The Case of Liberty v. Daughter

A friend of mine went to high school with the daughter of a U.S. President. This always intrigued me, and I never shied away from asking my friend the big questions like; Was she cool? Did your mom offer the secret service agents something cold to drink when they came over? Does the movie theater in the White House look like it does on “The West Wing?" Even though my friend answered all of these questions, I still felt like I didn’t really understand what it was like to be a young girl growing up on Pennsylvania Ave. Luckily, within like the last year, two major studies on the subject have been released in the forms of First Daughter and Chasing Liberty. They gave me the insight I so desperately needed. I have watched them both and chosen one to review, so you don’t have to make the tough decision on your own.

While Katie Holmes’s unpregnant, monotone, clench-jawed, slightly lazy-eyed portrayal of a young girl trying to balance the pressures of politics with the pressures of frat parties in First Daughter is everything you’d expect from the future mother of our alien overlord, Mandy Moore’s Chasing Liberty is somehow both a more Grieco and more watchable movie.

Chasing Liberty
The virginally pure, perfect-skinned Mandy Moore plays Anna (call sign, Liberty) who is tired of her overprotective Presidential father who, thank God, is played by the incomparable Mark Harmon. Seriously, the man is in Summer School and he is the uncle of Matthew and Gunnar “After the Rain” Nelson. Anyway, to shake off the shackles of tyranny Moore goes to Europe to party with the daughter of the French ambassador who is how you say, a tramp. While in Prague, sweet little Mandy ditches her secret service detail and runs off with a dreamy Brit. Turns out he’s actually an agent working undercover for the President who wants his daughter to feel like she is out on her own. After Mandy takes off her clothes and goes skinny dipping (yes, I feel like a dirty old man), Harmon sends two agents, Jeremy Piven and the lovely Annabella Sciorra, to bring her in. Instead of going along, Mandy flees and ends up dragging the Brit across Europe. Eventually they fall in love, with Piven and Sciorra playing Benedict and Beatrice to their Claudio and Hero. Or is it Touchstone and Audrey to their Orlando and Rosalind? I can never keep those crazy lovers straight. Anyway, after they totally do it, Mandy and the Brit head to Berlin for the “Love Parade.” Call me an asshole, but parades in Germany just seem sinister even if they do have the word “love” in the title. While there, Mandy discovers the Brit’s true identity and she starts talking about “trust” and other nonsense that 18 year-old girls believe in. The Brit responds with the old it-started-out-as-a-job-but-something-happened-along-the-way-
and-now-I’m-in-love-with-you speech, but Mandy’s not having it, so she takes off and starts what is like the ninth chase scene of the film. She gets mixed up with some dickhead American tourists and some Eurotrash, but the Brit saves her before things can turn ugly. Mandy flies off in a helicopter and the two young lovers are parted before they can reconcile. Don’t shed those tears yet. Months later, Mandy finds out that the Brit quit his job as an agent because he was “more passionate about something else.” She goes to London to find him, and they kiss as Nessun Dorma swells in the background. Now you can cry.

Look, there’s no reason to ever see Chasing Liberty, but I’m gonna say this. Piven raps in Hebrew, there’s some Tom Petty during the opening credits, Harmon is the smoothest cat this side of Redford, and I don’t know if it’s just my current “getting back in touch with my Italian roots” thing, but Sciorra seems to have gotten much hotter with age. There’s also something so non-threatening about Mandy Moore that I just can’t help but like her. I’m going to give it 2-Griecos (see ratings), but it’s a hey-that’s-alright kind of 2-Griecos, not an I- can’t-believe-I-sat-through-this-shit-and-they-didn’t-kill-off-Ed Burns kind of 2-Griecos.

Ratings

1-Grieco: There’s probably a re-run of “Full House” on. Watch that instead.

2-Griecos: Washed-up stars, watered-down action, and my friends are at work. What the hell.

3-Griecos: Bad religious symbolism abounds and the gunplay is damn near balletic. My Friday night is looking up.

4-Griecos: If Looks Could Kill. All I’m sayin’.

**If ever I should come across a film that rates 0-Griecos, may God have mercy on your soul.

Fjarskanistan Hemipode Skakka Blaskjar

I saw Sigur Ros last night. It was an awesome show. I mean it was so good I felt some DXM from three years ago kicking back in. If they are coming to a concert hall near you, you should definitely check them out. However, I am here today to talk about the opening act, Amina. These four lovely ladies of the North, these Icelandic faerie folk, these sweet daughters of the Frost played the saw, glasses of water, the glockenspiel, violin, cello, the vibes, the Apple computer, the Casio, and some small stringed instrument I had never seen before. They did it all, and it was all beautiful. After they finished their set, they played on almost all of Sigur Ros’s tunes. Give them a listen if you haven’t heard them. http://www.aminamusik.com/.

