It was ten years ago I decided I hated the Oscars. I got all cynical and said, “Award shows don’t matter” for many, many years thereafter. Oh, I still think awards don’t really matter, just as much as my year end lists don’t matter and ticket sales or record sales don’t matter.
Doesn’t mean they can’t be fun.
Toast and Marmy held a nice little soiree last night, with a friend of theirs from out of town joining the limited amount of bloggers you could cram into their living room (and Tiggerkitty was dominant in keeping a large portion of the couch for herself).
Marmy made some ever so delicious chicken wings, pizza and dipping sauces for tortilla chips. After P-Dawg, Toast and I finished a hefty gab fest about City Of Heroes strategy and whatnot, we settled into the awards ceremony, this year hosted by Chris Rock.
Now, I love Rock, his opening monologue was hysterical… but he didn’t really do much otherwise. It was really a shame. His journey to Magic Johnson Theatre was funny but also a little uncomfortable. Pointing out racial differences is one thing, but basically stating that black people are uncultured in the maner he did was, well, racist. Yeah, that’s his humour, but even for him that was raw.
Speaking of black people, why does every time a racial joke was made they panned to Sam Jackson, or Spike, or Oprah. Or when the Spanish guys won the best song they cut to every latino actor in the crowd… I thought this kind of thing died in the mid-nineties.
Oh, and someone’s going to pay big time for cutting to Puff Daddy when Rock made the Source awards joke. Puffy can break people. Dude’s powerful, man.
And was it just me or was the production values of this year’s awards incredibly poor. Marmy noted that the cameras were overexposed so all the white people looked albino white, and the sound levels between music and audio were way off. The volume kept going up and down. And what was up with the Phantom of the Oscars making noises in the back ground from time to time. Were we witnessing EVP activity? It this the calling for an Oscar for White Noise next year?
The biggest question was “what happened to all the breasts?” The ladies were wearing really unflattering dresses and their boobs seemed nowhere to be found, with the exception of that one lady in the balcony that the camera kept cutting to. We surmised that she stole all the boobs. We called her the Collecter, the Breast Collector. Watch for it next season on the WB.
P-dawg nearly fell out of his chair when he saw the backside of Hilary Swank’s dress (YOWZA! Swank needs to play a superhero sometime soon)… and were we the only ones noticing the sexual tension between Salma Hayek and Penelope Cruz? Hey we can dream can’t we?
The show was mercifully on time (at 3hrs, 10 minutes), but in the end, aside from our plentiful wisecracking, it was duuuulllll. The songs were so dry and boring, only Beyonce’s horribly incoherent French accent (Emma, who’s fluent in French thought she was singing in Italian) and at one point she even forgot the words and substituted a “laaaaa,laaaAAA, Laaaaaa”. Go back to American Idol, amateur.
As for the winners, really, no disappointments and no surprises. I think they did a great job with selections for all the major categories, so anyone could have won and I’d have been okay with it. Most of us also noticed a surprising lack of starpower. No Nicole, or Tom, or Catherine and Michael, Russell, or the Hughs, or Jennifer Connelly, or Brad, or George, or Will, or even Michael Moore. Where was everybody?
It was a hell of a lot of fun. Everyone’s got a great sense of humour, and we probably only actually heard 1/4 of the broadcast overall. MST3King the Oscars is the only way to go. Huzzah!
d: Francis Lawrence
w: Kevin Brodbin and Frank Cappello
I never hold back on my distaste for Keanu Reeves as an actor… he has a knack for underperforming every role he steps into with his one-note, reactionary, wooden on-screen persona. He was passible in the Matrix movies because the role was written to Keanu’s “skills” (or absence thereof) and was really more of an ensemble film anyway. But I still don’t get how this guy became a huge leading-actor celebrity when the role that showcased the furthest reaches of his acting range was as a metal-head in the Bill & Ted series.
Which leads us to Constantine, wherein the Keanu plays the titular role pulled from the Vertigo comic-book series Hellblazer. Now it’s highly unusual for me, a comics geek of the highest caliber to not be somewhat familiar with a comic-to-film character, especially one that’s been around for over 15 years and part of the DC Comics universe, which at my highest stage of geekdom I considered myself an expert on. So, I didn’t really know much about John Constantine, the Hellblazer, before I saw the film, except that I knew he was supposed to be sandy blonde and British, which the Keanu most definitely is not.
