My hearing and my voice are more or less once again at pre-Metallica levels. My mind may never recover from limpbizkt's set, but at least my physical faculties have returned.

After an long hiatus (about a month and a half, I think), we are picking up our Vampire game again. And I really wish I could get more into it. Honestly. But the constant games just burned me out. I'm going to play tonight, because I promised I would. I just wish I could get as excited about it as certain other players are.

In other news, I saw Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl on Monday. It's a great movie -- it's got your standard swashbuckling, walk-the-plank, "shiver-me-timbers" pirate movie stuff, and then there's Johnny Depp's performance as Captain Jack Sparrow, which seems flown in from another planet. He said in interviews he was trying to envision "Keith Richards crossed with a drag queen," and that's exactly what he becomes. As cliched as the rest of the movie can be at times, Depp is completely and unquestionably original. (Rating, if you were wondering: ****)


"Who is that?" [points to William Shakespeare]
"Oh, nobody. Just the writer."

The setlist of the gods:

Battery.
Master of Puppets.
Harvester of Sorrow. (!)
Welcome Home (Sanitarium).
For Whom the Bell Tolls.
Frantic.
Sad But True.
St. Anger.
No Remorse. (!!)
Seek and Destroy.
Blackened. (!!!)

1st Encore:
Fuel.
Nothing Else Matters.
Creeping Death.

2nd Encore:
One.
Enter Sandman.

Oh. My. Holy. GOD.

Never have I felt physically assaulted by a live performance before. When I watched Metallica live DVDs, they always say stuff like, "We're here to KICK YOUR ASS!" but I didn't get that feeling when I saw them a few years ago in Dallas.

Now I have. Goddamn they were incredible. And I don't think my hearing will ever return to its previous level.

Had it just been Metallica, I would have gone home happy and satisfied. But it wasn't just Metallica -- oh, no. Linkin Park played as well, and it should be illegal to be that awesome. Deftones and Mudvayne played, too, and they were all right, I guess. I paid attention to their sets at least, and at no point did I begin openly mocking them, so that's a plus.

But Limp Bizkit -- oh, excuse me, limpbizkit -- played as well.

Now, I have never cared for limpbizkit. "My Way" is a good song. As is "Rearranged." "Break Stuff" is a great song to hear live. And "Nookie" is decent, I guess. But the rest of their catalog is bland, boring, and redundant. So I've never cared for them.

But I fucking hate Fred Durst.

My problem with Durst is his incessant need to be liked. "You want to hear metal? We'll play metal! You want to hear some rap? Oh, we'll do that, too! Sure, I can't really do either with much ability, but if that's what you want, YOU GOT IT!! You like hearing the word 'fuck'? I'll write a song where nearly EVERY SINGLE LINE contains that word at least once! You like Napster? Hey, me too! I love Napster! All music should be free! Yes! I'll even TOUR for Napster, yeah! And it'll be FREE!! LOVE ME, PLEASE, JUST LOVE ME!!!! PLEASE!!!!!"

You can see how this gets annoying. The apex of Durst's stupidity is in "Take a Look Around," the theme song from Mission: Impossible 2, in which he blasts those who criticized him for selling out and endorsing New Era, the makers of the baseball caps he never takes off, and manages to WORK IN A FUCKING COMMERCIAL for New Era while doing it. That's what I'm talking about.

limpbizkit's set last night was the same shit, only I couldn't change the station or eject the CD or anything. I had to sit there and take it while Durst essentially masturbated for an hour.

They started out just fine -- they played a few of their shitty songs, including the "fucked-up" one. Then Fred starts in giving Metallica a verbal blowjob (all the bands at the show did this, but Fred's was particularly blatant). He talks about the greatness of Metallica, how he hired the new guitarist based solely on his ability to play any Metallica song ever written, and then they play their cover of Metallica's "Welcome Home (Sanitarium)," which is terrible. Towards the end of the song, the words "METALLICA IS THE SHIT" appeared on the video screens, and Durst requested that the audience "Jump for Metallica! JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!" I swear I'm not making this up.

