Friday, March 30, 2007

Snap Judgment: Special Cesar Chavez Day Edition

At home today, recovering from a serious case of not-having-to-go-to-work-thanks to a-famous-commie-farmer-itis.

Yeah, Cesar Chavez Day. Across the state, scores of high school students are trying to walk out so they can honor the heroic labor leader in their own private ceremonies -- ceremonies which may or may not involve getting baked and playing Guitar Hero.

But anyway. Movies.

Meet the Robinsons (animated comedy, rated G, directed by Stephen J. Anderson, written by a bunch of people, based on the book by William Joyce)

From what I've seen so far, this film looks like it will easily compete with the best of the computer-animated Saturday afternoon Nickelodeon shows produced for pennies on the dollar in South Asian graphics sweatshops and cast with the finest voice actors that a third-tier talent agency in Woodland Hills could provide on short notice. But don't listen to me. My journalistic integrity with Disney has been somewhat in question ever since they got rid of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. Not that, you know, that was like a big deal or anything. Can I have a minute to get a tissue? I think there's, um, some dust in my eye or something.



The Lookout (thriller, rated R, written/directed by Scott Frank)

This movie does have an interesting set of actors, but it strikes me as having resulted from the most ADD, possibly-meth-addled casting meeting ever. "Okay, this is kind of a noir so let's get the kid from that high school noir. He was great on 3rd Rock From The Sun, too. Damn, that show was funny. You know what else was funny? Wedding Crashers. Ooh, the crazy chick from Wedding Crashers! We HAVE to get the crazy chick from Wedding Crashers! You know she's married to Sacha Baron Cohen? Man, Borat made me laugh even harder than The Big Lebowski. OH! Can we get The Dude? PLEASE, can we get The Dude? Yeah, Jeff Bridges. Or was it Jeff Daniels? I don't know. Daniels is probably cheaper. We'll get him. Hey, wait a second, now I'm confused. Is the Wedding Crashers chick Isla Fisher or Jenna Fischer? Which is the one from The Office? No, the American one, not the British one. Yeah, I know the British one is better. It never works when Americans try to pull off British stuff. Like Match Point. The dialogue in that was so... oh, except that one guy in Match Point. No, not Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, he's too expensive. The other guy. The friend. Do we have a role for him? We do? Okay then. Let's go home, I'm about to crash."



Blades of Glory (comedy, rated PG-13, directed by Will Speck & Josh Gordon, written by Busy Phillips, Jeff Cox, Craig Cox, John Altschuler, David Krinsky)

I've never seen Napoleon Dynamite and I've generally been immune to Will Ferrell's post-SNL career, but I will say that I'm pretty fascinated by the fact that Busy Phillips has a writing credit on this movie. This is quite a follow-up to a storied acting career that has included ER, Dawson's Creek, Freaks & Geeks, and the oft-repeated line, "No, not Bijou Phillips." Being a big fan of F&G and having greatly enjoyed her performance as misunderstood mean girl Kim Kelly on that tragically brilliant show, I hope that this initial outing as screenwriter will be but a first step on a great path towards even greater greatness, a path that -- dare I hope-- will include movies comfortably outside the ice-skates-to-the-crotch genre.

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Friday, March 02, 2007

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.