JACKASS THE MOVIE: Another Modest Proposal

Starring Johnny Knoxville, Bam Margera, Chris Pontius, Steve-O, Ryan Dunn, Dave England, Jason "Wee Man" Acuna, Preston Lacy, Ehren McGhehey. Directed by Jeff Tremaine. (2002, 87 min).

I would not presume to waste time discussing the artistic merits of Jackass, even though this movie (if you can even call it that) made me laugh harder than any other in recent memory. It also has the dubious distinction of being the only movie ever that made me physically gag, and I'm not easily sickened by what I see on screen. So no, the last thing Jackass would ever be mistaken for is art.

I will, however, waste time discussing its social merits, and why Jackass: The Movie should be considered one of the most important movies released so far this century. If we'd only take time to look beyond its visual grotesquery, the potential positive impact this film could have on our society is enormous.

Jackass, of course, started as a show on MTV, each episode consisting of little more than a bunch of guys filming themselves performing stupid, dangerous, painful and often disgusting stunts. Of course, it was a huge hit with teenagers who weren't even alive when MTV actually stood for Music Television. And of course, even though the show always began and ended with a warning that the stunts should never be attempted by viewers, many of them were attemtped, resulting in cases of severe injury or death. And of course, that made a lot of older folks angry (most notably Senator Joseph Lieberman), who clamored for MTV to take responsibility and pull it off the air. The network eventually did cancel it after less than three seasons, despite the fact it was their most popular show.

The short-sightedness of both Jackass detractors and its network's knee-jerk reaction to yank the show threatened cast a dark shadow over our entire society for decades to come.

Wouldn't we have been better off if it had stayed on the air, and shown as often as possible? Short of euthanasia, has anyone else come up with a more effective way to cleanse the gene pool than the creators of Jackass? Think about it...for every dumbass douche bag who tries and fails to imitate what they watch on TV, that’s one less dumbass douche bag able to spawn future dumbass douche bags. That would eventually result in fewer dumbass douche bags wasting oxygen that could be put to better use in the lungs of someone with a cancer cure, fewer dumbass douche bags behind the wheels of automobiles who could potentially kill the guy who develops a clean-burning alternative fuel, fewer dumbass douche bags eating the food that could nourish the guy with a solution to world hunger.

Without all these douche bags, as a society, we could become collectively more intelligent, perhaps someday  evolving into the cerebral beings we envy in 2001: A Space Odyssey. But such a society will never happen as long as we continue to stand in the way of folks clamoring to shove a lit bottle rocket up their ass.

With the release of Jackass: The Movie (which is funnier - and nastier - than the series ever was), there may be hope for us yet. The original series may only live on in reruns, but with every new Jackass movie, we are offered an increasing variety of methods through which to cull the herd.

With a nod (and an apology) to Jonathan Swift, I humbly propose we nurture the inner-jackass in our youth. If, like Senator Lieberman claims, most young people are impressionable idiots willing to imitate whatever they see on TV, then let them. Maybe Jackass: The Movie should be federally-mandated viewing in all middle schools (roughly the age when some develop the idea that acting as painfully stupid as possible is somehow cool). Those who appear impressed by what they see in the film would then be allotted a shopping cart filled with lighters, fireworks, beer, a dangerous animal or two, mousetraps, vials of bodily fluids, skateboards and other various objects which, if they tried real hard, could fit up their asses. Let these kids legally drop out of school at age fourteen to pursue their destiny (they aren't likely to get much out of To Kill a Mockingbird during their freshman year anyway).

Everyone else would move on to high school, secure with the knowledge of being part of a brighter future, a collectively-smarter society with the capability to find a cure for AIDS, venture to other worlds, or at the very least, explain how guys like Senator Lieberman ever got elected to public office. Within just a few generations, we could be totally cleansed of that portion of the population whose last words are usually, “Hey, watch this.”

When you think of it in those terms, doesn’t it make sense for a copy of Jackass: The Movie to be in every home right now? Sure, some of us might lose a beloved child or two, but to quote a pointy-eared fellow,  much wiser than me, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” If you think otherwise, you are being selfish and not looking out for what’s best for your species as a whole. How dare you.

HARLEY DAVIDSON AND THE MARLBORO MAN: Who Invited These Dorks?

Starring Mickey Rourke, Don Johnson, Chelsea Field, Daniel Baldwin, Tom Sizemore, Vanessa Williams, Giancarlo Esposito, Tia Carrere. Directed by Simon Wincer. (1991, 98 min).

I was talking to a fellow film buff at work the other day. During our breaks, we often discuss movies we love or hate, or debate the merits of others we don't agree on. He’s put-off by the fact I hated Blade Runner, while I am stunned he didn’t like Inception.