But did it matter?
my left eye’s bothering me and it’s out of focus with my right eye most of the time and it makes it hard to look at the computer so i really don’t want to do any work right now and really there’s not that much work for me to do right now but i really don’t want to do anything else either except go to the optometrist and get these lasered peepers checked out so he can tell me what’s going on with them cause i think i have another infection like i did before because really that left eye is just too wonky and unpredictable right now and it’s snowing out (again) which hopefully means it’s warm(er) out because i think i’m going to take the 40 minute walk up there instead of the streetcar and/or subway but that’s not until five thirty and it’s only like ten thirty now and it seems so far away and i’m slightly bored but really just kinda apathetic about everything right now at this very exact moment y’know?
d, w: Zach Braff
Scrubs star Zach Braff would be an unlikely choice if you were to suggest a filmmaker that would create the quitessential film for the disaffected Video-Game/Star Wars/Dot Com GenerationY. But he’s done just that with Garden State, and the emo kids are swooning.
I don’t mean to sound cynical about it, because it’s a truly affecting, visually wonderful film, just the blogosphere’s filled it with so much importance that it’s hard to forget that it wasn’t intended to be that way… my fiancee say Braff just made the film so he could make out with Natalie Portman. And if he did, could you blame him?
Okay… *deep breath*
It’s time to get back into the action. I need to start writing again, but before I can do that I need to finish off that last book for good. I need to get it to the point where it’s ready for print at the drop of a hat.
For that I need some inspiration, and for over 18 months my inspiration has been non-existant. Someone else needs to inspire me… I need many someone else’s to inspire me. I know there are some writers out there, some of us that are working on books/have already written books, and even better, people out there that like to read dagnabbit.
Two people who I really enjoy reading I would appreciate feedback from on my “finished” but long dormant novel and I will email them shortly, but I’m also wondering if there is one or two others who would like to give it a once or twice over and provide some feedback for me…?
The genre is superhero/urban fantasy. Sounds like your bag, and your either an active reader (the type of person who can devour a book in a day or two) or active writer (the type of person who’s interested in the way other people write)… oh and honest to a fault, then you could really help me out. My only payback would be undying gratitude and perhaps a free signed copy of the damned thing when/ifever it gets published… and a commitment to reading your work and giving you equally honest feedback.
Email me if you’re interested. gmail at geekent dot com
Three most gracious people have agreed to take on the treekiller that is my novel and provide me some feedback. I’ll hand it to them with a, say, April 1 deadline and see how we do from there.
d: Tamra Davis
w: Dave Chappelle and Neal Brennan
Back when Half Baked appeared in theatres in the late ’90’s I was pretty confused. One of my favourite comedic performers Harland Williams was in it, and at the time I thought Jim Bruer was a fun talented addition to the new Saturday Night Live crew (which also boasted Will Ferrell, Molly Shannon, Cheri Oteri etc…. this was when I quite like SNL as well). But the focus of the movie wasn’t either of these guys, but this weird, skinny black dude. Who the hell was he that he got the lead role in the film… and not just that but he also had a second role as a drugged out rap star. Who was this guy?
The name Dave Chappelle meant nothing back then. It held no weight, but after the film ended I made up my mind that this guy was damn funny. Well, the years passed and Chappelle became one of my favourite stand up comedians, and now the Chappelle Show’s hit, and hit big time (sure it may not be the highest rated show on tv, but the season 1 DVD has so far outsold every other TV on DVD set).
I had not revisited the film since first seeing it in the theatre, and over the years my desire to do so waned. My interest in pot humour pretty much sank with the box office take of Jay And Silent Bob Strike Back. But the power of Chappelle compelled me one day and I picked it off the rental rack (much to my fiancee’s chagrin) and gave it a go.
Yup, this week on Thor’s Comic Column I totally read Bill and Ted comics. And enjoy them like Mikey likes Life cereal… poor malnourished kid will take anything he can get.
Evan Dorkin is a caustic dick, but a dick who makes fun comics.
I also take a look at JLA Classified #4, the first part of “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Justice League”, the hilarious follow-up to last year’s “Formerly Known As Justice League” by Giffen, Demattis, Maguire and Rubenstein. Great stuff.
Also reviewed, the new vamp horror Damn Nation, a check in on the ongoing Flash, Fantastic Four and Hellblazer series’ and Michael Moorecock does Alan Moore’s Tom Strong… pirate style.
d: Stephen Spielberg,
w: Andrew Niccol, Sacha Gervasi, Sacha Gervasi, Jeff Nathanson
The short: Spielberg reinvisions ET with Tom Hanks as the alien with broken English who fixes everyone’s problems.
