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Hollywood Not Optioning Nebraska Bank RobberySeptember 30, 2002 |
Norfolk, Nebraska Snapper McGee Lead Detective Vernon McCain investigates crime scene while accidentally locked in bank by slow deputy.
The robbery happened in Norfolk, a dead town with no night life whatsoever, when the three hold-up men shot four bank employees and one civilian like they were last year's fashions and crashed through the wall in a balls-out kaboom to flee the scene. Another customer was winged in the shoulder in true Hollywood style. Police chased down the robbers in a sweet-ass manhunt that reminds this reporter of her early years. The governor authorized the use of Black Hawk helicopter in a show of force that certainly won my heart.
Yet with all of this grade-A material, don't...
oney, the verdict is in and Hollywood is saying a resounding "Mmm-Mnnt!" to a Nebraska bank robbery in which five were killed and three were left scared out they ever-lovin' minds by three hold-up men.
The robbery happened in Norfolk, a dead town with no night life whatsoever, when the three hold-up men shot four bank employees and one civilian like they were last year's fashions and crashed through the wall in a balls-out kaboom to flee the scene. Another customer was winged in the shoulder in true Hollywood style. Police chased down the robbers in a sweet-ass manhunt that reminds this reporter of her early years. The governor authorized the use of Black Hawk helicopter in a show of force that certainly won my heart.
Yet with all of this grade-A material, don't wait for Hollywood to put this on your local theater screen.
"Frankly, most of it plays great," said Universal Vice-Vice President Armio Durkness, "the daring daylight robbery, the guns and the explosions and the Black Hawk helicopter—God, I'm wet over the Black Hawk helicopter. But the shooting of four bank people? And the customer? Bad move, guys. Makes us less sympathetic to your character. We're passing for now."
Apparently our fearsome threesome have a Master's degree in domestic terrorism, but a big fat failing grade in media savvy.
"Man, it could have been great," said MGM Studio Exec Dandelion Waters. "Three buddy bank robbers in the western United States decide to pull off that one big heist and the evil, corrupt governor—metaphorically speaking, of course—wants to bring them down so he can get re-elected. Sends out every cop in the state, even a super high-tech Airwolf-style chopper. Then they had to go and ruin it by blowing away people. Nobody wants to see that on their news and they definitely don't want to pay to see it at the theater."
Three men were arrested in a town about 76 miles away, but it could not be certain if the men were the ones they were seeking or just a couple of boy-toys doing an honest day's work. If the latter is true, this reporter needs to investigate personally.
The action and romantic notion of robbing a bank in modern America, minus the bring-me-down of the murders involved, is a dangling piece of candy that Hollywood may not resist entirely. Although reaction is slow and moviemakers aren't jumping on the wagon just yet, there is talk that maybe the story can be salvaged, with some Hollywood-sized adjustments.
"If they can make a big scarefest like the O.J. Simpson stuff into a movie, we can certainly work enough magic with the more ample material we have here," said Mike Oliphant, a stubble-faced producer at Miramax who smells like he works out often. "We dump the murders right out, that's a given—do a little more background on the characters, maybe make them three childhood friends doing it all for the memory of a friend who died too soon. You know, cancer, AIDS, that West Nile stuff is big right now. I'm starting to like it. Kind of a 'our last big shot to take the brass ring.' It's do-able."
The real story is being sought by many moviemakers right now, but only to see if there's any usable gold nuggets within. If not, Tinsel Town is famous for making their own brand of gold dust.
"If people wanted reality, they'd watch the news," said Dreamworks consultant John Dorfenfoof. "Or maybe not the news. Definitely not Fox News. But they'd watch something. Not movies." the commune news is so touched by your compliments we're turning a bright shade of red—big fat commie red. Stigmata Spent is back after what we are referring to as a long vacation in Bangkok. That's right, a vacation. Don't think about it anymore.
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 April 15, 2002
Slice of Life"Once in a while someone will ask me, 'Samuel L. Hartwig, what's your view of life?' I'll usually say the same thing: I'm paying you for the entire hour, doctor, you should be answering my damn questions.
I do have an answer, though: Life is just like a picnic. Everybody shows up expecting a piece of the pie. Some rush the picnic table, some walk to the picnic table. Some trample and pound on your brother Goose and say it's because they worried there wouldn't be enough pie for everyone, but you suspect it's because Goose likes to flash gang signals. Then you finally get to the picnic table yourself—not the fastest, not the slowest, but you get there just the same.