Then, during a pretty bad performance of "Nookie," Durst suddenly disappeared from the stage. For about two minutes. Then we hear his voice: "Hey, Houston...I'm backstage..." Huh? What the fuck are you doing backstage, dipshit? The concert's out here!

Then suddenly we spot him amongst the fans with a wireless mic, grabbing beers and calling people cool and doing whatever he can to make people cheer. Then the band leaves the stage, the video screens start playing "patriotic" images of flags and fighter pilots and stuff, and a tape recording (?!) of the music from the Who's "Behind Blue Eyes" plays. Durst absolutely fucking BUTCHERS that song, still walking through the audience, stealing beers and saying shit like, "I think all beers should be free from now on!" (And I'm not making that up.)

Eventually, Durst wanders back on stage. It's the middle of a song, which one I don't remember. Once he's back on the stage, something flies out of the mosh pit and hits him in the arm. He stops singing, looks at (presumably) the person who threw it, and says (and I quote): "If you want to throw something at me, don't be a pussy, hit me in the face, you fucking faggot." And then the song continues.

As if all this wasn't enough, then they start setting off fireworks. "Look! Fire! LOVE ME!" (He didn't actually say that one.) Then some more blatant verbal blowjobs, this time for "the great state of Texas." They play yet another shitty cover, this time George Michael's "Faith." This time, though, there's something to laugh at other than Fred: the video screens play a rather hilarious montage of clips from Michael's video for the song, timed to synch with bizkit's performance. It was pretty funny. (Though I should point out, for a guy who just called someone a "fucking faggot" just moments before, Durst sure did leave George Michael's ass on screen for an awfully long time. Just saying.)

Then, the song ends, the words "NEW ALBUM FALL 2003" flash on the screen, and, mercifully, the set is over.

If anyone is unsure as to why I hate Fred Durst -- and thus limpbizkt -- reread the above paragraphs.

But Metallica kicks ass. Yes, they do.


my lifestyle determines my deathstyle

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

The Metallica concert I attended last month inspired me to finally pick this one up at the video store (prior to taking the stage, the band plays a clip from the film), and am I glad I did. The final film in Sergio Leone's "Man with No Name" trilogy (preceded by A Fistful of Dollars and For a Few Dollars More) is simply the greatest western I've ever seen. First off, that title sequence -- whoa! Beautiful images accompanied by Ennio Morricone's legendary score (one of the best I've ever heard). Leone shows remarkable patience in delving out his story -- the main plot of the film isn't even introduced until nearly the halfway mark -- instead choosing to let his characters interact with one another and the landscape. We've got Clint Eastwood as Blondie, "The Good"; Lee Van Cleef as Angel Eyes, "The Bad"; and, in by far the best performance in the film, Eli Wallach as the cunning Tuco, "The Ugly." The three take turns double-crossing one another over the course of the film, all heading towards a showdown in a graveyard over $200,000. At times, Leone reaches levels of Hitchcockian suspense, like a scene where some goons Tuco hires sneak up on Blondie in his room while the Confederate army marches outside; at others, the film achieves an incredible epic grandeur -- an extended sequence in the desert, for instance, or the Civil War battle that Blondie and Tuco stumble into late in the film (this also gives Aldo Giuffre a chance to shine in a brief but wonderful role as an alcoholic Union captain). For me, the best moment in the movie was also the most beautiful: Tuco finally finds the graveyard, the best piece of that gorgeous score swells, and Tuco, ecstatic, runs through the graves, hunting for his fortune. It's a stunning scene, instantly one of my favorites. And I'm not alone -- that happens to be the scene Metallica shows before going on stage. Now, maybe Godsmack can start showing clips of High Noon....