The long: More mass-appeal pap from a solid storyteller. The Terminal hits all the right emotional buttons, with Tom Hanks performing his role with more conviction than it deserves (I said at one point it’s the prequel to Perfect Strangers).
The trailer sets it all up and you know how the pins will fall. Hanks’ character lands in New York’s Kennedy International Airport when civil war breaks out in his fictitional home country and his passport is denied. He can’t go home because his country doesn’t exist, and he can’t enter America without a passport. So much to the chagrin of the terminal manager, he winds up living in the airport for almost a year, making friends and romancing Catherine Zeta-Jones.
It’s like a preconfigured domino course. Spielberg can set them up and knock them down repeatedly, but after a while it does get a little repetitive. Especially his knack as of late to let his movies run 20 minutes longer than the logical ending (he does it again here). Stevo, where’d this predilection towards the anti-climactic come from?
My eyes are slowly fluxuating between delightfully fine tuned to maddeningly out of focus. I’m on a constant regimen of eye drops which, every time I take them, blur out my vision for about ten minutes.
One eye seems to be healing better than the other making for crisper images and better reading, whilst the other is all kinds of fuzzy. Kind of reminds me back when I had the eye infection and it nearly broke me and drove me schizo.
I’ve also noticed that with the new vision I’ve lost my old Superupclosevision. I used to be able to see incredible amounts of detail when held very up close to my face. Now my eyes can’t focus very well on things closer than a handspan away from my face.
Superupclosevision was pretty neat, allowing me to see textures and line work in comic books that I don’t really get at arms length. It also allowed me to see blocked pores on my face, or unwanted folicles starting in places I don’t like. Sure, I am living the high life without contact lenses and glasses but my Superupclosevision will be quite missed.
Seems all I have now is Notsospecialregularfarawayvision. /suck
Wasted days to come
Before I had my corrective vision procedure I was messing around with my computer, which I don’t do often because it doesn’t like me very much when I do… but this was a special case as P-dawg dished my way an authorized free copy of City of Heroes.
I had always said I’d love to play CoH if only I didn’t have to pay for the game as well. I mean, they’re gouging you $10 a month (at least) for playing the game so you should at least be provided the software for free. So when P sent me the download instructions and a valid game code (which enables P to enter a draw to be a beta tester on the new City of Villains) I figured what the hell. Time to start the superhero action.
Step one, set up the gaming account.
Step two, promise to pay for at least a 1 month subscription cancellable after a 14-day trial period.
Step three, download the game.
Step four, 1GB file. Wait. A long time. (2.5 hours-ish)
Step five, launch the software
Step six, curse the software as it tells you that you have an antiquated video card.
Step seven, mull over cruel, cruel irony/fate.
Step eight, wonder when you’re going to be able to afford a new video card on your new budget regimen.
Step nine, receive bonus from work. Nice.
Step ten, take Emma out for dinner.
Step eleven, buy new video card… and, what the hell, a new 200gb hard drive as well… oh and toss in an external hard drive case too.
Step twelve through twenty, partition and repartition, load and delete drivers, eventually tossing the case and plugging the hard drive directly into your computer and trying to figure out why windows shows the drive as having only 128GB instead of 186ishGB of storage.
Step twenty-one, with the hard drive figured out, finally install the video card without issue.
Step twenty-two, try to play CoH.
Step twenty-three, install updated drivers for videocard so that CoH isn’t so fuckey.
Step twenty-four, play CoH for about 20 minutes before going to sleep.
Step twenty-five, get eyes lasered and avoid City of Heroes for at least a week… damnit!
So anyway… like Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke, me and City of Heores will be reunited it seems in about ten years time.
My sleeping schedule has been way thrown off post-eye surgery. I was having a lot of three hour naps in the afternoons over the weekend and then getting a solid 7-10 hours in every night, so my internal clock is all messed up. I’m finding myself ready for sleep around 2pm every day at work.
I’m thinking of constructing one of those under-desk beds that George on Seinfeld had in his office while working for the Yankees. Man, that’d be great.
Truth, Justice and the Walkthis Way
Every day on my desk the battle is waged. Three eras of Superman vs. Run DMC.
Who will win?