I promise I’ll get back to Grieco tomorrow. I’m actually planning on spending the rest of the day trying to figure out if Katie Holmes or Mandy Moore makes a better President’s daughter. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

The Tryptophan Parallel

I had another dream last night. Sasha Cohen and I were talking about how disappointed we were that she won the silver instead of the gold in figure skating. I said it was alright though, and that it wasn’t nearly as sad as the Russian girl not winning, because according to her “athlete profile” she has a really hard life and Sasha’s biggest problem seems to be having to decide which “Project Runway” designer’s leotard to wear. Sasha smiled, said I was right, did a triple lutz, and flew away on a unicorn. Things took a turn for the worse when Harrison Ford showed up, earring and all, and told me that They were after us. It seems Harrison and I had stumbled onto a software program that would simultaneously launch all of the nuclear weapons in the world. Harrison, crafty senior citizen that he is, stole the program and arranged for our departure out of the U.S. As we scurried through back-lot-style alleys we were met by John Malkovich wearing an eye patch and calling himself “Le Rouge.” I thought that, like in Johnny English, his French accent seemed strained, especially for someone who lives in France. Before I could voice my opinion, John grabbed Harrison and me and led us up a fire escape into one of those rooms in a run-down housing project that contains all of the latest computers and high-tech gadgetry. Once inside, Seth Green (my arch nemesis) and Jamie Kennedy (Seth’s arch nemesis) looked at us through their wraparound yellow shades and told us we were being tracked via satellite. Michael Clarke Duncan then emerged from the darkness and ripped out one of my teeth. It was too late. We could hear choppers circling overhead and the voice of Kevin Spacey (calling himself “The Mentalist”) telling us that there was no escape. Legions of gun-toting Navy Seals led by Michael Biehn descended down those cool ropes towards us and crashed through the window. Seth and Jamie screamed and then said something clever, and Malkovich spouted off a Russian proverb in Greek. Gun drawn, Biehn made his way towards me. Then, as he was about to pull the trigger…the damn baby from the apartment above mine started crying. Man, that kid and his whole f’ing family are so loud. I hate them. When I finally fell asleep again I was in the back of a limo covered in Malkovich’s blood, yelling “Whyyyy?!” Harrison said there would be time to grieve later, but now we had to head to an ancient volcano with the only fires hot enough to destroy the nuclear weapon software. It sounded like a good plan, so I grabbed my cloak and war hammer and prepared for the journey. Jesus Christ! Will you please stop crying! Where are your parents? Where are your goddamn parents? Now I’ll never get back to---I stood over Harrison’s American-flag-draped coffin. The president, who looked a lot like Tom Skerritt does when he doesn’t wear a mustache, wept openly. Le Rouge’s patch covered my left eye and the lock of hair the beautiful Belarusian spy had given me was clutched in my hand. My loss was great, but it had been worth it. The world was safe once again. I quickly jetted off to Tahiti for some much deserved R&R. Everything was going to be alright. If only I had seen Rutger Hauer lurking by the swim-up bar.

Claire Huxtable was right. I gotta lay off these late-night turkey sandwiches.

Profiles in Grieco (Part I)

If you’re a regular GIK reader you know that I am a big fan of The Olympics. One of my favorite parts of the games is the “athlete profiles” they do every night. These segments give you the chance to see all of the pain and suffering competitors have endured in order to take the ice in Torino or Turin or whatever the hell we’re calling it these days. Watching the profiles has helped me invest in athletes I’ve never heard of who hail from countries I’m not sure really exist. The profiles have also made me long for the mighty hammer and sickle of the former Soviet Union, but that’s another story altogether. Anyway, I thought it might be a good idea to profile some of the lesser-known performers who make appearances on GIK from time to time. While I don’t know if they fought back from a torn Achilles or battled unspeakable cold and hunger to become actors, I do know a little about their movie histories. Some of you will be familiar with the men and women of the profiles, and others will have no idea who I am talking about. Regardless, I hope you all gain a greater appreciation for their work. I also intend to carry this bit on beyond The Olympics, so if there is someone you think the people need to know about please let me know.

Joe Don Baker
Joe Don Baker plays a cocky Texas asshole like no one else. His work as the police chief in Fletch helped to make that film one of the greatest of all time. You might also remember Joe Don from the few Bond movies where he plays boorish Americans who end up either betraying or helping 007 in some way depending on the movie. While the that fact that he is in Congo, Mars Attacks, Eddie Murphy’s The Distinguished Gentleman, and the immortal Leonard Part 6 elevates him to an elite level in the world of Grieco, it is his portrayal of the Babe Ruth-like “Bomber” in The Natural that will always endear Joe Don Baker to me. He’s only in the movie for like 10 minutes, but his swagger and spitting are unparalleled. He manages to steal scenes from Redford and Duvall, and that is saying something because Duval is awesome and Redford is almost as damn handsome as Rob Lowe. Almost. Joe Don is so good in the film I can actually forgive him for his participation in Reality Bites.