*****

The Frighteners

So in between his art-house masterpiece (Heavenly Creatures) and his big-budget fantasy epic masterpiece (the Lord of the Rings trilogy) Peter Jackson made this quirky little genre flick for Robert Zemeckis. I love the concept: after a car accident that kills his wife, Frank Bannister (Michael J. Fox) gains the ability to see and communicate with ghosts. Rather than become John Edwards, Frank uses his deceased companions for monetary gain and becomes a ghostbuster -- the spirits (he lives with a few) pay a visit to a random home, spook the residents, and drop Frank's business card. He comes in with bizarre gadgets and a holy water pistol and "cleans" the house. But trouble arises when an unfriendly ghost shows up in town and starts waxing the residents. It's all in good fun, and Jackson's technical skills are more than up to the task: the special effects are nothing short of dazzling, as are the remarkable makeup jobs on the various corpses. As to be expected from a Peter Jackson movie, there's some lowbrow humor thrown in for good measure; the decaying judge (John Astin) has an amorous encounter with an Egytian mummy, capped off with a pitch-black one-liner that you will find either appalling or hilarious. Actually, what's really appalling is that Danny Elfman scored this movie and somehow Oingo Boingo's "Dead Man's Party" didn't find its way onto the soundtrack (instead, a third-rate version of "Don't Fear the Reaper" plays over the end credits).

Rating: ***

Full Frontal

I like Steven Soderbergh. Really, I do. But I can't defend this. Full Frontal is supposed to be a "wicked satire" about the fakeness of Hollywood or something, but it's really just masturbatory garbage designed to make Soderbergh feel better about making money and winning an Oscar. There's a plot, sort of, about actors and writers and massage therapists and autoerotic asphyxiation, but it's really beside the point. Half of the movie is buried under pretentious voice-overs and shot with really crappy digital cameras; the other half is some insipid romance film made by the characters in the other half, starring Julia Roberts under the ugliest wig I have ever seen. The digital video footage is so bad he must have shot it poorly on purpose -- Soderbergh is a very talented cinematographer (operating, as always, under the pseudonym Peter Andrews), but the movies I've made with my friends in my apartment look better than Full Frontal's DV portions. The only thing remotely redeeming about this whole enterprise is David Hyde Pierce, who gives an excellent performance as the depressed screenwriter Carl. But it's almost impossible to see under Soderbergh's movie-within-a-movie-within-a-movie-within-a-movie. Okay, Steve: you're an artist. We get it. Can you go back to making good movies, please?

Rating: 1/2*

Seabiscuit

Every once in a while, there comes a movie that seems to have been made for the sole purpose of winning Academy Awards; A Beautiful Mind is a recent example. And here we have Seabiscuit, seemingly constructed from the ground up to pull in the Oscar votes. It's a period piece, based on a book and a true story, featuring respected actors (Tobey Maguire, Chris Cooper, Jeff Bridges), and capping off with an heartwarming, inspirational message about overcoming adversity. It probably will score itself a few trophies, but it's really nothing special. Certainly writer/director Gary Ross (who wrote Big and Dave, as well as writing and directing the excellent Pleasantville) doesn't think so; why else would he have been so lazy as to use stock photographs and a PBS narrator to get half of his point across? The actors are all good enough, but the material is simply beneath them. And the redundant final fifteen minutes really almost sink the whole movie. But as far as Oscar bait goes, at least it's better than A Beautiful Mind.

Rating: **1/2

Pirates of the Caribbean

After months of waiting, something worthwhile finally shows up in the mutliplex, and (gasp!) it's A Jerry Bruckheimer Production. It may not be High Art, but it's hell of a lot more fun than the ride it's based on. Director Gore Verbinski (The Ring) gets some great visuals (like the haunting opening shot: a boat appearing out of the fog), the special effects are fantastic, and the shiver-me-timbers walk-the-plank stuff is a blast. But, really, this movie is all about Johnny Depp. His performance as Captain Jack Sparrow seems to exist on another plain of reality altogether; it's brilliant, swaggering insanity, and is totally deserving of an Oscar nomination (which it won't get). Geoffrey Rush is good, too, as is Orlando Bloom in the thankless straight role. Kiera Knightley may not give a great performance, but she looks good, and that's really all that's required. The movie's too long by about half an hour, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what I'd cut.