On CBC Radio 1, Saturday mornings at 11:30 (following GO! with Brent Bambury) airs the serialized radio play Steve the First. It’s a sci-fi/comedy in the vein of Hitchhiker’s Guide… Set in a post-apocalyptic future, Steve is the only one to come out of the disaster unaffected. Every one else’s skin is falling off from the “Melty disease” and his dog has telepathy. Steve finds out that he has the ability to cure the Melties, only, to do so he has to have sex with them. And Steve is the quitessential slacker, to the point where even sex is too much of a burden.
Voice cast consists of creator Matt Watts, Kids In The Hall alum Mark McKinney, and Canada’s favourite son, Wayne Gre… erm Don McKellar. It’s bizarre, but it seems to me radio plays don’t generally work out very well except when it’s comedy, and even better, sci-fi comedy (as the lack of visuals allow the imagination to run rampant).
It’s a totally different entertainment experience, the radio play, but at its best it’s an art form completely unique to tv, cinema, comics and novels and as equally enjoyable. This article examines why radio for Steve the First, and really justifies the continuation of the medium. Good stuff.
d, w: Prachya Pinkaew
False start #1
Here’s a movie so impressed with itself, it instant replays most of its action sequences two, three, even four times over.
False start #2
No stunt doubles, no wires, no special effects. It’s exactly what the film is marketing itself upon, but in this day and age does it really matter if the action is really happening or not? Cinema’s so good these days that we can be easily fooled, so can you really build a film out of impressing the audience? Would anyone know differently if you didn’t tell them that was all really Tony Jaa?
False start #3
It’s impossible to discuss Ong Bak withough bringing up Jackie Chan. Though Tony Jaa is in many ways similar to a young JC, it’s apparent he doesn’t have nearly the same sensibilites… Jaa’s sorely lacking charisma and if he has a sense of humour within that wiry frame and squeaky voice, it never appears.
d: Michael Winterbottom,
w: Frank Cottrell Boyce
In the near future bloodlines are degrading because genetic inbreeding. But this isn’t like elitist pairings-up and arranged marriages of royal family members like back in the 1500’s resulting in blue blood and hemophilia (or in some of Shakespeare’s case studies, sleeping with yo mama), in most cases it’s unintentional. See in the future, in vetro fertilisation and cloning have made hundreds of thousands of people genetically similar that should they produce an offspring (a “Code 46″) that child will have severe health issues. When found out, these Code 46s, if still in foetal stage, will be terminated, otherwise they will not be issued papelle (a genetic equivalent to a passport) and are basically rejected citizens, unable to travel between zones.
In the future designer virus’ can be taken to enhance weaker elements of ones beings, if it’s something as etherial as intuition or as simple as allowing one to sing better. Tim Robbins plays an investigator from a firm that specializes in its use of the “empathy virus” sent to Shanghai to investigate a papelle factory where papers are disappearing and winding up with Code 46s dying inside restricted zones.
w: Stewart Raffill & Stanford Sherman
Um, yeah. This is a bad, bad movie. By 1980’s standards it’s got, actually, quite decent special effects, but the decentness stops there.
Uh, Robert Urich as the hunky leading man? Not to disrespect the dead, but Spencer, I don’t know how you got hired for this one, man.
And this film boasts both Ron Perlman and Angelica Huston in supporting roles, both wasted completely.
And Hollywood Squares’ Bruce Vilanch plays a bad guy (how sad is it when someone’s claim to fame is being on Hollywood Squares?).
*WARNING* Pictures of eyeballs, and lots of em… lots of pictures that is, not pictures of lots of eyeballs.*/WARNING*
On Thursday I went to the elite Herzig Eye Institute to get my laser eyes (frikkin’ awesome)… wait, no. Not laser eyes. Sorry. I went in for Wavefront Guided surgery, also known as “Custom Vue” (read more and the difference between various laser surgeries here)
My mother had suggested over five years ago that I should go for laser eye surgery, but I just didn’t ever feel comfortable enough about it. The information wasn’t as readily available and the procedure wasn’t as routine as it is now. But I know at least a half dozen people who have had it done since and they swear it’s one of the best things they’ve done for themselves. The web is has a trove of information about the procedures, and my trustful optometrist was pushing me towards it.
It took a few months to convince myself I was ready, but once I did, it was literally a matter of ten days between calling for an appointment and going in for the procedure.