As Hollywood continues to rely on hot young stars with their rock-hard abs and humorless outlook on life, the sun is setting on the likes of Joe Don Baker. I encourage you to check out all of his work before it is too late, and watch for Strange Wilderness, the Bigfoot comedy he’s currently working on with Harry Hamlin and Ernest Borgnine. It should be awesome.

Ain't You Seen My Movies?

I mentioned in an earlier post that my mom loves movies and will pretty much see anything. Well, my parents were in town this weekend and for some reason my mom really wanted to check out Freedomland. I didn’t know much about the movie, but I thought it might be alright. After all, Julianne Moore is in it, and she’s one of my favorite actresses. She’s also super hot. Needless to say, things didn’t pan out. In fact, Freedomland is so bad that I am breaking with tradition and reviewing a movie that is actually out in theaters.

Freedomland
At what point did people start talking about Samuel L. Jackson like he is a good actor? I mean, I guess he was solid in Pulp Fiction if sporting a mean 'fro and spouting witty diologue real fast constitutes a performance. Anyway, let’s never speak of that movie again for fear that every girl I went to college with will suddenly get up en masse and start dancing to that damn “Son of a Preacher Man." Samuel L. is just plain terrible. That’s all there is to it, y'all. He seems like a cool guy and he can clearly kick my ass, but that does not make him talented. Seriously, I cheered when Mace Windu got killed, and I’m one of those dorks who always roots for the good guys. In Freedomland, Jackson's random “asthma” attacks are some of the most ridiculous scenes you will ever see. My girlfriend, who has asthma, actually busted out laughing at them so hard she started wheezing. He also wears these break-away eye glasses that are the most off-putting prop since Julia Stiles in The Bourne Identity. Unfortunately, Julianne Moore isn’t much better than Jackson in this piece. I don’t know what went wrong, but her cheap wig, bad New Jersey accent, and all-over-the-place performance are reflections of the film as a whole. It’s as though the director tried to make eight different movies and they all suck. Edie Falco does decent work, but I think if you watch closely you can see her cringe every time Moore opens her mouth. I mean, Falco knows what Jersey is about. She’s into Jovi. The obscure stuff, too. Not just the hits.

I’m giving Freedomland 1-Grieco (see ratings), but if it makes your mom happy you should go see it with her anyway.

Ratings

1-Grieco: There’s probably a re-run of “Full House” on. Watch that instead.

2-Griecos: Washed-up stars, watered-down action, and my friends are at work. What the hell.

3-Griecos: Bad religious symbolism abounds and the gunplay is damn near balletic. My Friday night is looking up.

4-Griecos: If Looks Could Kill. All I’m sayin’.

**If ever I should come across a film that rates 0-Griecos, may God have mercy on your soul.

Kilmer, Talking Dog in Heated Race

Well, it looks as though Kev's last minute vote tipped the race in favor of Blind Horizon, so I will move it to the top of my Netflix list. However, what kind of man would I be if I passed up the opportunity to watch Karate Dog? Look for a review of Voight's work and Chevy Chase's canine voiceover skills in the near future. I appreciate the comments, and as my good friend The Ghost of Gene Siskel said to me, there were strong arguments on both sides. I will say I am a little hurt that the Grieco film didn't receive a single vote. I can only assume that that is because all of you have already seen Evil Breed: The Legend of Samhain and you don't need me to review it for you.

Many Many Movies

I was perusing my Netflix catalog last night in a desperate attempt to find the perfect film to bring to GIK. I was able to narrow my list down to four, but I could use your help in picking the first one to watch. I have provided the stars and a brief description of what I believe to be the plot of each movie. Please let me know which one to put at the top of my queue.

Evil Breed: The Legend of Samhain
Starring: Richard Grieco and a bunch of porn stars.

A group of sexy ladies run into trouble and Grieco when they come upon a Samhain festival and some cannibals.

Blind Horizon
Starring: Val Kilmer, Neve Campbell, and the great Sam Shepard

Kilmer suffers from amnesia after taking a blow to the head, but he remembers enough to know that there is a plot to assassinate the president. Reunites Thunderheart costars, Shepard and Kilmer.

Raptor
Starring: Corbin Bernsen

Through the work of a mad scientist, Raptors live again and terrorize a small town. Promises some awesome effects and the kind of work that only Bernsen can deliver.

The Karate Dog
Starring: Jon Voight... and Chevy Chase as the voice of Cho Cho

The dog can talk to people and kick the asses of unsuspecting criminals, kung-fu style. Did I mention that Chase is the voice of Cho Cho?


I know not all of you are fond of leaving comments, but I could really use some help. I mean, I don’t want to screw up something as important as this.

Prometheus Unhooked

Since I turned 30 I’ve been going through a whole putting things into perspective phase. This involves watching a lot of ‘80s videos and accepting the fact that I will never be toasted as the Lone Prince of Eurasia as I had once hoped. Looking at things this way has made me realize that my life is pretty good. I have a decent job that doesn’t require me to wear real pants, I have a hot girlfriend, and I have a love of metal that will never die. Despite all of this, though, I still feel like something is missing. Would I like more money? Sure. Would I like to live in an apartment complex that isn’t littered with Dos Equis bottles and the stink of failure? You know it. But cash and a nice home won’t fill the void. There’s only one thing that can truly bring me peace, and I discovered it last night; a film about a genetically-altered fish that will surely terrorize all of mankind if it is not destroyed by a brave group of multi-cultural heroes.

