Thursday, August 24, 2000
The winner of the "Absolutely No Chemistry between leads" Award goes to this little dreadful work. Grew plays himself. Can he play anyone else? Ryder plays role of young dying person who knows everything about life.
Story: Guy who is a homemaker falls in love with dying lady. He cheats on her. She tells him to be a nice person. He says ok. She dies. The end.
Rating: 4 for the cinematic.
This was not a love story since there was no story and no love. Just a bunch of crap that was boring to watch and unrealistic when the dialogue did happen. Yuck I want my money back! I did come across a thought that gave me the shivers. Since seeing the 9th gate and Eye of the Beholder, I think my movie mind has been bucked up so that a really bad movie like this one might not get the lowest rating it should get. The afore mentioned movies were horrible. If my mind compares autumn in New York to those dopplegangers from hell then the rating might not be accurate. Oh who really cares.
Tuesday, August 22, 2000
"You should never joke about that kind of thing..." The big fat slob said with extreme, selfrighteous, nose stuck up in the air, she-is-better-than-us, attitude. Donna and I had been talking about fleas and how we do not like them. We then made a crack about either killing the fleas or the dog upon wich the fleas live. Ha Ha Ha. Then the lady flipped her crap at us about how we should not "joke about thaty kind of thing" In Donna's office, about ten feet from the lady in question, Donna said, "I guess she doesn't like our humor." I then said, being the levelheaded watercalmer that I am, in a louder than normal voice "Big deal. If she doesn't appreciate our humor thats her problem. It's not as if I was seriously thinking about blowing the dogs head off or anything. Or stomping in it unitl it was flat! I love dogs! I love to eat'm! On a slice a'corn bread wisom ol #7 and slab a fatback on the side. MMM MMM good!" People who bristle with anger over a couple jokingly discussing flea infestation suck. How much angst can they generate over the billions of fleas that will die as a result of chemical armegaedan? Do they use mouth wash? Fucking a they do. How abou the trillions of bacteria they kill off and then spit out into the sink. Do they mow grass? I am sure they all have fucking gardens full of flowers and you can bet your sweet ass they're out there pulling weeds on the weekend. You know I don't like off color jokes anymore than the next dufus but come on! Can't people mind their own business? Do they have to feel it necessary to stick their hypocritical noses up the ass of life whenever anyone around them spouts off about fleas and dogs? Is this what the greastest experiment in human history has got us? The right to be a pest? To be, in a literal sense, a little anoying bug that bites you and makes you scratch? I will now make another off color remark. Perhaps we don't need bug bombs so much as.....oh hell somebodies probably reviewing the emails today anyway.
Monday, August 21, 2000
Bail Jumper was and still is under contract with Rotten Banana Films. His appearance in Covert Operatives is a direct violation of his contract and we intend to file suit against him or squash him with a hammer. Even though he was a bit player and was killed in the first few seconds of the film he still should have asked if it was okay.
As for the film Covert Operatives. Animation wise it is not up to RAP standards but what is? Story wise it is a bit plebian too. Art direction wise it sucks. Sound wise it really sucks. Comparing Star Adventures to this film would be wrong but I am going to do it anyway. Our story has much better characters, a deeper script. Better art direction and sound. This film does have technically more blood but there was no scene in it more macabre than the elevator scene. This film looked like it took about a month to shoot.
Finally: If wuch a film is viewable on iFilm.com should not the REAL thing be available as well? It would run 39 minutes but so what. Thoughts?
Friday, August 18, 2000
The stench of milk drying in 85 degree heat can only be matched and surpassed by the following true story:
Two weeks ago Donna and I worked for two days cleaning up the the basement. We hauled out old nonsense we did not need. We vacumed where we had not vacumed in months. We shipped old books off to the Goodwill. And in the end Jessica could have a sleep over in the basement with all her friends. Cool!
To make it easier for us to clean we propped the door to the garage open so we could easily enter and exit from the basement. We used a small board for this purpose. Just a unassuming peice of 1/2 inch pine board. Near the end of the last day of cleaning the door closed. Oops! I went to prop it open again. Board? Couldn't find it. Where had it gone? Who knew. Maybe Donna was using something else. Okay a shoe will do just fine. Party went great.
Weeks passed, (Weeks). Then, four days ago I decided to boil up some ravioli's. I go down into the garage to our freezer to get the suckers out. I open the door and picked up a package of ravioli's. Brain first uses sense of touch to determine that A: package is warm and B since it is warm it cannot be frozen. Sense of smell is then hit by the equivelent of a tsunami. The olfactory center of the brain is wrecked, neurons scrambling for cover as the cascade of stench has to be processed. Nerve impluses are quickly sent to the left arm to slam the door shut as a last desperate attempt to stave off the oncoming horror. Higher neural functions then process the data.
Food not frozen, stink comming from freezer really nasty. All this means a catastrophic event has occured. I check the back of the freezer to see if it is plugged in. Oh...there is the board that went missing. When the door closed, a whopping two weeks earlier, it had propelled the board behind the freezer and uplugged the unit.
After several minutes of extremely nasty cursing, I take a safty breath and open the door. It is like the physical incarnation of an HP lovecraft novel. The call of Cthulu wafts out from that dank coffin of decayed meat. We had about seventy pounds of beef, lamb, and other meats in there. They have all thawed out and created a black lake of moldering blood in the drip pan at the bottom of the freezer. It only take a few seconds for me to mentally right off the entire contents.
We decide to plug the unit back in and refreeze the abominable contents so that when I clean it out the disguto-meter will not be destroyed. The inquest into what happened, and what should be done to make sure that so tragic and accident does not occur and again, determined that the gap between the freezer and wall should be covered. I used the same board for this purpose. The inquest also determined that the plugs should be screwed into the wall so that they cannot easily be unplugged. Gory disguting meat is now languishing in the dump.
Monday, August 07, 2000
There is no way I am rating either of these two non-films. They suck so bad that there is no number, or fraction there of, existent in the universes that could rate these bucked up drums of shit.
9th Gate - Johnny deaf
Book slug, who goes after rare books is hired by a total Fuji head to determine if his devil book is the real deal. Okay so far. So what happens? NOTHING! Nothing happens. The story is totally intelligible and useless. There was no bucking script for this hunk of dung. I hate this movie and want to excoriate it's memory from my brain.
Eye of the Beholder - Ewon McGregor
You know what you behold? NOTHING! I beheld the movie trailers before the movie and that was it. This movie stunk even worse than the 9th Grunt. I wanted to gouge the eye of the beholder out of my head. To behold this trash is to behold fly larva living in shit, to behold a pussy wart , to behold the total vacuum outside the universe. It is the total perspective votes in reverse. This was a bad film. I hope that none of you had the near total misfotune of having to sit through either of these abominations, these mental route canals.
Short of drinking a gallon of saline I don't know how I can purge myself from the effects of these squalid events. I feel impure, filthy, mired in some kind of artistic hell, I was shown the seventh seal of Morton picture Amageadan. Yuck!
I kept waiting for the steady hand of teanibopper action-flickism to take over but I couldn't even be allowed that. Not even a cliche' ending with lots of CGI. Only the cold, moldering, oblivion of non-movie. It was as if both movies ended at the end of their opening credits and there was nothing left but the gaseous emissions of the set carpenters and chatterers.
To know that, as Alec guineas lay dying in England, I was sitting and wasting these travesties of sublime mediocrity, is to die a little myself.