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Satanic Critics Pan The PassionMarch 1, 2004 |
Hollywood, CA Junior Bacon Moviegoers clamor for collectable The Passion barf bags at an early showing of the film. 
ccording to director Mel Gibson, film critics from across the nation have proven their fealty with the dark lord Satan by panning his latest film The Passion of the Christ, a gruesome religious horror flick released to overwhelmingly negative critical response last week. This novel reaction to film criticism has raised questions nationwide over whether the 48-year-old actor and filmmaker is merely berserkly fanatical, or just completely insane. Not helping Gibson's cause is the director's non-figurative conviction that Satan tried to keep his film from being made, and might have succeeded if not for the intervention of the Holy Ghost. Unfortunately for Gibson, the Holy Ghost was unable to prevent Satan from pointing out to film critics the film's turgid tone, plodding pacing, uneven characterization and excessively pointless violence.
"They are the forces of Satan or the dupes of Satan," Gibson offered charitably, giving non-fans the choice of being either evil or stupid.
"Holy shit was that a bad movie," disagreed Satan's minion Elvis Mitchell of the New York Times, who must've been typing his review while drenched in lamb's blood. "That piece of shit was worse than We Were Soldiers."
The film opened to sellout crowds after months of speculation that it was going to be really offensive to Jews, generated by Gibson cashing in on his "Jews Killed Jesus" Catholic offshoot faith and his father's reputation as a notorious Holocaust denier to market the film with the catchy tagline "The Jews Hate It," despite the fact that no religious groups had seen or commented on the film at that point.
In interviews, Gibson has explained that his Traditionalist Catholic faith, which rejects the Vatican's exoneration of the Jewish race for the death of Christ, grows from his bond with his father Hutton Gibson. In either a brilliant marketing ploy or disturbing evidence of inner turmoil, Gibson's answers to requests to clarify his own stance on the Holocaust have been rambling and evasive.
Unable to go five whole minutes without saying something unnervingly kooky, however, Gibson's response to New York Times writer Frank Rich's article pointing out that the director was inventing nonexistent Jewish outrage to market his film was like something straight out of The Passion itself. "I wanted to kill him. I want his intestines on a stick. I want to kill his dog." Luckily for Gibson, from all reports Rich's dog is one of those "turn the other cheek" sorts who is unlikely to accuse the director of speaking for Satan.
The relentlessly masochistic tone of Gibson's film has caused some to ponder the director's obsession with torture, as evidenced by the mandatory torture sequences contained in nearly every film in which Gibson has appeared. From being electrocuted in Lethal Weapon and drawn and quartered in Braveheart, Gibson even went so far as to insist on adding an unscripted toe-smashing scene to Brian Helgeland's Payback. Though he was unsuccessful in similar attempts to add a testicular electrocution scene to the chickflick hit What Women Want, it was not for lack of trying.
Meanwhile, The Passion's large opening box office is sure to inspire imitators, and early word that such knock-offs as The Passion of the Weekend at Bernie's and Friday the 13th XI: Run, Jesus, Run are already in the works. Additional reports hint at an upcoming franchise of movies where Belgian marshal arts expert Jean-Claude Van Damme will beat the shit out of Jesus for two hours in various exotic locales. Whether the makers of those films will be able to pull off Gibson's brass-balled bluster, claiming that critics of The Passion's blitzkrieg of violence are merely deficient in character and unable to handle the power of his flawless cinema, may well depend on how closely they can duplicate that crazy look in his eyes. the commune news is no expert on theology, but we think Denzel got fucked up bad enough at the end of Training Day to at least qualify as a minor deity or saint or something. Ramon Nootles owns the distinction of being the first member of the national media to see The Passion, but we feel the need to temper that by explaining that he thought there was going to be a whole lot more sex involved in a movie with a name like that.
 | Masked Jackson Still Eludes AuthoritiesMarch 1, 2004 |
A rare picture of the enigmatic Masked Jackson, backstage at the taping of last year’s CBS Michael Jackson special, but the vigilante had disappeared just before the arrival of the pop singer.  