Rating: ****

Jeepers Creepers 2

I actually enjoyed the first Jeepers Creepers, on some deep, sadistic. Darkness Falls level. But, regrettably, the sequel is just awful. The Creeper (as the monster is apparently called) has one day left to get as much food as he can before return to hibernate for 23 years, so he sabotages a school bus filled with teenagers and proceeds to take forever in collecting his food. Why he wastes time grabbing people one at a time rather than just killing everyone all at once is never explored. It's not interesting, it's not funny, and it's not scary. In fact, the only thing disturbing about it is in the bizarre homoerotic subtext that floats beneath the whole movie. Like the busful of football players (or basketball players or something) who spend half the movie with no shirts on, constantly taunting each other for possible homosexuality. Or the ungodly long scene where the Creeper eyes the players, ignoring the three cheerleaders, sniffing out which players it wants to eat, winking and smiling at them, and even dragging its tongue across the window when it finds one it especially likes. In any event, the audience I saw it with shared my reaction: stunned silence, punctuated by snickers of derision when something "scary" would happen. Really, writer/director Victor Salva had to have been going for laughs, because he uses the Naked Gun technique of harmless conversation in the foreground, painful action in the background for half of the Creeper's attacks. Hopefully, this franchise ends here.

Rating: DUD

Freddy vs. Jason

I never really got into either the Nightmare on Elm Street or Friday the 13th films, so maybe it's my own fault for not enjoying this movie. Everyone else I'm reading talks about it being "funny" and "clever," but I just didn't see it. Until the rather interesting last fifteen minutes, when Freddy and Jason go at it, the film is just a disaster, filled with horrible characters, annoying dialogue, and filmmaking skills so bad they're embarrassing. Take, for example, a scene with all the main characters hiding and talking in a basement. Director Ronny Yu (Bride of Chucky) keeps cutting away to another of the characters, sitting in what appears to be another room, talking to herself. I was lost for half of the scene, until he finally made it clear that oh, right, everyone's actually in the same room. Bad, bad movie. But the Freddy-Jason fight was pretty cool. I'll give it that.

Rating: 1/2*

Brazil

Here's another one I really wanted to like more. I even watched it twice, to make sure I wasn't missing something. But it's a simple fact -- former Python Terry Gilliam's Brazil did nothing for me. I respect its technical qualities -- the art direction and set design is especially noteworthy -- but the cold, too-quirky-for-its-own-damn-good script just couldn't pull me in. Sam (Jonathan Pryce), a meek clerk at the Ministry of Information, finds the girl of his dreams (literally), only to be pulled in with her into the bureaucratic nightmare that is the world of Brazil. Robert DeNiro is fun in a small role as a rogue plumber (yes, a rogue plumber -- don't ask), but I found Brazil to be remarkably unfunny, despite its obvious comic aspirations (a running joke about a horribly botched plastic surgery falls flat on its face...pardon the pun). And when it's not telling bad jokes, it's just plain weird, like the daydreams Sam has, featuring a winged Sam battling a giant samurai monster (among other things). I did like Michael Palin's supporting role as Sam's friend, and as I said, the set design is really spectacular. But the film as a whole is uninspiring. I'll say this, though -- the ending is impressive. That, I liked.

Rating: **

More MOVIE MADNESS~!, courtesy of Bayou Video.

An Evening with Kevin Smith
So it's not a movie, exactly, but it is a DVD. It's a four-hour (!) compilation of Q&A sessions writer/director/actor, sort of, Kevin Smith (of Clerks) did at several colleges in 2001. Four hours may seem excessive, but Smith is a hilarious storyteller, and it's a blast to hear him talk. Worth a rental, if only for the obscenely funny story about what happened to his script for Superman Lives (Hairdresser-turned-producer Jon Peters: "You know why you and me are gonna do a great job making Superman? ...Cause you and me, we're from the streets."). If you're not a fan of Smith's films, you probably won't have a good time, though.

(Rating: ****1/2, but only for View Askew fans)

A.I.: Artificial Intelligence
Not a easy film to get through. Easily one of the strangest movies I've ever seen. Steven Spielberg took over this project from the late Stanley Kubrick, and the result is an occasionally distracting marriage of two disctintly opposite filmmaking styles -- the warm, emotional (some might say sentimental) tendencies of Spielberg with the intellectual, detatched (some might say cold) methods of Kubrick. But despite all that, it's still a great film, and the lack of Oscar nominations for Spielberg's direction and especially Haley Joel Osment's devasting performance as the robot child David are an absolute travesty.