Frankenfish
First off, if you know somebody at the Sci-Fi Channel please let me know. They will clearly put anything on TV, and I think my screenplay about a caveman from the future who hunts and kills politicians using only his keen sense of smell and the Kraft singles he found in a time capsule is right up their alley.

OK. Frankenfish has everything you could possibly want in a film. There’s gratuitous vomit, pontoon boats, decapitations, a wise old mystic woman with two different colored eyes who talks about the curse that has been put upon her land, and a fish that will fly out of the water and simply rip you to shreds until the marshlands run red with your blood. There are also some awesome “backwoods” stereotypes and my new favorite actress, the lovely Ms. China Chow. Ultimately, Frankenfish is like Anaconda minus the budget, Voight’s accent, and the consummate professionalism of one Jennifer Lopez, but with some Manticore-worthy effects thrown in. Watch the opening and then fast forward to the part where you finally catch a glimpse of the fish in all its glory, and you won’t be disappointed. I’m giving it 2 ½ -Griecos (see ratings). The extra ½ is for the requisite there-might-be-a-sequel-because-the-demon-fish-had-babies shot at the end.

Ratings

1-Grieco: There’s probably a re-run of "Full House" on. Watch that instead.

2-Griecos: Washed-up stars, watered-down action, and my friends are at work. What the hell.

3-Griecos: Bad religious symbolism abounds and the gunplay is damn near balletic. My Friday night is looking up.

4-Griecos: If Looks Could Kill. All I’m sayin’.

**If ever I should come across a film that rates 0-Griecos, may God have mercy on your soul.

The Gospel According to Grieco

Hold onto your hats. It’s about to get Grieco in here.

Book of Days
Book of Days opens with Wil Wheaton’s character, Danny Heartland (it’s so easy I’m just gonna let it go), marrying a girl who was left at an orphanage as a baby and raised by nuns. As they exit the wedding ceremony surrounded by said nuns, everyone is happy. Everyone, that is, except Isaac Hayes who lurks in the background looking like the lone wise black man in a group of naive white folks. In the limo, Wheaton’s wife says “I feel so alive,” and just like in Mothman Prophecies, you know they’re gonna get hit by a car. They do, and she dies, leaving Wheaton a widower on his wedding day. (note: Something similar like this occurred once on an episode of “Melrose Place” resulting in the death of Sydney who was played by the lovely Laura Leighton. The show was never the same.) Anyway, Wheaton is devastated and he lets us know with several angry “it must be really great to be God” monologues. His best friend, a blonde girl who is cute in that I’ve-loved-you-forever-maybe-I-can-help-you-forget-your-dead-wife-and-move-on-with-your-life kind of way tries to comfort him. You see, Wheaton is broke and his ruthless insurance salesman boss won’t pay up on Wheaton’s wife’s life insurance policy. Luckily, Isaac Hayes shows up and delivers an ancient book complete with mysterious names and dates. Twenty-five minutes and a visit to a priest later, Wheaton and the blonde come to the conclusion that I and the other three people in the world who have actually seen this movie reached from the get-go; the book contains the names of all of those who are living and the days on which they will die. In order to meet his newly-imposed sales quotas and to stick it to his boss, Wheaton uses the book to sell life insurance policies to people who will die soon, ensuring that their families will be taken care of and that his boss will have to cut many large checks. Things go as planned for a while, but then Wheaton discovers that one of his nun friends is set to die, and he decides that maybe he should be saving people instead of, you know, selling them insurance. He keeps the nun from dying, and it looks like everything is going to be alright. But, no. God, it seems, works in mysterious or at least dickheadish ways. For every year of life Wheaton gives a person, he loses a year of his own. He blew ten just on the nun. Meanwhile, the recent deaths of Wheaton’s clients have pissed off and alerted his boss who quickly sells him out to the cops. Wheaton is charged for murder and put in jail. Things are looking grim. Then, at approximately 54 minutes into the movie, I realize there truly is a God, and Grieco enters. Now, I was hoping Grieco would take on the role of The Almighty or Satan, but instead he struts in as the sleaziest insurance lawyer you can possibly imagine. His hair is so long and greasy it made me proud to be Italian. He plays golf in the office, shoots his steely gaze at no one in particular, and utters lines like “Your honor, we’re dealing with a possible serial killer here,” and “God: the elusive savior.” As the movie devolves into some unholy fusion of my 3rd grade CCD (that’s Catholic Sunday school for all of you WASPS out there) and a John Grisham novel, Grieco keeps it together with his unflinching cool and whatever pills I’m sure he popped in his trailer. The trial goes on and on and on, and Isaac Hayes starts handing out life lessons to everyone. I should point out that Hayes (his character is called Jonah) had the book before Wheaton, and when it came time for him to sacrifice his life to save Wheaton’s wife he couldn’t do it, so he has to find some sort of redemption. Finally, after the blonde (remember her) gets jailed for being in contempt of court, Wheaton says he will produce the book if they let her go. The judge agrees and the book is brought in. They find Wheaton’s client who is next on the list to die, believing that if she stays alive it will prove that Wheaton is guilty. She is pregnant, and wouldn’t you know, she starts to faint or convulse or something in the court room. She dies on the way to the hospital, but not before she gives birth and gets Wheaton’s nun friend to promise she’ll take care of the baby. Hang on now, we’re almost there. Back in court, Wheaton is found not-guilty, Grieco is pissed, and for some strange reason the judge decrees that Wheaton and his asshole boss will deliver the book to the National Archives where it will remain untouched for 200 years. Before he leaves, Wheaton realizes he loves the cute blonde, and he, she, and the nun (thank God she got those extra 10 years) will all help raise the baby of the woman who died. At the last minute, Isaac Hayes says he will take the book in place of Wheaton. Wheaton has to let the book go because, according to Hayes, “you gotta think on life, boy.” We then see shots of Wheaton and the blonde’s wedding while a Wheaton voiceover explains that Hayes saved Wheaton’s life and the life of the evil boss by taking the book himself. I guess the plane to the Archives was gong to go down or something. I don’t know. I was so doped up on prescripts and plot holes by the end of this thing I lost all sense of what was going on. All I know is that everybody is happy because God loves us and we shouldn’t question His choices, because if we had His love, power, and responsibility we would just freak out or, at least, start some sort of insurance scam.