The event followed a similar incident Tuesday when the Masked Jackson was spotted in nearby Glenwood Springs shopping at a Wal-Mart. Police rushed to the scene and pulled over a vehicle fitting the vigilante’s description, but found only pop star Michael Jackson in another case of mistaken identity. Though the singer could not provide any leads in finding the Masked Jackson, he did tell police, “I’m sorry I missed...
t was another close call when the mysterious Masked Jackson led police on a 2-hour chase through Aspen, Colorado Saturday. In another familiar ending, the Masked Jackson slipped away from the authorities, appearing to disappear into nowhere as the police nearly collided with an entourage belonging to celebrity Michael Jackson, who happened to be in the area.
The event followed a similar incident Tuesday when the Masked Jackson was spotted in nearby Glenwood Springs shopping at a Wal-Mart. Police rushed to the scene and pulled over a vehicle fitting the vigilante’s description, but found only pop star Michael Jackson in another case of mistaken identity. Though the singer could not provide any leads in finding the Masked Jackson, he did tell police, “I’m sorry I missed him. It would have been neat to see him in action!”
The Masked Jackson has been an enigma since the first sighting in the mid-1990s in Hollywood, California, when he foiled a liquor store robbery by a pair of L.A. toughs. The police have consistently sought the vigilante for questioning and warned the public, “Please, leave crime-fighting to the law, good citizens.” But the Masked Jackson continued to lend a hand in criminal incidents over the years, foiling three bank heists, busting up a Van Nuys chop shop, and saving a pair of Siamese twins from a burning tenement building. Public outcry has been favorable, but authorities still insist the vigilante must be brought to justice.
In many cases, police pursuing the Masked Jackson have crossed paths with the performer Michael Jackson, leading many to question if there is a connection between the two. The issue was first proposed to Jackson (the pop star) in a 2003 Barbara Walters interview.
“It seems everywhere the Masked Jackson is found, Michael Jackson is not too far behind,” Walters said in the interview. “Michael, I’m going to ask you point bwank: Are you pursuing the Masked Jackson?”
Michael Jackson dismissed the question, describing himself as “a normal, decent man who has been accused of outrageous lies,” and saying the apparent connection between himself and the Masked Jackson are “mere coincidences.”
Internet conspiracies abound, despite the singer’s denial. Some reverse the popular claims and suggest the Masked Jackson is pursuing the child abuse defendant, hoping to catch him in a trap before he can molest another youth. On the more radical end of the spectrum, some claim the Masked Jackson and the King of Pop are much closer than anyone’s admitting.
“It’s obvious who the Masked Jackson is,” alleged a poster on a Masked Jackson fansite bulletin board. “ Masked Jackson? Michael Jackson? It’s got to be LaToya! She might even be using his help to get around all those places, and that’s why he’s always nearby.”
Another poster disagreed with the assessment, claiming instead it was Janet Jackson who was the more likely suspect. He cited the circumstantial evidence that Janet Jackson did not attend the Grammys at the last minute, and how the Masked Jackson stopped the theft of the awards with convenient timing. Michael Jackson, who also did not attend the awards, was presumed by the accuser to be waiting out back in his limo to aid his sister.
Webmaster CaptJacko posted an official response on the site index page: “I sincerely doubt Michael Jackson is helping anyone fight crime. He’s a pervert, and he gets off on touching little boys—just a big disgrace for the Jackson family. It’s a shame he can’t be a little more like the Masked Jackson.” the commune news wishes more of its reporters were masked crime-fighters, or masked in general—what woofers. Boner Cunningham, teen correspondent, would just like everyone to know he would make a perfect crime-fighting sidekick for the Masked Jackson as Bubbles, boy wonder.