This particular day, the subject of guilty pleasures came up, and I mentioned that awesomely bad cinema suppository, Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man. He scoffed, which I find interesting considering his favorite John Carpenter movie is Big Trouble in Little China, and both movies are whacked-out, everything-but-the-kitchen-sink exercises in stupidity.

I guess the main difference between the two is Big Trouble is stupid on purpose, while Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man’s isn’t. At least I don’t think it is. Still, I love this movie.

This is one of those things where you repeatedly find yourself staring slack-jawed at the screen, incredulously saying, what the hell were they thinking? It’s one of the dumbest, most blatantly-pandering and shallow movies any major studio wasted millions to make. Aside from an admittedly great title (probably created  before a word of the screenplay was written), Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man is similar to that dorky, awkward guy we all knew in high school who tries real hard to fit in with the popular kids by speaking and dressing the part, but fails miserably because he’s actually pretty clueless.

Try to think of someone you’ve known in your life you would define as cool. What is it that makes them cool? Is it the way the look, the way they act, the way they speak? Is it the overall vibe they give off, which tells others “This is how I roll...who gives a damn if you follow me or not”? I think we’d all agree that truly cool people never feel compelled to constantly remind others how cool they’re acting.

One gets the impression that the makers of Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man were high school dorks as well. They’ve seen other movies with cool characters, cool dialogue, a cool plot, but had no idea what made them cool. They simply thought, “bikers are cool, cowboys are cool, gunfights are cool, sexy girls are cool, our title is cool...put ’em all together and we can’t lose!”

Well, they did lose, because Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man is so busy reminding us of how cool it is that it’s compulsively watchable because of how uncool it is...

First, there’s Mickey Rourke and Don Johnson, looking like two-fifths of the Village People. I can't help but think these two actors had a lot of say in how they looked, as if this was how they pictured themselves in real life. But back in 1991, Rourke had gone from being the coolest dude in Diner to soft-core nastiness in 9 1/2 Weeks and Wild Orchid. In those films, he looked perpetually-sweaty, probably reeked of Old Spice and enjoyed shoving cucumbers up women's asses. And in this movie, he looks like he hasn’t showered in a month.

For most of us, Johnson stopped being cool roughly 10 minutes after Miami Vice was canceled. In Johnson’s defense, although never a great actor, he does give the best performance in this movie, mainly because he’s the only one who seems aware of how fucking stupid it is. Still, these are the coolest guys the producers could get?

Second, the movie takes place in the near future for no reason whatsoever! Released in 1991, the events in Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man take place in 1996. Aside from the inflated gas prices shown on a service station sign (which we’ve since-passed in the real world), the year is 100% irrelevant to the story. This is undoubtedly the most WTF aspect of the entire movie.

Third, nearly every bit of dialogue uttered by Harley (Rourke) or Marlboro (Johnson) consists of cliched sound-bites you might see on the bumper sticker of some douchebag’s pick-up truck (“Better to be dead and cool, than alive and uncool”) along with the prerequisite naked lady mudflaps. These guys endlessly philosophize with each other about how awesomely cool it is to be themselves, yet we get the feeling they are trying more to impress us than each other. 

Fourth, even though these two guys are more-or-less shiftless bums, women repeatedly throw themselves at them because all women love guys with no discernable future, so long as they look good straddling a Harley.

"Don't ever ask us to sing 'YMCA' again."

Fifth is the story itself. The bar where Harley and Marlboro used to hang out is facing foreclosure. The reasonable solution? Rob an armored car, of course, which gets them into hot water with a mob of drug-dealing killers, hilariously portrayed as non-emotive, slick-haired henchmen all sporting bullet-proof trenchcoats (and standing out from the crowd like Waldo at a nudist colony). Cool, huh? But not as cool as Harley and Marlboro, who take on this army (led by Tom Sizemore) without expressing even an iota of fear...that would interfere with their wisecracks during the numerous loud, violent gunfights.

The whole movie simply reeks of superficial cool, made by people who think they know what they’re doing. One gets the impression that the very word ‘cool’ was scrawled on a banner on the wall during script development meetings...no matter what, this movie has got to be cool.

These blatantly feeble attempts to turn its two main characters into instant icons make Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man wonderfully entertaining, but it’s simply not a movie anyone with a shred of dignity will ever fess-up and admit they enjoyed. But it is fun. What’s great about a film like this is that you can view it as a camp classic made with a nudge and wink (and there are several moments when you are convinced the movie is supposed to be a joke). Or, if you are one of those folks who take everything seriously, it’s one of the worst films of all time.