In my first post I stated that the presence of Grieco gives a movie a 1 ½ -Grieco boost. In this film, he gets “special appearance by” billing. To me this is merely stating the obvious, as every appearance by Grieco is a special one, but it gets the extra points nonetheless which brings the total to 3-Griecos (see ratings). I’m gonna give it to you straight, y’all. Not everyone is cut out for Book of Days, but those of you who are (I’m talking to you b.t.s.) will love it. It has actually inspired me to dedicate an entire week (in the future) to Christian propaganda movies. We’ll put God on trial with Mr. T and Corbin Bernsen in Judgment, we’ll attempt to crack the Omega Code with Casper van Dien, and we at GIK will finally tell all of you if, like Kirk Cameron, you’ll be Left Behind. Now, as they say in the Catholic Church, “be excellent to each other….and party on.” Or is it "everything you have ever done is an affront to God." I can never remember.

Oh, one more thing. The vice president totally shot a dude.

Ratings

1-Grieco: There’s probably a re-run of Full House on. Watch that instead.

2-Griecos: Washed-up stars, watered-down action, and my friends are at work. What the hell.

3-Griecos: Bad religious symbolism abounds and the gunplay is damn near balletic. My Friday night is looking up.

4-Griecos: If Looks Could Kill. All I’m sayin’.

**If ever I should come across a film that rates 0-Griecos, may God have mercy on your soul.

The Shroud of Torino

Look, I know I promised a review of the bold Grieco/Wheaton piece for today, but I ended up spending the weekend at a fancy hotel where they gave us robes. Now, I’m a lazy man, but if you give me a robe, not a damn thing is getting done. When I finally did get home I was set to watch the film, but I got drawn into those winter Olympics. I love the luge, the drama, and those little outfits the ice skaters wear. This one pair from China skated to some bizarre instrumental version of Zeppelin’s "Kashmir," and I was hooked. After that, it was all downhill skiing and shots of my people. Sure, I’ve never been to Italy and the only thing I can say in Italian isn’t suitable for mixed company, but they’re my people nonetheless. Anyway, I promise to have the Grieco review for tomorrow, and I have got some other good stuff planned for the week (did somebody say Frankenfish?). In the meantime, if you have a robe, nowhere to go, and absolutely nothing to do, you should check out those Olympics. I hear the skeleton’s gonna be kickass.

Man, Work is Awesome

The Man has returned like the sonofabitch he is. I must work and put off the finer things in life for the next couple of days. However, I want you to know that my good friends at Netflix just sent me a quasi-spiritual piece starring the great Will Wheaton and, that's right, Richard effing Grieco. Grieco's back, y'all, and it's gonna get sexy. Look for the review on Monday, and enjoy the weekend.

On a personal note, I caught Grieco's cameo in A Night at The Roxburry last night. It made me feel whole again.