(Rating: ****1/2)

A Clockwork Orange
Speaking of Kubrick. A friend of mine once told me that this was his favorite movie. At the time, I hadn't seen it, so I just said, "Oh, that's cool." But now that I've seen it twice...that kinda disturbs me. Because this one fucked-up movie, my friends. I don't even really know what to say about it -- I'm not sure if I liked it. But most Kubrick films leave me with that feeling, that "What the hell was that?" feeling in my brain, where I'm not sure if I was entertained or anything. The movies just sit there, refusing to leave my head. I guess that's why he was such a great filmmaker. This is certainly an excellent film, but I don't know if I'd ever want to watch it again.

(Rating: ****)

The Shining
(I actually borrowed this from my friend Robert, as opposed to renting it.) Kubrick again. Watching this movie prompted a very long, very heated discussion with my friend about the liberties this film takes with the Stephen King novel (and it does take a lot of liberties). He's a die-hard King fanatic (as am I), and was quite unhappy with the plethora of changes -- he felt the film deflated and destroyed the book's story. I pointed out that it just changed the story slightly -- the book was about the Overlook Hotel's ghosts using Jack Torrance to get to his son, Danny, so that they could become real (or some shit, it's been years since I read the novel). But in the movie, Kubrick simplified things: the Overlook Hotel's ghosts are now just after Jack for reasons that aren't explained. In the book, the hotel loses. In the movie, the hotel wins. These changes (along with some problems with the film itself, like some bad acting and questionable choices in the score) led my friend to hate the movie. I, on the other hand, accepted the alterations as Kubrick recognizing that some elements of the novel were impossible to film -- such as the lion-shaped bushes that come to life and eat people -- while others were too complicated to work in a film version -- such as the croquet mallet that became an ax in the movie, and the hotel's long and storied history -- and did what he had to do to make a good movie. And I also admired Kubrick's fascinating camerawork: he shies away from close-ups, instead using medium and long shots, and always leaves an unusual amount of empty space above the actors' heads. When a character goes from one place in the hotel to another, we don't cut away -- Kubrick follows them through corridor after room after hallway in long, unbroken shots. All this together gives us the impression that Jack, Danny and Wendy are dwarfed by the hotel, that their eventual fight against it is futile. Oh, and I think I win my argument about the changes: after all, ABC aired a new six-hour mini-series of The Shining a few years ago, scripted by Stephen King himself to be as faithful to the book as possible, and it sucked ass. So there.

(Rating: ****)

High Fidelity
It's about a year ago, right, and a few friends and I were sitting in a car in the parking lot at College of the Mainland during acting class. We're supposed to be learning our scenes, but our scenes all suck, so we're just hanging out, talking. One guy, Wayne, is in the backseat, reading a script that I never finished. The owner of the car, this great girl named Kelly, is throwing CDs into the stereo almost at random. She starts playing this one song, and it's really really good. I've never heard it before, but it's easily one of the coolest songs ever. "Who is this?" I say. She smiles, a really wide smile, and says, "The Beta Band." "It's good," I say, and she laughs. "Yeah, I know. You can have this CD if you -- it's a burned copy. I have the original at home." I gladly take the CD. She's still laughing, so I ask what's up. "Have you seen High Fidelity?" she says. I haven't, so I say so. She says, "See it. You'll understand." Now I have seen it. And I do understand. Oh, man, what a great movie. And my all-time top five track ones, side ones: "Smells Like Teen Spirit," Nirvana; "Enter Sandman," Metallica; "Everything in Its Right Place," Radiohead; "On the Bound," Fiona Apple; and "So Much to Say," Dave Matthews Band. (Just see High Fidelity. You'll understand.)

(Rating: *****)

And then there's The Life of David Gale...but that one's inspired me to write an actual full-blown review. I know I said I'd do that for Moulin Rouge!, but I mean it this time.


Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or am I miserable because I listened to pop music?

