill jack Palance some more!
Where the Red Fern Grows - Oh, I'm sure all of you tough guys held it in for this one. My elementary school has a summer movie program where, in an ingenius effort to get kids out of the house, they sponsored a movie screening every Wednesday. Every year, for four years, they showed this. Sadistic bastards.
Old Yeller - See above. I went through a long period of time where I dreaded seeing a dog appear in a movie. I still don't understand the rationale behind producing movies specifically designed to make children cry.
I guess I should be grateful I never watched Sounder.
The Pride of the Yankees - And I hate the Yankees.
Superman - Of course, after all my talk about how jaded I was about cinematic realism, the scene where Superman resurrects Lois by flying at super speed to reverse the Earth's orbit and turn back time gets to me.
Hey, I never said I was a smart kid.
Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan - In my defense, I was 13. I saw it with my dad, who was equally moved, I can assure you.
Nerds.
A Midnight Clear - I've got no excuse for this one. Still one of my favorites.
Glory - Obviously, any movies seen after adolescence don't elicit actual tears in the male of the species, but that final scene had me doing the whole, "Got something in my eye" thing.
Titanic - Let me finish...I was crying, but they were tears of joy following Leo as he slipped into the icy depths.
Miracle - Anyone who reads this blog knows how I feel about the Miracle on Ice. I still get misty eyed when I watch my DVD of the HBO documentary, for crying out loud.

I realize I've sidestepped some of the more nototious tearjerkers. Most, to be perfectly honest, are stereotypical chick flicks that would inspire a reaction other than contempt if they weren't so shamefully manipulative. I'm looking at you, Beaches, Steel Magnolias, and Fried Green Tomatoes. I also managed to macho my way through Field of Dreams (Kevin Costner makes me itch), Rudy (any true University of Texas fan hates Notre Dame), and Brian's Song (seen far too late in life).

So now you know the terrible truth. Feel free to share your own shameful displays of emotion in the comments.

Confession Time - Gone with the Wind

Today's Confession Time is brought to you by the great taste of Stroh's.

As a person who reviews films and also someone who prides himself on being a bit of a movie aficionado, it is with a heavy heart and a mild case of plantar fascitis that I inform you I've never sat through 1939's Gone with the Wind in its entirety.

Oh, I've seen it. At one point or another I've watched all 238 minutes of David O. Selznick's Civil War magnum opus, just not all at once. It was never re-released when I was a kid, which would've been my best chance to catch it on the big screen. There was another theatrical run in 1989, but I'd have a hard time telling you where I was when that took place. So would most of my family and friends.

Home video? I must have watched the first tape a dozen times, always intending to hop off the couch and pop in the second one after the intermission. For some reason, I could never bring myself to watch the second half. There was always something else that needed doing, or somewhere I had to be, or some other excuse to not have to deal with two more hours of harpy extraordinnaire Scarlett O'Hara and beleaguered Southern characters I had no sympathy for. I'd sometimes catch the second tape a day or two later (the sea of Confederate wounded makes for great hangover material), and I've seen the ending on TV several times, but for whatever reason, I've never made the time committment to watch in all at once.

As cinematic sins go, it's not very significant. Just thought you should know.

Next up: the shocking revelation that, while I have in fact been to Paradise, I've never actually been to me.