Snap Judgment: The Endless Cycle of Sex and Violence

About time, huh? Well, let's not waste any more precious seconds on the preliminaries -- I might change my mind and go to Starbucks instead. Oops, too late. Be right back.

Okay. Much better. Let's get started.


Wild Hogs (comedy, rated PG-13, directed by Walt Becker, written by Brad Copeland)

Like you, I had suspicions about this film's level of quality. Had. I'm happy to say that all my fears are allayed now that I've looked up Walt Becker's (the director) filmography on IMDB. Yes, he was responsible for Van Wilder, but that was his first big studio film and we all know that young filmmakers can get eaten alive doing those things. So let's put that one aside and breathe a deep sigh of relief as we take a look at the other film he released the same year, an obviously overlooked gem entitled Buying the Cow. The IMDB has recently updated its movie classification system to a much more specific methodology, and it has helpfully placed Buying the Cow into the following categories (which I am not making up):

Teen Movie / Independent Film / Hit In Crotch / Wedding / Bare Butt

See? Now look at me with a straight face and tell me that this guy wouldn't be your very first choice to lead the Pillsbury Scientologyboy, the 405 Gun-waving Fat Suiter, the "Remember when Middle America peed itself every time I waved tools around and made primate sounds" guy, and the Lone Reputable Actor Roped Into The Proceedings By Way Of An Extra-Fat Paycheck And/Or An Ether-Soaked Rag. Yeah, that's what I thought.



Zodiac (true crime thriller, rated R, directed by David Fincher, written by James Vanderbilt, based on the book by Robert Graysmith)

Sure, 70's period movies have been a wet dream for just about every filmmaker in America ever since P.T. Anderson put a naked Heather Graham on roller skates, but can you blame them? I mean, how else does one get the opportunity to adorn today's A-list beautiful people with mutton chops and feathered bangs before raiding Uncle Jack's eight-track library to find the perfect forgotten glam rock gem to begin the soundtrack? And that's just the tip of the iceberg! The cars, my god, the cars! Big boxy Cadillacs, Camaros with eighty-foot hoods, and K-Cars, K-Cars, K-Cars as far as the eye can see! Let's not forget about the technology stuff, either; I mean, nothing's sexier on film than an office full of 13" green-screen terminals with command-line interfaces. Hell, once you have all that in your movie it doesn't much matter what the story is about. What's important is that you've done your part in reminding the world that there was a time in American history when all the straight-laced intelligent people wore jackets with leather elbow patches and all the goofy free-spirited people wore paisley bell-bottoms.


Black Snake Moan (drama, rated R, written/directed by Craig Brewer)

Finally another entry in the burgeoning "It's okay if Samuel L. Jackson does it" genre of American cinema. Really, I'm not even kidding. Can you imagine anyone else getting away with chaining Christina Ricci to a radiator? If it were, say, Aaron Eckhart, I think most average moviegoers would cringe themselves to death within twenty minutes. SLJ, on the other hand, is completely immune. If there's a scene where he stands up and yells "I don't care if you have to piss on the goddamned floor, I ain't takin' off that fuckin' chain!", it will probably garner a standing ovation. Which actually worries me a little bit, because, you know, cloning technology keeps getting closer and closer to reality. And there could come a day when some evil would-be dictator takes over our TV airwaves and presents us with a perfect Sam Jackson replica who asks us "Are you all going to bow down and worship the Great Swufitova as your lord and master, or am I going to have to come down there and put my foot up your sorry ass?" and we all look at our televisions and say "Hell yeah! Sign me up for some of that indentured servitude stuff!" Because let's face it; it's only a matter of time.