Rarely does anything I write make me laugh. I love humor, and I love comedy and funny things, but I can rarely seem to write them myself...at least in a way that seems funny to me.

But lo and behold, I actually managed to come up with an exchange that made me laugh long and hard...

ADAM: "You killed David!"
IAN: "No, I didn't, he committed suicide."
ADAM: "With your gun."
IAN: "Yes."
ADAM: "In your house."
IAN: "Yes."
ADAM: "In front of you."
IAN: "Yes."
ADAM: "By shooting himself in the face."
IAN: "Yes."
ADAM: "Twice."
IAN: "...Yes."

That's from Burned, the latest short film from Vacant Studios (who were working on another movie you may remember). The plot is...ridiculous, really, and I won't embarass myself by providing a synopsis here. But those lines make me laugh.

We just shot the film on Saturday, and we're now in the post-production phase. We're editing, we've got a guy working on a score, we've got sound effects to dub in -- there are moments during this production where I'm thinking, "Holy shit, I'm making a real movie!" Then I watch some of our footage (example: a moving car simulated by spraying a stationary car with a hose, creating "rain" that obscures the view of the non-moving background) and that feeling goes away.

The camera stuff is actually somewhat competent, in some cases. The film takes place in two locations -- one a place of happiness and contemplation, the other a den of sin and death. We shot the scenes in the happy location in the daytime, in a very white room, with bright light streaming through the covered windows, creating something that looks like the afterlife at times. The other location was photographed (er, well, I guess "videographed" or something, since we used my digital camera) at night, in my apartment, which features no air conditioning and very poor lighting. So everyone looks like death warmed over, they're dripping with sweat. The only lights in the room are almost always in the frame, creating bizarre shadows and making everyone seem ominous. Add to this the fact that we shot in black-and-white, and the effect is almost startling. Now, if only the movie hadn't been yet another goofy parody, we could've had something incredible.

But the experience of directing this short flick -- as dreadful as the process was at times, thanks mostly to my apartment's lack of air conditioning and my own determination to finish this fucking movie NOW, DAMMIT -- has inspired me to want to start writing again. I've got a strong desire to start writing another screenplay -- not just a goofy short film to shoot in one day with my friends, but a real, feature-length screenplay. It's been close to a year since I tried that. I think perhaps the time has come again.

Now, where is that Final Draft disc....


It could've been God stopped the bullets, changed Coke to Pepsi, found my fucking car keys. But you see, that shit don't matter.

Oh, I forgot one...

Ringu
The Japanese film that spawned The Ring. The original is superior, if only because it doesn't try so hard: while the American version featured non-stop rain and gloom and people coughing up medical equipment and such, Ringu manages to be far creepier by just looking normal. There are also some minor plot differences, all of them improvements -- this movie's story actually makes sense! Highly recommended, assuming that the Japanese audio won't bother you.

(Rating: ****. The Ring received ***.)


"If you could fight any celebrity, who would it be?"
"Shatner. I'd fight William Shatner."

Haven't updated in a while. Not like it matters, because no one reads this anyway. But I still feel bad.

I've been renting movies like a madman over the past month or so. Since my current financial situation doesn't allow me to purchase DVDs (though I've got quite the impressive collection already), I've rediscovered the joy that is renting. I think it was simply the evilness of those evil Satan-worshippers at Blockbuster that turned off in the first place, so now I'm going to Bayou Video, a little video store that resides between the Dollar General Store and a barber shop. It's small, but it's got class. And movies are cheap, plus no one there worships the Dark Lord Lucifer, at least to my knowledge.

Here's a list of the movies I've managed to rent there, along with a brief capsule review (I am planning to start writing full-blown reviews to add to my film reviews section, but this will do for now).

The Truman Show
What a great movie. When people talk about the 1999 Academy Awards, they usually talk about the "injustice" that was Saving Private Ryan's failure to win Best Picture (an award that went to the vastly superior Shakespeare in Love). But what few people remember is an even greater injustice: the nearly complete shutout of Peter Weir's stunning The Truman Show. A satire that manages to be both funny, pointed and moving, Truman features a brilliant performance by Jim Carrey and one of the great moments in all of cinema: Truman's reunion with his "long-lost" "father," all orchestrated by his unseen director, Christof (played superbly by Ed Harris). And the stunning climax, when Truman comes face-to-face with God and turns away. A true masterpiece.