And the damn pie is all eaten up! What's with that? It's a friggin' picnic, mom, you should have known everybody was going to want pie. You were making one, was two pies beyond your pie-making capacity? 'Cause that's a pretty shitty pie-making capacity, if you ask me.
Then mom tells you she did make two pies, and you feel a little sheepish and realize it was all a big fuss for nothing. You step right up and cut into your slice of the pie, that was there all along.
'This is coconut, mom!' you scream at her. What's wrong with coconut? Oh, nothing, only it fucking kills me dead. That might be a slight problem. I'm your own son and you don't know I'm allergic to coconut? Nice. Just great. You couldn't save one piece of blueberry pie that would not kill me but...
º Last Column: The Room
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"Once in a while someone will ask me, 'Samuel L. Hartwig, what's your view of life?' I'll usually say the same thing: I'm paying you for the entire hour, doctor, you should be answering my damn questions.
I do have an answer, though: Life is just like a picnic. Everybody shows up expecting a piece of the pie. Some rush the picnic table, some walk to the picnic table. Some trample and pound on your brother Goose and say it's because they worried there wouldn't be enough pie for everyone, but you suspect it's because Goose likes to flash gang signals. Then you finally get to the picnic table yourself—not the fastest, not the slowest, but you get there just the same.
And the damn pie is all eaten up! What's with that? It's a friggin' picnic, mom, you should have known everybody was going to want pie. You were making one, was two pies beyond your pie-making capacity? 'Cause that's a pretty shitty pie-making capacity, if you ask me.
Then mom tells you she did make two pies, and you feel a little sheepish and realize it was all a big fuss for nothing. You step right up and cut into your slice of the pie, that was there all along.
'This is coconut, mom!' you scream at her. What's wrong with coconut? Oh, nothing, only it fucking kills me dead. That might be a slight problem. I'm your own son and you don't know I'm allergic to coconut? Nice. Just great. You couldn't save one piece of blueberry pie that would not kill me but there's a whole untouched killer coconut pie waiting just for me. What a fantastic substitute.
No, I don't want a fruitcup. Do you want a fruitcup? I'll tell you where you can shove a fruitcup. Leave me alone, I'm going to play Frisbee with those kids. Maybe you'll get lucky and some coconut will accidentally blow into my mouth from the death pie over here and you'll finally be rid of me.
Yep. That's kind of how I see life." º Last Column: The Roomº more columns
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|  November 25, 2002
Let My Love Open the DoorBrace yourselves for nonsense, good people. Once again my column has to take a backseat to the ridiculous happenings in my personal life. I can't blame you for outrage, if I were my boss I'd have to seriously question my dedication to writing this column at this point. My private life has to stay private. In fact, I may suggest to Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley that he lecture me using a speech I've penned myself.
In the meantime, I must use this column to convince Lee and Camembert to let me back into the apartment. As you may know, my visit to Gracieland in New Hampshire didn't pan out as a truly fulfilling trip, but went into Rok's bag of "life experiences" where I invariably end up the wiser about something—in this case, George and Gracie Burns. But after last week's column, I returned home to find the door locked, bolted, and adorned with a sign that read, "Fuck off, Finger."
So… Lee, Camembert. Is this how the Rok Finger housing experiment ends? For whatever reason, I go away and come back to find I've been banned from my own Camembert's apartment? This is the sort of mutiny that is unforgivable, but if I ever get back in, I will forgive you. Once I change the locks and make sure I have the only key.
Camembert: You're the last one I would have expected this from. Not that you like me enough not to do such a thing, or had any honor, but your sheer cowardice and fear of confrontation should have clipped your babymakers before...
º Last Column: Greetings from Gracieland
º more columns
Brace yourselves for nonsense, good people. Once again my column has to take a backseat to the ridiculous happenings in my personal life. I can't blame you for outrage, if I were my boss I'd have to seriously question my dedication to writing this column at this point. My private life has to stay private. In fact, I may suggest to Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley that he lecture me using a speech I've penned myself.
In the meantime, I must use this column to convince Lee and Camembert to let me back into the apartment. As you may know, my visit to Gracieland in New Hampshire didn't pan out as a truly fulfilling trip, but went into Rok's bag of "life experiences" where I invariably end up the wiser about something—in this case, George and Gracie Burns. But after last week's column, I returned home to find the door locked, bolted, and adorned with a sign that read, "Fuck off, Finger."