Speaking of Remakes

Checked out House of Wax last night. Man, did that movie suck. Yet, for some bizarre reason, I was entertained. Maybe it’s because I love B-horror films that create some melancholy back story (abused, separated Siamese twins in this case) to make up for their total lack of plot and structure, or maybe I have a little crush on Elishsa “Pink Panties” Cuthbert. I mean, she and Chad Michael Haircut from “One Tree Hill,” “Everwood,” or some other show that desperately wants to be “Dawson’s Creek” but can’t be, kind of work as hero twins battling the evil twins I mentioned earlier. Who knows, maybe the movie appealed to me because, at the end of the day, I find wax really creepy. Seriously, I have visited wax museums all over this great world of ours, and whether I’m looking at a replica of Stallone in his Apollo Creed U.S.A. trunks from Rocky IV or the original death masque of Marie Antoinette, I just get freaked out. Perhaps I liked it, because it made me nostalgic for the time when my friends and I went camping and decided to explore a deserted town, and, you know, sneaked around this guy’s house, checking out his medical tables, bone saws, and jarred horse embryos. I mean, what could possibly go wrong? We’re attractive young white people with hot early-20s sex and our whole lives ahead of us---Jesus Christ! My Achilles tendon! Oh my God! Oh sweet Lord! Why me? What have I done to deserve this? I only mocked those who were different! They were different…(gratuitous vomit/innards shot….and cut away.)

Sorry. You know what? This is all bullshit. I liked House of Wax, because I got to see Paris Hilton’s head get piked, javelin-style. Now, how could you not enjoy that?

2 ½-Griecos (see ratings).

Ratings

1-Grieco: There’s probably a re-run of "Full House" on. Watch that instead.

2-Griecos: Washed-up stars, watered-down action, and my friends are at work. What the hell.

3-Griecos: Bad religious symbolism abounds and the gunplay is damn near balletic. My Friday night is looking up.

4-Griecos: If Looks Could Kill. All I’m sayin’.

**If ever I should come across a film that rates 0-Griecos, may God have mercy on your soul.

Have You Checked the Children?

I went to go see the remake of When a Stranger Calls last night. I liked it, and it scared me, and yes, Kev, the new girl is much hotter than Carol Kane. I love Carol Kane, though, so I’m not gonna get into all that. Anyway, before the movie I saw a preview for this horrible retelling of Twelfth Night called She’s the Man. I also got some info from the aforementioned Kev about a remake of The Omen (one of my favorite movies) that is coming out soon. Let’s face it, people. We all know Hollywood has gone mad with power with this whole remake thing. There was King Kong, The Longest Yard, Fun with Dick and Jane, The Steppford Wives, this travesty of a Pink Panther remake that’s set to pop, and all of the others that I’m sure I’m forgetting about. As I thought about all of this remake stuff while I was waiting for the remake to start, I got angry, because, well, I don’t have anything real to be angry about. In response to my rage, I decided to make a list, because, well, it was easier than watching a bad movie last night. So here are the worst remakes of our time. I know there are many that I have missed, so please let me know what needs to be added.

Worst Shakespeare Remake
O - There are so many movies that could make it in this category it seems wrong to settle on just one. Hawk’s Hamlet is horrendous, Baz Luhrmann’s William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet is just absurd, and Pacino in Looking for Richard is just one of the worst things you’ll ever see. That being said, I’m giving O the nod, even though it doesn’t use the original language. Hartnett’s smoldering “Hugo” is a disgrace to anyone who has ever even thought about reading a line of Iago’s. He’s so bad he almost makes Julia “Desi” Stiles look good. Almost.

Worst Remake of a Romantic Period Drama
Cruel Intentions – Dangerous Liaisons, like its source material, is a bold piece. I’m not saying it’s perfect or anything, but Malkovich and Close are great in it, and Michelle Pfeiffer is ridiculous hot. On the other hand, Ryan Phillippe in Cruel Intentions is parading around like he’s Leo DiCaprio or something. And trust me Ryan, according to a friend of mine, you’re no Leo DiCaprio. Selma Blair also takes on the Uma Thurman role, playing it like some sort of mentally challenged 13 year-old. Her performance defies all logic, and Gellar is just playing returned-from-the-grave-pissed-off Buffy up there.

Worst Remake of a Foreign Film
Vanilla Sky – Look, I haven’t even seen the original version of this movie, and I’m putting it on the list. The twist at the end makes The Village look like Psycho (the original, not the remake). Wait, sorry about that. Nothing could ever make The Village look good. Seriously, though, it has one of the worst “surprises” I have ever seen. Plus, they put Cruise in that ridiculous mask. Even if he’s batshit, you don’t hide the piercing gaze of Cruise, y’all. Oh, and Cameron Diaz and Penelope Cruz just look confused the whole time, and I’m pretty sure Kurt Russell thinks he’s reprising his role in Captain Ron.

Worst Remake of a Classic Horror Movie
The Bride – I know some people out there will be outraged that I placed a Jennifer Beals movie on the list. Please, don’t get me wrong, I love me some Beals, but not even her timeless good looks and ability to dance can save this remake of Frankenstein or The Bride of Frankenstein or whatever it is. The tragedy of the original is reduced to some weird sexual tension between Beals and Sting with some Pygmalion type stuff thrown in. However, Sting’s hair is pretty awesome in it, and the little person and the monster do good work.