(Rating: Essential #60)

Punch-Drunk Love
It's now official: writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson (who also gave us Boogie Nights and Magnolia) is the best American filmmaker working today. Punch-Drunk Love is the romantic comedy for people who don't like romantic comedies, and the Adam Sandler movie for people who hate Adam Sandler. Sandler's Barry Egan is strikingly similar to other Sandler creations like Happy Gilmore and Billy Madison: lonely, sexually frustrated, prone to violent outbursts. But unlike those characters, whose emotional deficiences are celebrated and played for laughs, here he becomes a object of pity, as we see him tormented by the relentless childish teasing of his sisters. He falls in love at first sight with the glorious Lena (Emily Watson) while avoiding the henchmen of the sinister operator of a phone-sex company (Phillip Seymour Hoffman). Yeah, it sounds bizarre, and it is, but what would you expect from the guy who had Tom Cruise strutting around a stage screaming "Respect the cock and tame the cunt"?

(Rating: *****)

The Evil Dead
I'd been waiting to see this for years. I'd heard so much about the greatness of this cheapo horror flick. I was skeptical -- after all, it was the film debut of director Sam Raimi, whom I've never been fond of (the man behind the horrible The Quick and the Dead, the cheesy For the Love of the Game, and the wildly overpraised Spiderman). But last night, I finally got a chance to see it. And....wow, did it suck. Sorry, people, I just don't get it. The first thirty minutes or so are pretty good, but it eventually decends into an endless stream of gore splattering across the screen. And it's just not scary at all. Sorry.

(Rating: *1/2)

Terminator 2: Judgment Day
This just might be the greatest action movie ever made. Do I really have to say anything else?

(Rating: Essential #38)

Unprecedented: The 2000 Presedential Election
George W. Bush is Satan. I wonder if he ever worked for Blockbuster....

(Rating: ****)

The Game
The film David Fincher made between Se7en and Fight Club. Anything is going to look bad between those films, and it doesn't help that The Game is pretty predictable. Looks great, well-acted, but the script lets Fincher down.

(Rating: ***)

Rushmore
The only movie I can think of that is actually funnier in retrospect than it is while you're actually watching it. Kinda like high school. A great movie, and what might be Bill Murray's best performance.

(Rating: ****1/2)

And that's it. I also rented Moulin Rouge!, but I think I'm going to write a full-blown review of that one. Gotta go now -- I have to go to the video store.


"I wish he would have done this for me when I was a kid."
"But you didn't have a drug problem then."
"It still would have meant a lot to me."

"Not Waving but Drowning"
by Florence Margaret Smith

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.


I love that poem. I read it in an English textbook years ago, and happened to stumble across it today while looking for something else. How about that.

Song of the week:

"Locomotive (Complicity)"
by Guns N' Roses

Gonna find a way to cure this loneliness
Yeah, I'll find a way to cure the pain
If I said that you're my friend,
And our love would never end,
How long before I had your trust again?
I opened up the doors when it was cold outside
Hoping that you'd find your own way in
But how can I protect you,
Or try not to neglect you,
When you won't take the love I have to give?

I bought me an illusion, and I put it on the wall
I let it fill my head with dreams, and I had to have them all
But oh, the taste is never so sweet as what you'd believe it is...
Well, I guess it never is
It's these prejudiced illusions that pump the blood
To the heart of the biz

You know I never thought that it could take so long
You know I never knew how to be strong
Yeah, I let you shape me,
But I feel as though you raped me,
Becaause you climbed inside my world and in my songs
So now I've closed the door to keep the cold outside
Seems somehow I've found the will to live
But how can I forget you,
Or try not to reject you,
When we both know it takes time to forgive?