| Iraq plagiarized Mexican constitution to meet deadline Sepracor sleep drug packs power of 600 history teachers Search for Bin Laden made into fun scavenger hunt Jesus unseats Sandler at box office |
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 March 1, 2004 Gay-Rod and the Yankee Growth HormoneWell, it's official, Alex Rodriguez is now a Yankee and that guy chanting "Hey Gay-Rod!" from the outfield seats will have a Boston accent this year. In a move that many are comparing to the last time Yankees owner George Steinbrenner bought whoever the hell he wanted for his team, a few weeks ago, the Yanks have once again stockpiled enough expensive but boring players to ensure their annual subway stop at the playoffs, and inevitable shitty demise at the hands of some little league team from Scranton, Ohio. Teeth have been gnashed, gripes registered, and the Pittsburgh Pirates have gracefully dropped out of the race during their first spring training workout. Early word that the Brewers have surrendered to the French could not be confirmed as of press time.
Regardless, anoth...
º Last Column: That's a Great Merkin, Charlie Hustle
º more columns
Well, it's official, Alex Rodriguez is now a Yankee and that guy chanting "Hey Gay-Rod!" from the outfield seats will have a Boston accent this year. In a move that many are comparing to the last time Yankees owner George Steinbrenner bought whoever the hell he wanted for his team, a few weeks ago, the Yanks have once again stockpiled enough expensive but boring players to ensure their annual subway stop at the playoffs, and inevitable shitty demise at the hands of some little league team from Scranton, Ohio. Teeth have been gnashed, gripes registered, and the Pittsburgh Pirates have gracefully dropped out of the race during their first spring training workout. Early word that the Brewers have surrendered to the French could not be confirmed as of press time.
Regardless, another season will begin, hopes will be dashed, and someone, somewhere, will actually root for the Yankees. This is likely to be the same guy who roots for Microsoft and the Harlem Globetrotters, but we all have our self-esteem issues to contend with.
Meanwhile, Barry Bonds continues to deny taking steroids, despite his personal trainer being caught with enough steroids to grow another Bonds from scratch. But we're all innocent until proven guilty, and Bonds' denial is entirely plausible coming from a mutant so large he could destroy you for suggesting he wasn't born with eyebrow muscles the size of a normal human's thighs. Bonds instead credits his cartoonish physique to workouts so intense they caused his skull to grow into the size and shape of a football helmet and gave him a chest that seats four. Later, the always-ebullient Bonds charmed reporters with a lighthearted display of bat breaking across his chiseled crotch.
Yankee slugger and fellow steroid defendant Jason Giambi showed up for spring training looking like Shaggy from the old Scooby Doo cartoons, claiming that an improved fast-foodless diet and a new commitment to working out over the offseason helped him shed fifty pounds of muscle and the excess Wendy's fat that was making his head look like it belonged on a He-Man doll. Giambi is looking reasonably human now, though he does occasionally answer reporters' questions out of a small mouth he's grown on his back. The news is good for Yankees fans, however. Whatever home-run power that is likely to be lost by the Bronx slugger shedding his second "overcoat" layer of Michelin Man muscles is likely to be made up for by the decreased likelihood that Giambi's knees will fall off mid-season like they did last year, unable to support the massive pile of Manwich stacked atop his puny human skeletal structure.
Another accused performance drug-abuser, the lovely Gary Sheffield of the Yankees, attempted to disprove steroid claims by huffing three ounces of cocaine and beating a reporter senseless with a toilet seat. Though all present were convinced of his claims, it remains to be seen whether Sheffield will be able to charm the sportsgoing public in the same way.
What does it all mean, if anything, in the big picture? Is there any point when fans will turn their backs, refusing to pay out their fickle dollars to watch a bunch of thick-necked science experiments freebasing human Miracle-Gro, trying to slap baseballs into the grandstands with their bare hands? Will there be anyone left in the stands to notice when the Yankees, a baseball team on steroids with a bulging neckline and $200 million payroll, finally acquire the last of the All-Stars? I can't speak for anyone else, but I'll be there, cheering as always. I want to see these guys tear each other apart and eat each other alive when the psychotic part of their drug cycles kick in. We could be talking about some serious Roman times here, plus hot dogs.
