Hopefully I can get back to more regular posting soon, but for now, I'm just getting everything out of my system at once. Enjoy! Or don't. I'm not the boss of you.
--The movie
Hot Rod is stupid as hell. Really, really goddam stupid. It's just plain ol' bad, from beginning to end. And not bad in the way other Lorne Michaels-produced movies in the recent past have been bad -- like, say,
Tommy Boy or
Black Sheep, which somehow, through repeated viewings on Comedy Central when you're too lazy or depressed to change the channel, eventually worm their way into your good graces through the irrepressible benign mania of Chris Farley, the easy interplay between him and David Spade, or simply the poignancy of Farley's untimely demise. And not bad like
A Night at the Roxbury or
Superstar or
The Ladies Man, which at least have the redeeming presence of Will Ferrell, before he hit it big. No,
Hot Rod is bad like poison. It's
Beverly Hills Ninja bad. Yeah --
that bad. This is a movie that not only wastes the hilarious energy of the super-hot (and recently anointed
MILF-hot) Isla Fisher in a thankless straight-man (or straight-woman, I guess) role, it not only depletes the reservoir of goodwill Andy Samberg had built up via his brilliant SNL Digital Shorts -- it also sullies the reputations of Ian McShane, whose turn as Al Swearengen on
Deadwood, I will boldly state, may very well be the greatest performance in the history of serialized television, and that of six-time Oscar nominee (and one-time winner) Sissy Spacek as well. Bad enough to drag the very funny Bill Hader, Chris Parnell, and Will Arnett into this unfunny morass, but how in the frick can you justify staining Sissy Spacek's career as well? (By the same token, how in the frick can Sissy Spacek have said yes?)
--I
wasn't kidding about
No Country For Old Men being the best movie of the year. I had a bit of an argument with the person I saw it with -- he didn't much care for it, and thought it would be disregarded as a minor film in the future. Whereas I loved ever thrilling, nail-biting, stomach-churning, edge-of-your-seat second of it, and believe it will surpass
Fargo as the commonly acknowledged masterpiece of the Coen brothers (or, at the very least, take up a close second spot). Do yourself a favor and see it.
--Tila Tequila is ugly as shit.
Now, it's probably unfair of someone as handsome as I am (seriously, ask anyone) to pick on the less genetically-blessed such as Ms. Tequila (if that is her real name, which it isn't). But when she's got
a show on MTV premised on her overpowering desirability to
both sexes, I have to speak up. Winning the companionship of Tila Tequila is not a reward worthy of building a reality show around. It is a punishment which should be reserved for the deepest levels of hell. She's ugly, son, is what I'm saying. She is butt fugly. Ew. Just, no. And that's not even taking into consideration the CDC-alert levels of toxic contamination percolating in the petri dish she conceals within her G-string.
--Amy Winehouse is a fucking disaster zone.
Not like you didn't know that, but then, check the post title. I don't think anyone out there is harboring any kind of romantic attraction toward this hot mess -- and if you are, why? This is about as presentable as she gets. Not that a female singer is
required to be attractive -- what kind of sexist do you think I am? (Still, even Mama Cass knew how to use a hairbrush... but I digress.) But, speaking of her singing, my point is: does anybody actually listen to it? I know I don't, and I know that not one single person I am acquainted with does. And yet, she's up for six Grammys. Is a public self-destruction plastered all over the tabloids really all it takes to get Grammy love these days? Apparently yes.