So… Lee, Camembert. Is this how the Rok Finger housing experiment ends? For whatever reason, I go away and come back to find I've been banned from my own Camembert's apartment? This is the sort of mutiny that is unforgivable, but if I ever get back in, I will forgive you. Once I change the locks and make sure I have the only key.
Camembert: You're the last one I would have expected this from. Not that you like me enough not to do such a thing, or had any honor, but your sheer cowardice and fear of confrontation should have clipped your babymakers before you gathered the courage to join such a conspiracy. If Lee is forcing you to do this, I completely understand. I fear him as well. But I need an inside man, let's just say you fit both bills, to unlock the doors and let me back in. Once we're both in there, we'll fight for our rights to party. Lee is big and burly, but with my brains and your upper-brawn we can oust him from the seat of power, and we'd better hurry because I've been holding in a crap for two days now.
Lee: I know how it is. You're a little directionless with me missing, still a little disoriented from your lingering head injury. Camembert has some ideas that sound good on paper, or failing that, since you can't read, he says them in a real friendly voice. But following him in his betrayal is something I wouldn't expect from you, Lee—that's more of a cowardly Camembert thing to do. Please, don't let his miniature tank scare you, as I've said before, it's just a wheelchair. His power is in spokes and pulley systems, gears and cogs. Unbolt the door and let me in and together we'll reinstate the old Rok Finger: Unquestioned Ruler administration.
Assuming this is some kind of punishment from the both of you for some imagined wrong, real as it might be, please forgive my mistakes. I'm only human, no matter what the scientists say, and have my weaknesses like anybody else. Allow me a second chance and I will return and we'll all work things out. Repercussions will be swift and brutal, or none at all, if that's preferable. All is forgiven. Rok Finger is nothing but heart, four feet of pure, loving heart. Let my love open the door.
Or, failing that, I do have a key, you know. I can tell you haven't changed the locks and that lousy deadbolt won't hold forever. You have to leave the apartment sometime, at least Lee does, and Camembert is too scared to stay by himself. All of this is futile rebellion, and you know it. Lee's fondness for Little Caesar's pizza will lead to the door opening again sometime in the future, and when it does, Rok Finger will spring like a slinky back into the apartment and into your lives. I have an elephant's memory and a wooden bat, so think about how you want this to end before it's too late. º Last Column: Greetings from Gracielandº more columns
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Quote of the Day“No man is an island. But I have met several women I would like to live on for the rest of my life.”
-John Donne JuanFortune 500 CookieBy the pricking of my thumb I have really fucked up my keyboard playing. Trust in a higher power this week—the Waffle King knows what he's doing. Why be merely happy when you could be shit-yer-drawers happy? The world is you oyster, which explains that nauseating fish smell you can't escape. Lucky hammers roofing, jack, ball peen, MC.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Other Bad Deals Faust Made | | 2. | 7 New Ways to Leave Your Lover | | 3. | This Season's Sexy New Parkas | | 4. | Uncle Macho's Superior Hamburgers | | 5. | Critic's Corner: You | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 10/28/2002 Hello hello, America!
Boy have we got some nipples for you this week! I ca- nipples? You know what I mean, America, movies. Weird. Some people think it's significant when you nip out like that, ma- slip up, nip rocks, whatever. It's not like this is a column about taut, hairy man-nipples or anything. Woman! Woman nipples. Hairless and soft. I mean, it's not about that either, but if this column were about nipples, it sure as hell wouldn't be about any tempting, salty, lickable man nipples. Gross.
All right, let's get to the boobies before somebody gets hurt.
In Theaters
Auto Focus
Ford loves to kiss its own ass over the fact that they present the hit drama...
Hello hello, America!
Boy have we got some nipples for you this week! I ca- nipples? You know what I mean, America, movies. Weird. Some people think it's significant when you nip out like that, ma- slip up, nip rocks, whatever. It's not like this is a column about taut, hairy man-nipples or anything. Woman! Woman nipples. Hairless and soft. I mean, it's not about that either, but if this column were about nipples, it sure as hell wouldn't be about any tempting, salty, lickable man nipples. Gross.
All right, let's get to the boobies before somebody gets hurt.