Apparently Thursdays are the busy days at the Herzig Institute, and even though I arrived a half hour early, they already knew I wasn’t going to get the procedure done on time (but then again, do you really want the doc to rush through them?).
The days leading into the surgery I was many things, from excited (like the day before Christmas excited) to anxious. But that was nothing compared to the waiting in the office. They tried to fill out my waiting time with forms to complete, they measured my vision (she asked “which eye to you use when you use a camera”, to which I said “both, I use the viewscreen instead”… times they have changed), they took pictures of my eyes using a funky strobe thing, they measured my pupils, and double checked my perscription. They even gave me some valium which calmed my nerves for about 90 minutes but it wore off and I was bouncing again.
During that time I watched about five surgeries, and so I became pretty familiar with the procedure, although I still wasn’t sure why they did all of what they did. When my turn came it was quite obvious the valium had worn off. I was shaking. I wasn’t scared, I wasn’t excited, it was uncontrollable. I handed one of the doctors my glasses and she accidentally dropped them on the floor.
“Ach,” I said, “don’t matter now.”
They sat me in the chair and reclined me to a position that felt more inverted vertical than horizontal. The blood rushed to my head. Looking up I saw, blurrily mind you, all manner of equipment, including the laser contraption that looked conspicuously like Hal9000 (a white ring around a black circle with a red dot in the centre). They braced my head with an inflatable pillow which actually was putting a lot of strain on my neck. They dropped some liquid in my eyes to numb them, and some disinfectant and other things.
In these first four photos, they are putting the retainer in to prop my eyes open. Works better than toothpics. I asked if they were going to show me horriffic movie clips to drive the madness from me… I’m not sure that they got it.
They didn’t really hurt going in, although they were a little awkward. I would try to blink but nothing would happen, my eye would just kind of jerk a little.
They covered up my other eye during the procedure.
They then proceeded to put these little oily brown circles on my eye (next three photos)… and I’m not exactly sure why.
d: Clint Eastwood,
w: Paul Haggis
I’ve never watched a Clint Eastwood directed film before. The trailers just didn’t appeal to me at all, and after a while they began looking the same, with Clint putting himself in the same grizzled older man role. I’m not saying any of them are bad movies, because I just don’t know, and in most instances I didn’t care to know. It’s kind of narrow minded of me, much in the same way my buddy Ryan doesn’t watch vampire films. But if Ryan can wind up liking one of those (”Shadow of the Vampire”) surely there’s an Eastwood picture that will appeal to me.
I may not know if I like Eastwood films or not, but I do know I hate boxing movies… hell, let’s just lump sports movies in general. You know, the little team that could… the underdog fighter that works their way to the top…. *yawn*
Now that I’ve established those two things, you’re probably wondering why I would have went to see Million Dollar Baby. You’ve seen the commercials: Clint Eastwood as the grizzled boxing coach reluctantly taking on an eager female boxer. Just my kind of movie.
And actually, surprisingly, it was.
The CBC refuses to sit still… about two years ago Radio 3 they switched from a multi show format to a single show on their Saturday night line-up. While I thought the new Radio3 (as opposed to “RadioSonic”, “Radio On”, “Just Concerts”, and “New Music Canada”) was a little discombobulated, their most excellent Multimedia WebZine has been a (bi)weekly pleasure for the past 100+ issues.
But, never one to sit still, big changes are coming through…(via the CBCR3 mailing list):
February 16, 2005
Loyal fans of CBC Radio 3,
There are many changes taking place here at Radio 3 and we wanted to make sure you’re kept in the loop.
Our mandate is to promote and showcase new and emerging Canadian music and culture, and we feel we’ve been doing it very well. We’ve been extremely innovative and it’s paid off handsomely. Our web magazine at cbcradio3.com has won international numerous awards, as has our radio programming on Saturday and Sunday nights on Radio 2.
Here’s the thing - we want to get better. So we’ve decided to reinvent ourselves again. Our goal is to become the definitive voice of independent music and culture for the broader CBC. So far, we’ve been CBC’s best kept secret and we think it’s time we let more people know about all the great things we’re doing and all the amazing artists we’re playing.
Over at Thor’s CC, I summarize my thoughts on Sam Kieth’s “Ojo” mini-series.
To summarize them further, me like okay.
Young Avengers, Runaways, the Joker and Wyatt Earp also reviewed by people as equally generous with their affection as myself.
Read IT (or don’t… ‘tever)
The WDA hit the Pacific Mall this past Sunday for some Chinese noodles (as seen in Now Toronto’s best Chinese food guide a few weeks back).