Worst Remake of Planet of the Apes
Planet of the Apes – I like Burton as much as the next guy. Probably even more than the next guy, unless, of course, that guy is a pale wanderer of the night. That doesn’t change the fact that this remake just plain sucks. Estella Warren throws her hat in the ring as one of the worst actresses of all time. And why is her hair and makeup always perfect while everyone else looks like Peasant #3 in some production of the Passion Play? We don’t even need to bring up the whole monkey-Abe Lincoln thing. I mean the monkey monument had a beard, a hat, and everything, and that’s offensive to apes and Mr. Lincoln.

K.I.B.

I went to Carnaval this weekend. I have yet to recover. I will be back tomorrow. If there is a Carnaval celebration in your town, you should go. There are many attractive people and oh so many drums. So many drums.

Chapstick

During one of my many periods of unemployment in Chicago, a friend of mine got me a gig handing out menus for his restaurant. The money would be surprisingly good, and I was fairly confident I had what it took to pass out pieces of paper to people, so I was actually kind of excited. It was December, and it had started to get really cold, so I bundled up before I headed downtown to the restaurant. When I arrived, I met the manager. He thanked me for helping, and I said it was my pleasure, knowing that the money I was getting would keep me from having to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner for like the fifth night in a row. He handed me the menus, an apron, and one of those horrible, foot-high chef hats. The thought of the sweet KFC boneless wings I would soon be eating helped me get over the ridiculous costume, and I started to put the apron on. The manger stopped me and said something like, “You know, I really think the coat is going to take away from the outfit.” Not wanting to offend, I took off my coat and hoody, but left on my sweater, thermal long-sleeve shirt, regular long-sleeve shirt, and gloves. They, however, would not be enough. As soon as I stepped outside, I was greeted by an icy gust of lakefront wind. I put on my gloves, but they were too stiff to allow me to properly handle the menus, so I went for the “Thriller” look, sacrificing my right hand to the elements in the process. As I handed out menus to passers-by who went out of their way to avoid me, the temperature started to drop. Now, you would think that standing outside in the freezing cold while wearing a little chef’s uniform would be payment enough for whatever past sins I had committed, but oh, no. God and Chicago, being the total dicks that they are, decided it was time to start snowing. And this wasn’t one of those oh-look-how-pretty-the-snow-is-what-a-beautiful-white-blanket-it’s-covering-the-Earth-in kind of snows that Southerners picture in their naïve, warm little brains. This was a the-wind-is-35mph-and-I-would-cry-if-my-eyes-weren’t-frozen-shut kind of snow. I struggled mightily to continue working, but the wind pushed me down the street to a warm coffee shop where the menus accidentally fell into a trashcan, and where I accidentally hung out for an hour. When I finally returned to the restaurant, they thanked me for braving the storm. I felt guilty for about two seconds, and then grabbed my money, my hoody, and my coat, and I left. On the train ride home, I reached my frozen right hand into my coat pocket to retrieve my generic lip balm (couldn’t splurge on the good stuff) in hope of finding some wind burn relief. Then, I decided to block out the events of the day for as long as I lived. It actually worked pretty well, because after I spent the money, I didn’t really think about the chef suit-blizzard incident until years later when I was watching The Mothman Prophecies.

The Mothman Prophecies (based on true events)
My mom loves movies as much as I do, and she will see pretty much anything that comes out as long as it isn’t too violent and there is little or no talk of sex. When she sees a movie she likes she waits until it comes out on DVD, buys it, and then sends it to me. This has allowed me to amass a rather strange film collection. Within a period of a few months, I once received The Count of Monte Cristo, two Ashley Judd movies, and a DeNiro piece that nobody’s ever heard of. Mothman is one of my mom movies. She thought I would like it, and she was right, but we’ll get to that later.

In Mothman, Richard Gere (one of my mom’s favorites) is a hotshot reporter for the Washington Post. He and his lovely wife (Debra Messing, looking almost as good as she did on “Ned and Stacey”) close on a beautiful house in Georgetown. On their way home from the closing they sit at a red light on a deserted road, and you just know they’re going to get in a wreck, and they do, but not before Messing sees a moth-type beast flying at the windshield. Gere is fine, but while in the hospital for her injuries, Messing finds out she has a rare brain tumor, starts drawing creepy images, and dies.