And that sure beats the snot out of network TV in my book. º Last Column: That's a Great Merkin, Charlie Hustleº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“I got the blues so bad. Real bad. You know what I'm talkin' about? Uh-huh. No fun. Bluesy blues. Well, that's about all I got to say about that. Song's another four minutes long though. Soooo… Any of y'all from Cleveland?”
-Ugly CarmichaelFortune 500 CookieYou will get kicked in the balls for a good cause this week. Expect a telephone call from a long forgotten friend today—your split personality from Belgium. Lose the mustache, that "Hitler" look is so 1997. This week's stomach-pump jackpot: $20 in loose change, long-lost stash, grandma's favorite knitting needles, Nerds.
Try again later.Top 5 Bands That Shoulda Been Huge| 1. | James and the Giant Bitch | | 2. | The Throw Ups | | 3. | Johnny Carson's Sister | | 4. | Captain Caramel and the Doo Wops | | 5. | Led Balloon | |
|   Aristide Recalled by Grassroots Campaign BY roland mcshyster 3/1/2004 Well holy hell in a hand basket, America, looks like it's time for another swing at the Oscar piñata. Doesn't it seem like we just did this? Well, that's because we did, apparently the sun is collapsing so our earth years are getting exponentially shorter. You may have heard the rumors that they moved the Oscar ceremony up this year to try and fake out yours truly, but the discerning nose knows that's bullshit of the highest degree. The day they can sneak the Academy Awards past Roland McShyster is the day the music dies, or something like that.
All right, let's take a look at the nominees and who will come out of the Oscar pie stuck to the Academy's thumb this year!
Best Picture
The Lords of the Ring: Rerun of...
Well holy hell in a hand basket, America, looks like it's time for another swing at the Oscar piñata. Doesn't it seem like we just did this? Well, that's because we did, apparently the sun is collapsing so our earth years are getting exponentially shorter. You may have heard the rumors that they moved the Oscar ceremony up this year to try and fake out yours truly, but the discerning nose knows that's bullshit of the highest degree. The day they can sneak the Academy Awards past Roland McShyster is the day the music dies, or something like that. All right, let's take a look at the nominees and who will come out of the Oscar pie stuck to the Academy's thumb this year! Best PictureThe Lords of the Ring: Rerun of the King-read EP review-Few would have ever guessed that an Elvis movie would end up with an Oscar nomination, but it turns out in the end that the problem was never the wooden, acting-free star himself, but rather the fact that they never thought to pair him with any boxing midgets, druids, or any other fancy mystical crap like that. What they couldn't get right during his life they've done just fine after his death, creating a magical film that makes you believe you can do anything, if you're a southern boxing promoter and former rock star the world thought had died on his toilet. Cynics may laugh, but the film's central theme that no one's too hideous to be loved is a message that rings true for fat white drug addicts everywhere. Lost in Translation You can tell Hollywood's tired of throwing their yearly Oscar bone to some sad-sack foreign turd of a movie just to keep the European press off their backs, and frankly the contempt is hard to miss when they didn't even bother to translate the title of this year's quota-filler. Lazily suggesting that the title wouldn't make sense in English anyway, Hollywood has delivered yet another deserving bitch-slap to the spoiled little girl of foreign cinema. Nice try, rest of the world, why don't you come back when you learn how to make a real movie? It's so embarrassing when some little European shithole makes a movie they think is good because their neighboring countries pretended to like it out of politeness, and then we have to be the ones to point out that it sucks big dick. But I guess that's just our unappreciated role in world affairs. Bastard Commander: The Far Side of the World-read EP review-Though undoubtably the best movie ever made about the Cobra Commander, and one of the best to combine live-action with animated Far Side characters, this film still somehow manages to be a confusing mess, a product of the troubled mind of a beaten man-machine hybrid cop. Though I might have lauded this same film years ago, out of fear that Weller might stuff me through an ATM cash slot if I panned his movie, I'm afraid that the failing cyborg just doesn't carry