In Theaters
Auto Focus
Ford loves to kiss its own ass over the fact that they present the hit drama 24 without commercial interruption, like Robitussin used to do with Twin Peaks. But then they turn around and flush all of that goodwill right down the crapper by putting out a movie that's one thinly-disguised two hour commercial for their miserable mini-car, the Focus. Sure, there's some porn and scandal and whatnot in there to distract you from this fact, but it's still obviously the opening salvo in the upcoming "Battle of the Shitty Midget Cars" with Ford trying to high-step its way out to an early lead over the Toyota Echo and the Chevy Burp. You might think the Honda Cramp should have a place in the fray, but it's technically in a different car class since you can fit a jug of milk in the trunk.
Formula 51
Leave it to Samuel L. Jackson to bring Heinz founder Mortimer P. Heinz to badass life on the big screen. Sure, Heinz wasn't black, but he sure made catsup like he was. And Jackson brings that tomato-squashing verve to this role so convincingly, you'll almost forget how he tricked you into paying to see that shitty genius shark movie a while back.
Ghost Ship
It sure as hell didn't work for Speed, but the makers of the 2001 Nintendo Pictures hit Ghost World apparently thought two times was a charm when they decided to needlessly recycle their hit film by setting the sequel on a big ol' boat. Sure, Patrick Swayzee gets to hop around some more and shoot fireballs out of his nose at skeleton pirates, and you know the kids love that, but not bringing back Whoopi Goldberg for the sequel was a big mistake, and the picture runs out of gas halfway through because of it. The second half of the film is exactly the same as the first, except now the ghosts are orange instead of blue, which I guess is supposed to mean something.
Jackass: The Movie
The elephant fetishists aren't going to like it, but Michael Moore's latest cannonball into the kiddie pool of conservative life is his funniest film yet. Not that it takes someone with an IQ over 15 to make our president look like a yokel, but Moore does it up right with this hilarious space invasion of all things George W. Bush. It's all here, every time he's made up a word to express his complex feelings during an interview, the notorious "Stuck Inside a Port-a-John" episode from the Republican Primaries, and some jaw-dropping super-8 footage of a teenage George W. being outsmarted by a Chinese finger trap (and tape of the classic 911 call that followed). Sometimes Moore can be too far-reaching in his satire, but this time he hit the nail on the nards.
The Truth About Charlie
Red Bagel's third unpublished book about the Vietnam War finally finds its way to the big screen, credited of course to one of Bagel's many pen names. Always one of the most popular of Bagel's photocopied manuscripts around his favorite local haunts (the Laundromat and the Crazy Crotch Tavern), Charlie uncovers the untold story of the Vietnam conflict, beginning with Grover Cleveland's illegal importation of midgets from the Orient in the 60's and continuing through the mock battles staged on a Hollywood set for the benefit of JFK's private investors. The book, if you can call a ragged stack of Xerox paper binder-clipped together a book, ripped the asshole off the entire cover-up, and changed the way about fifteen people thought about Vietnam forever. The movie, of course, is watered down horseshit with some pretty faces plastered on the package, but that's to be expected. The government hasn't let Hollywood come anywhere near the truth since Benji the Hunted in 1987*.
(*Note: Benji Bones a Bitch, the 1992 home-video hit, was filmed entirely in Vancouver, outside of the Hollywood system.)
Waking Up in Reno with Billy Bob Thornton
You know it's got to be Halloween season when they start putting scary junk in all of the upcoming movie trailers, like Jennifer Love Hewitt or shots of Billy Bob in his bikini briefs. This is what they mean when they call something a "Psychological Thriller," unless it's a movie about a killer psychologist, in which case that's what they mean. I probably should have seen it coming, from the title and all, but I have to admit I jumped halfway out of my pants during the scene when Ashley Judd wakes up and rolls over to find Mr. Slingblade between her sheets. Absolutely the scariest waking up scene since the one where that Canadian chick wakes up to find a moose head in her bed in The Godfather.
Well, it looks like that's that, America. Another two weeks down, another several hundred to go before we can lay down and die. That's how the country song goes, anyway. Old-time country, not this new truck commercial country they play nowadays. I'm talking about back when country was about having your balls chewed off by a thresher and how that means you won't be able to have no two-headed children with your cousin Moline, and how that drove you to drinkin'. These days country music is all about how your agent tricked your dumb country ass out of a million dollars and now you've got to do a Dr. Pepper commercial so the bank doesn't repossess your hideously decorated triple-decker yacht. It's crap, but it still sells since there are plenty of small-town minivan moms out there who need to be sheltered from irony. But listen to me here, you'd think I was trying to make up for not running any album reviews since Clinton was in office. Take it easy, America.    |