I’d never been to the Pacific Mall before, but I’d heard the legends… the legends of the Pacific Mall parking lot, and the 40 minute ballets of encircling, and poaching, and tailing, and robbing, and trolling, and yelling, and fighting and crying.
Oh, yes, I had heard those legends, but I wasn’t quite sure I believed them, until we arrived. For half an hour we drove around the cramped parking lot being goodly citizens and going the ways the arrows indicated in the aisles, and not honking our horn and not beating up some old dude who completely stole our spot.
A brief moment of glory in the underground parkade, as we awaited the reversing of a volvo out of its spot. But once he emerged, we saw that it was designated as a no parking space, and being the law-abiding punk kids we are, we kept on with our search, leaving the conspicuous spot for a less ruly person to take.
It wasn’t until we were speeding between buildings that I noticed some white reversal lights we whipped past. “SUCCESS!” I cried out (more like “Stop! STOP! STOP BROTHERTRUCKER! Back this chit up!” Only with real curse words and less eloquence.)
I tell you, even as a passenger, driving through that parking lot is stressful, but finding a spot is almost anticlimactic.
Let’s give us an “oh what a feeling” shot here folks…
…Or not. (Our relieved and parking lot weary travellers).
We found the place in short order.. and they were making noodles… twisting and slamming, twisting and slamming… it was fun to watch, but an agressive preparation for sure.
I got a fairly plain jane bowl of noodles and broth with a side order of crispy chicken.
After our bountiful meals, we dropped by the arcade with it’s digital pony races and revolutions of dance dance… P-dawg wasn’t having a good time so he started to beat the piss out of this machine. It didn’t know what hit it…
While P-dawg’s knuckles proceeded to turn purple (you shoulda seen the other guy), we wandered around the mall, where some Chinese New Year celebrations were going on… pounding drums mean someone’s let loose the dragon (Uh ohhhhh). You can get anything in this mall from hubcaps and rims for your Honda civic to hacked PS2 systems. You can even get all the latest DVD releases of movies not even in theatres yet (Ong Bak and Kung Fu Hustle were the big draws of the week… no new Godzilla: Final Wars though. Poo) and cel-phone accessories. And hey, if you want a lamp shaped like a condom, they got that too…
Or how about a $4000 1.3 meter tall action figure:
Or maybe candies made from baby seals, or chihuahuas:
Or how about some 100% HUMAN HAIR for him or her… just in time for a happy Valentines Day…
Or a plastic creepy alien/human/bikehelmet face-mask thing to display your mp3-playin’ shades on?:
What girl wouldn’t
meltvomit at the sight of this little cutie:
Hey look, a solar powered plant! What a concept… wonder why noone else has thought of it for the past 35 billion years. (or whatever)
And finally, this place was Monchichi cuh-ray-zeee
(I’ve not seen a Monchichi for sale since I was a wee lad… I used to have a bunch of these before I got into He-Man figures. Seeing all these made me weirdly happy.
After about three hours of wandering we grabbed our snack foods and left the sub and went to urbia where the chaos is manufactured in less glass cubicle-like fashion.
A good and thoroughly exhausting day.
Oy it’s VD Day… no, wait… just V.Day, which is fine and dandy, if you’re into all that lovey smoochy kissy pooh stuff. But, yeah, ugh, VDay is worse than XMas… at least there’s some real meaning to XMas, but VDay is just out there to sell cards and candies and heart shaped thingies as stores decorate themselves in pink and red.
What’s my problem? Am I unromantic?
It’s been said.
But I’ve got love, and I’ve got love in my heart. I have a dearest person to me, and I have friends who I love as well, so I’m not without love. And I don’t think I should need one day a year to say hey, you, male, treat your woman nice today. Hell, I try to do that every day… well, every other day… every other other day.
d, w: Troy Duffy
Oh, yes, by gum, this is a bad, baaaad movie. Yet, it’s a movie that revels in its badness, transcending it’s own stupidity and looping around into something invariably fun and entertaining.
Just to be sure it’s clear, there is nothing even remotely approaching artistic merit going on in this film: the acting ranges from bored, to amateurish, to puzzling, to the point where “over-the-top” is an understatement; the story is comic bookish, as written by a high-schooler; the characters are crude stereotypes; the dialogue is so cliched it’s humour hits at a completely different level than intended… I could go on…