Holy movie overload, America! Like most of us, Hollywood is doing a little spring-cleaning this week, but instead of dragging unused exercise equipment and boxes of used pornography to the curb, they're dragging their excess cinema to the, well… Cinema. That's what they call movie theaters over in Europe, unless they're showing skin flicks. They call those places Fuckhausen, which if you ask me is much better than the obvious alternative of Skinema. Because that just sounds gross. Enough of that though, we have no time to waste on Europe this week. Too many movies!


In Theaters



Ass! Ass! National Tango!

Either a bold career move by star Robert Duvall, or else the product of a Duvallian drunk-fest lost weekend, Ass! Ass! National Tango! is a stupefyingly bizarre new film that establishes writer/director/star Duvall as the Japanese David Lynch. And yeah, I know he's not Japanese, but how else can you explain that title? Or the fact that half of the roles in the film are played by roller-skating apes? Reviewing this film is like trying to review a dream, or a sexual encounter with a great white shark. Good luck there. Over half the film is instruction on what you should bring with you if you want to have a nice picnic. The rest is like a cross between Last Tango in Paris, Tango & Cash and the commercial where that guy wakes up hung-over in bed with the Budweiser Clydesdales. Weird.

Bringing Down the House

Steve Martin's trail of tears continues, as apparently whoever has been picking his scripts for him lately still has Martin's wife and kids in an undisclosed location with guns to their heads. You've got to feel bad for Martin, no doubt, but the real victims in all of this are his fans, since I highly doubt Steve has actually sat through any of the shitty movies he's been in lately. Sure, you wouldn't be crazy to suggest that his kidnapped family are victims too, that's fair enough. But wherever they are, they still probably haven't seen Bringing Down the House, since even kidnappers have a conscience. That, and I imagine it's pretty difficult to bring kidnapping victims to the movies, as people have enough trouble with their own kids and elderly relatives. Having someone hog-tied and with a pillowcase over their head tagging along while you're trying to find a seat in the dark and then they need you to carry them to the bathroom would probably sour you on the whole experience even before the Coke commercials were over.

Dreamcatcher

You know gay cinema has hit a saturation point when they start naming big-budget films after gay slang terms that most breeders would completely miss. The name fits the film however, a bizarre parable about the search for Mr. Right. Only in this case Mr. Right turns out to be some weird alien thing that explodes out of people's asses and makes everyone in a one-mile radius overact. I'm not sure exactly what symbolic significance this has within the gay dating culture, but the alien is pretty badass.

The Hunted

Crüe drummer Tommy Lee and Benecio Del Toro of riding mower fame star in this remake of the popular "stupid French skunk in love" cartoons from the 1940's. The stunt casting might seem a misfit at first, but Del Toro is perfect as the horn-dogging Pepe and Lee is scarily convincing as the hot chick skunk who always seems to have a headache.

Piglet's Big Movement

Residents of The Hundred Acre Woods are suffering from a serious case of the heebie jeebies after Piglet takes a shit the size of an El Camino. Everybody wants to ask him about it, for the sake of curiosity and the public health; only nobody knows a tactful way to bring it up. A lot of soul-searching ensues before Pooh is finally elected to solve the mystery, since with his name the matter seems to fall under his jurisdiction. After some funny misunderstandings and adventures, Pooh finally discovers that Piglet didn't shit at all; Eeyore just fell asleep in a mud bath. Disney's latest is fun for the whole family, though it make be too graphic for any conservative senators in the family.

Tears of the Sun

Let me be the first, or at least the most recent, to say that this is a really stupid name for a movie. It sounds all poetic at first, and you imagine Bruce Willis saying some shit so beautiful it makes the sun cry, like he does in all his movies. But then when you stop and think about it, it's just insane. Even if the sun really did come to life with a face and start flinging scoops of raisins all over the place, and then Bruce said some sappy high-school graduation speech nonsense that made the sun cry, it wouldn't be some beautiful poignant moment like you'd think. It would be hell on earth! Those would be some molten, flaming tears that would fuck up everything in sight, burning right through houses and orphanages and there'd be car alarms going off all over the place. Thanks a lot, Bruce! Asshole.

Willard

I always knew there was something not quite right with Willard Scott, but I never would have imagined he controlled a huge legion of nasty killer rats. I just thought he probably wore panties or was secretly in the KKK or something. The grisly truth snuck up on me like I was a drunk virgin on prom night. I guess it just goes to show that just because you're optimistic and give people the benefit of the doubt, that doesn't mean they're going to play along just to keep you from looking stupid.

That's the column this week, gents and gentiles. The Oscars are worm-food until next year, but we're still frolicking through the meadow, picking delicious movie melons from the melon tree. Be sure to check back next issue for more of the smoky bacon flavor you've come to crave.

2003 Oscars Special!
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March 3, 2003
Humpty Dumpty, America, and welcome to the silent majority's favorite movie review feature. It's Entertainment Police, brought to you by Mike's Hard Turpentineâ„¢. It's that time of year when we can start to feel Oscar Fever crawl up the back... (3/3/03)

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February 3, 2003
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