Two Years Later. Gere, still reeling from the death of his wife, is heading to Richmond, VA to do a story on a potential presidential candidate. His car breaks down, and he goes to a house for help, but instead is greeted by a man carrying a shotgun. The man, Gordon, claims that Gere has appeared at the house at the same exact time for the past three nights. Laura Linney then shows up doing an accent that sounds a lot like the one my friend did when she played Shelby in a 10th grade student-directed production of Steel Magnolias. Linney is a cop, and she tries to clear things up. She gives Gere a lift to a motel, and we learn that he has somehow ended up in a small town on the West Virginia/Ohio border which, for you geography buffs, is not very close to Richmond at all. (Spooooky.) Soon, Gordon starts hearing a voice that says things like “99 die in Denver,” and those things, those prophecies if you will, come true. Gere and Linney try to figure out what is going on, but Gere gets in too deep. One night, he receives a phone call from the voice that has spoken to Gordon, and the greatest scene in the film occurs. First, the voice says its name is Indred Cold. Yep. That's the name. Cold knows everything about Gere down to what he is doing that very minute like where he is hiding his shoes and what lines he's looking at in a book. To truly test Cold, Gere asks. “What do I have in my hand?” and Indred replies in the most menacing whisper you can possibly imagine, “Chapstick.” I cannot explain to you how absurd this part is. It is possibly the most bizarre product placement/misguided moment of terror ever committed to film. Seriously, you have to see it.

After that, Gere goes to frigid Chicago to track down an expert who talks a lot but doesn’t give us a damn clue as to what is going on. He’s all “entities and energies” and whatnot. Gere returns to West Virginia, and bonds more with Linney. Then, Gordon dies, and Messing starts appearing around town. Gere gets a note from Indred Cold saying that Messing (his dead wife, mind you) will contact him in his Georgetown home that Saturday (Christmas Eve) at noon. Gere leaves WV, goes home, and waits. Linney calls and gives the requisite your-wife-is-dead-and-that-weird-creepy-voice-is-lying-and-you-should-spend-Christmas-with-me speech. Gere hangs up, the clock clicks noon, the phone rings, and…Gere pulls it out of the wall. Broken, the phone rings again, and…Gere walks out the door. Come on! You're telling me that a mothman tells you your dead wife is going to call at noon, and you don’t even pick up the phone? That’s bullshit, my friends, that is bullshit!

Movie’s over, right? He turned his back on the beast and now he can live a peaceful, happy life or whatever. Nope. When he gets back to West Virginia, there is a traffic jam on a bridge. The bridge collapses, casting Linney and others into the river along with a bunch of Christmas presents. This actually has to do with a dream Linney talks about early in the movie, but I just can’t even get into all that right now. Gere jumps in and saves Linney, and they share one of those man-this-was-weird-maybe-we-should-start-a-life-together looks. The credits roll, and the eerie/sexy TOMANDANDY score takes us out.

Honestly, Mothman Prophecies can be quite creepy at times. I’m not afraid to admit I got chills more than once while watching. The problem with the movie is that it makes absolutely no sense at all, and it doesn’t bother to even address any of the questions it raises. However, I’m still giving it 3-Griecos (see ratings). It’s pretty entertaining, and the “Chapstick” scene is just awesome. Oh, by the way, if Indred Cold is a reference that I don’t get or if it's some sort of anagram, please let me know, because if that’s all you got for an 8-foot tall moth-demon, you have failed. And I don’t care if that is the name from the “true events.” Change it. This is Hollywood, damnit.

Ratings

1-Grieco: There’s probably a re-run of "Full House on". Watch that instead.

2-Griecos: Washed-up stars, watered-down action, and my friends are at work. What the hell.

3-Griecos: Bad religious symbolism abounds and the gunplay is damn near balletic. My Friday night is looking up.

4-Griecos: If Looks Could Kill. All I’m sayin’.

**If ever I should come across a film that rates 0-Griecos, may God have mercy on your soul.

You're Watching Sports Night on CSC

I have tried to avoid reviewing TV shows on GIK, because that just opens up a world of possibilities, and if I hate anything, it’s possibilities. I also realize that I rarely (never?) review something that I believe is good without any sort of irony attached. Today, I break both of those rules.

Sports Night
“Sports Night” was a short-lived series that aired from like ’98 to 2000. It was created by Aaron Sorkin who penned A Few Good Men, and would go on to create “The West Wing.” (note: That show totally fell apart when Sorkin left. Rob Lowe’s leaving didn’t help, either. Damn, that guy is handsome.) Anyway, “Sports Night” has a great cast including Peter Krause (speaking of damn handsome) from “Six Feet Under,” Josh “Knox Overstreet” Charles, and Felicity Huffman who’s been taking the awards shows by storm for that movie about the transsexual and that show about those housewives who seem to think they’re a lot more attractive than they really are (I’m talking to you Teri Hatcher and Nicolette Sheridan). Robert “Benson” Guillaume, Josh Molina, and the great Ted McGinley also play pivotal roles. Man, William H. Macy (husband of Huffman) even shows up to knock out a few episodes, and he cannot be denied. Anyway, the show is available on DVD, and you should really check it out. There are only 45 episodes, and they move fast. In fact, I once stayed up for 24 hours straight and watched the entire series. That’s how cool I am. Now, the show takes a few episodes to find its legs and get rid of the studio-demanded laugh track, but once it does, you will not be disappointed. Oh, and you don’t have to like sports or know anything about sports to enjoy “Sports Night.” However, I would suggest you watch a Cubs game. Not to get a better feel for the show or anything, but just to watch the Cubs.