the same weight in this town anymore. So come after me if you must, Mr. Weller, but let me warn you I've got a new universal remote that I think I could use to make you kick your own ass. Miss Tick River-read EP review- A shoe-in to win the Best Picture trophy and matching tumbler set, director Clint Eastwood's tender story of a yuppie getting ass-raped by his new wife's redneck family really makes you think about why you go to the movies and how you could stop. Not a pleasant affair by any measure, the film is still the front-runner due to the Academy's terror at appearing insensitive to male rape victims and their deep desire not to hear Sean Penn whine any more. Seabiscuit-read EP review- Yet another classic example of the Academy nominating a film just because they couldn't stop laughing about the title. Though this aptly-titled film, named after that floating turd left in the swimming pool after a party, might seem like a real dark-horse candidate for Best Picture, its chances of winning the big prize hinge precisely on how funny Academy members think it would be to hear Michael Caine say " Seabiscuit." Best DirectorSophia Loren, Lost in Translation Who knew she was still alive, let alone directing films? Well, whatever bumpkinville foreign land they exiled her to needs to let her know it ain't Hollywood, honey. Maybe they forgot to bring her back from Canada or wherever the hell they shot that Crusty Old Shits movie. Put down that camera and call your travel agent toots, you missed the van. In all likelihood the Oscar nomination was just a ploy by her family to try to get her to come out into the open so the wranglers could throw a net over her and bring the poor woman home. Clint Eastwood, Miss Tick River-read EP review- Thanks to Peter Weller's deteriorating mechanical state, Eastwood is the only director in town able to motivate his actors with the threat of being gutshot, and he uses it to admirable effect in Miss Tick River. Though some have suggested he only made the film because he doesn't like Sean Penn, and others insist the shooting script was just an online review of Straw Dogs, Eastwood still made the best of a bad situation and created a picture few are likely to forget or remember. Peter, Paul & Mary Jackson, The Lords of the Ring: Rerun of the King-read EP review- That 60's troubadour family is back, giving that cash tit one more squeeze in the third installment of their epic "we took three random movies and called them a trilogy" trilogy. Though some think they've overstayed their welcome, outlasting possibly more talented pop-star directors like the enigmatic Stephen Daldry or the self-destructive Terrence Trent D'Arby, I've always argued that there's pie enough for all, even the hacks, as long as they're good-looking. And PP&M qualify, though Mary's really the one carrying the other two on her back. Personally, I could do without Peter or Paul, but if they only came as an all-or-nothing trio package deal I imagine I could close my eyes and imagine those two were just homely girls without too much trouble. Fernando Minnelli, Sex in the City of GodLike the Confucian proverb says, just because you're Liza Minnelli's kid doesn't mean you can direct a lighthearted comedy about nuns dishing straight talk about blowjobs and bikini waxes. At least not well. Peter Weller, Bastard Commander: The Far Side of the World-read EP review- Former Robocop Peter Weller was once the bright, shining hope of Hollywood, and not just because of the way the sun glints impressively off his chrome exoskeleton. When he was at the helm of the Truman Capote masterpiece The Truman Show, Weller was a beautiful sight to behold: a top-slot director at the height of his powers, cutting a bold swath straight to the heart of his story and pouring delicious fresh-brewed coffee out of his dick hose. But after his warranty ran out Weller fell on hard times, with many of his most-impressive gadgets malfunctioning and his left leg jamming and getting stuck in the highly-embarrassing "dog peeing" position. Now the director is back and seemingly on top again, but sadly it's a pity nomination for Weller's mess of a film, a gift from an Academy that remembers back when Weller was cool and could pop a basketball between his knees. Best ActorJohnny Depp, Pirates of the Caribbean The Ride The Movie: The Curse of the Black Pearl Harbor-read EP review- Rising to the challenge of playing an animatronic puppet at Disneyland has earned Depp his first Oscar nomination, though many believe in their hearts he was robbed in not being nominated for his