Sweetness is a virtue
And you lost your virtue long ago
You know I'd like to hurt you
But my conscience always tells me no
You could sell your body on the street
To anyone whom you might meet
Who'd love to try and get inside
And bust your innocence open wide

'Cause my baby's got a locomotive
My baby's gone off the track
My baby's got a locomotive
Got to peel the bitch off my back
I know it looks like I'm insane
Take a closer look I'm not to blame
No

Gonna have some fun with my frustration
Gonna watch the big screen in my head
I'd rather take a detour,
'Cause this road ain't getting clearer
Your train of thought has cut me off again
Better tame that boy 'cause he's a wild one
Better tame that boy 'fore he's a man
Sweetheart don't make me laugh;
You's gettin' too big for your pants,
And I's think maybe you should cut out while you can

You can use your illusion, let it take you where it may
We live and learn, and then sometimes it's best to walk away
Me I'm just here hangin' on, it's my only place to stay
At least for now anyway
I've worked too hard for my illusions just to throw them all away

I'm taking time for quiet consolation
In passing by this love that's passed away
I know it's never easy,
So why should you believe me,
When I've always got so many things to say?
Calling off the dogs -- a simple choice is made
'Cause playful hearts can sometimes be enraged
You know I tried to wake you --
I mean, how long could it take you
To open up your eyes and turn the page?

Kindness is a treasure
And it's one towards me you've seldom shown
So I'll say it for good measure
To all the ones like you I've known
You know I'd like to shave your head
And all my friends could paint it red
'Cause love to me's a two way street
And all I really want is peace

But my baby's got a locomotive
My baby's gone off the track
My baby's got a locomotive
Got to peel the bitch off my back
I know it looks like I'm insane
Take a closer look I'm not to blame
No

Affection is a blessing
Can you find it in your sordid heart?
I tried to keep this thing together
But the tremor tore my pad apart
Yeah, I know it's hard to face
When all we've worked for's gone to waste
But you're such a stupid woman
And I'm such a stupid man
But love like time's got its own plans

'Cause my baby's got a locomotive
My baby's gone off the track
My baby's got a locomotive
Got to peel the bitch off my back
I know it looks like I'm insane
Take a closer look I'm not to blame
Yeah
If love is blind, I guess I'll buy myself a cane

Love's so strange...

The world is an enormous crock of shit and I hate everyone

Just some random hatred tonight, folks.

1) People on the internet who TyPe LiKe THiS, mAkINg iT FuCkInG IMpoSsIbLe tO REaD. You are not cute. Cut it out.

2) The word "jalapeno" is pronounced "ha-la-pain-yo." Not "halla-pee-no." Or "ha-la-pay-no." Or "halla-pain-ya." Or "hal-a-pee-na." Or anything else. Say it together now: "ha-la-pain-yo." There you go.

3) On a related note, the word "extra" does not have a "y" in it anywhere. So please explain to me what the hell makes some people pronounce it "x-tree." Stop that!

4) When someone reverses their position on something, they do not do a 360, they do a 180. A 360 is a complete circle. If they did a 360, they'd end up where they started. So do a 180 on this 360 crap.

5) If you ever find yourself in a politcal discussion with someone who occupies the right side of the political spectrum, heed this advice: when, in response to a criticism of a Republican official (especially Fearless Leader himself), the conservative brings up Bill Clinton's sexual escapades, that is the point where you can stop taking them seriously. Everything intelligent, interesting, or even relevant that they had to bring to the conversation has now been said, and they're running purely on inertia. Bringing Clinton's penis into a discussion that way is the political equivalent of "Yeah, well, at least my mom's not on the cover of Crack Whore magazine!"

6) If someone likes a song/band/movie/sports franchise that you yourself don't care for, this does not make them "stupid," "gay," or "fucking retarded." While they may be any and all of those things, coming to this conclusion based solely on the fact that they cheer for the San Diego Padres is, perhaps, a bit hasty.

7) Guys: put a fucking shirt on. Seriously. I don't know what the purpose is here -- maybe you think that if all the men take off their shirts, women will think that's what they're supposed to do and follow suit. I don't know, and I don't care.

8) And for god's sakes -- tip the pizza man, you cheap bastard!

That is all.

I've worked too hard for my illusions just to throw them all away...