role as an ocean liner in the underappreciated Depp Rising in 1998. But will he take home the golden statue? I don't know, maybe he'll steal the thing. Why doesn't anybody ever think of that? It's not like they don't have a bunch of them, no way their inventory control's so good you couldn't make off with a couple without being noticed. They probably just have a whole trunk full of them in the back somewhere, and they'd make great stocking stuffers come next Christmas. Ben Kingsley, House of the Sandy Frog -read EP review-Let's just do away with the acting subterfuge for a moment here and make it clear that Ben Kinglsey IS the horny retired baseball mascot he plays in this film. Kingsley pulls off a transformation so complete that when Jennifer Connelly blows his head off with an Uzi at the end, I actually called friends from the theater to break the news that Ben Kinglsey was dead. They were understandably heartbroken, but it later turned out they thought I meant the guy who sang "Stand By Me." A wonderful performance. Jude Law, Cold Mountain-read EP review-Rewarded again for his uncanny ability to act exactly like Jude Law, Jude Law receives his first Oscar nod for his turn as a bored civil war soldier who has to grapple with the harsh reality of how slow trains were back in civil war days. Law sparkles in the role as he excels at acting really really bored, and once again he provides the emotional core to a film that's basically Planes, Trains and Automobiles with funny accents. Bill Mummy, Lost in TranslationYou know a flick's an especially large dog when the biggest hunk of talent they can dig up for the lead is former Lost in Space star Billy Mummy. And I'm not talking about the quasi-hip recent remake, either. Mummy hasn't graced the silver screen since the 1999 hacksploitation epic The Mummy and for good reason. This former kid doesn't have the star power to fart out a candle. So, I'm sure you're wondering, how did he get nominated for an Oscar? Pure fear ladies and gentlemen, fear of being turned into one of those freaky Jack-in-the-Box things with a golden Oscar head. Hell, who needs that? I'd vote for him too. You hear that, you little monster? Sean Penn, Miss Tick River -read EP review- Sean Penn won't go away until we look at his presents and have a slice of cake, so the Academy is playing along in hopes that he'll stop sending out those annoying handmade cards with the crimped edges and star-shaped cutouts. Though Penn is fine in the film, it's not much of an stretch for an actor of his caliber to pretend like his ass hurts for two hours. Best ActressKeisha Castle-Hughes, Whale Rider-read EP review- I was beginning to think the Academy was going humorless on us this year but as usual they've come through with some gems in the Best Actress category. I only wish I "got" this one. Maybe it's a pun, give me some time. Diane Keaton, Something's Gotta Give Jack Nicholson a Heart Attack-read EP review- Kudos to Keaton for being naked and old. Hey, somebody's got to do it. Samantha Morton, In America The rare Best Actress nomination that's not actually attached to any film, but rather a recognition of how well-behaved Miss Morton has been all around the country lately. Way to go, Samantha. Charlize Theron, Monster-read EP review- Theron is a lock to win the prize for her lifelong role as an eerie Xerox copy of Ashley Judd, finally addressed head-on in this brave Stephen King adaptation. Some question if she's acting at all, or if she was just born into the role, but either way Academy voters are mesmerized like cavemen staring at a fire and are too superstitious not to huck the statue Theron's way. Naomi Watts, 21 Grams of Fat-read EP review- Hell hath no fury like a woman made fat by a gyro-meat sub sandwich, or at least that's the tag line running through the heads of Academy voters who are unaware they made the colossal blunder of nominating a woman who wasn't even in the movie. Go back and watch the film frame-by-frame and you'll see it too, that's Cuban heartthrob Mauricio Del Toro under all that subway flab, not the pixieish Watts. Rumors that the actress gained over 100 pounds for the role were yet another mean Hollywood rumor taken seriously, though this is the rare instance when a cruel hoax may actually help a young actress's career. And that's a wrap! So, who will win come Oscar night? Nobody knows, except the guys writing the script for the show. And they're real dicks, so don't even think about asking them. Glad you all could make it America, drive home safe and I'll be seeing you on Oscar night!   |