But most likely, you’ll watch incredulously, hypnotized by its ham-fisted shallowness, unable to look away...kind of like that high school dork trying to make an impression by crashing a weekend keg party he wasn’t  invited to and getting totally hammered for the first time, thinking he’s finally fitting in, when in reality he’s just making an ass of himself. Everyone else at the party is laughing at him, not with him. After he passes out, they’ll take a Sharpie and draw penises all over his face.

We get the feeling everyone involved with Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man were trying way, way too hard to fit in. Their effort is entertaining, but not how they intended. Ultimately, they are so out-of-touch that they're the butt of the joke. If that isn’t a guilty pleasure, then I don’t know what is.

DAYLIGHT: Too Much Mr. Nice Guy

Starring Sylvester Stallone, Amy Brenneman, Viggo Mortensen, Dan Hedaya, Jay O. sanders, Karen Young, Claire Bloom, Barry Newman. Directed by Rob Cohen. (1996, 115 min)

I sort of missed the Sylvester Stallone of the 80s, when he gave up all pretenses of acting and commenced blowing people away, when his characters (like Rambo and Cobra) were indestructible sociopaths. Those movies are stupid, to be sure, but a lot of jingoistic fun. Stallone was Hollywood’s version of our subconscious Id, making Dirty Harry look like a spokesperson for civil rights. I’m glad he’s since returned to killing without mercy lately in his recent movies.

But back then, the 80’s Stallone was replaced by one who seemed hell-bent on playing “nice” guys. In subsequent action movies like Daylight, so much care is put into making sure Stallone is likable that he ends up being the kind of pussy that kids taunt during recess, simply because they know he won’t retaliate.

Daylight is another entry in the disaster movie revival of the 90s, sort of a cross between The Poseidon Adventure and Cliffhanger. Stallone plays Kit Latura, a disgraced Emergency Medical Services expert, now working as a cab driver (essentially the same character he played in Cliffhanger). When an explosion traps several annoying characters inside an underwater commuter tunnel, Latura springs into action to help save them. Of course, all his former colleagues are there; of course, his superiors hate him; of course, they poo-poo his ideas for saving the people inside, even though they come up with no good suggestions of their own.

"Goddammit, who flushed all that toilet paper?

Anyway, Latura manages to infiltrate the tunnel to reach the survivors, and most of them remember the tragedy which disgraced him (I didn't know local EMS fuck-ups were worldwide news). Even though time is running out, and the water level is rising, these ungrateful assholes verbally berate Latura every five minutes. But because this is the “nice” Stallone, he just stands there and takes it like I did during my divorce from my first wife. The Stallone of the 80s would have kicked the shit out of them and told them to find their own fucking way out (even in The Poseidon Adventure, Gene Hackman stopped putting up with Ernest Borgnine’s shit after awhile).

Despite the fact the character of Latura is pretty much a kiss-ass wimp when it comes to confrontation, he is selflessly heroic and reasonably well-acted by Stallone (well, at least he doesn’t suck). And Daylight is actually one of the better disaster movies of the 90s, with a plot lifted right out of the 70s and above-average special effects. The initial collapse which traps most of the cast is pretty cool, with a shitload of violent explosions that barbecue poor saps as they sit behind the wheels of their cars. There’s even some honest-to-God suspense to be had as the tunnel slowly caves in, while Latura does what he can to buy them more time. Of course, unlike Hackman in The Poseidon Adventure, we’re always 100% certain Stallone will survive to redeem himself, even though he does so by saving a lot of folks who probably deserve to drown.

THE SERPENT AND THE RAINBOW: Wes Craven, The Matchmaker

Starring Bill Pullman, Cathy Tyson, Paul Winfield. Directed by Wes Craven. (1988, 98 min.)

I have fond memories of this one, even though it's one of Wes Craven's shittiest movies. And considering the guy has made a lot of shitty movies, that's saying something. He's not a bad filmmaker, but he is extremely overrated.

Craven is like a MLB power hitter who manages to make the highlight reel on ESPN by knocking a game-winning, grand-slam homerun out of the park, but we never see his previous walks and strikeouts. If the occasional well-timed homerun is all you're really famous for, then maybe you ain't such an awesome ballplayer after all. Still, fans may love you enough that you might think you're more important to your team than you really are.

As a filmmaker, Craven has hit a few out of the park as well. Though it's a little overpraised, 1984's A Nightmare on Elm Street was so huge it saved a studio and had folks dropping Craven's name among horror's big guns, like Carpenter and Romero. But really, Craven hadn't done shit until then. Anyone arguing in support of Craven's first film, The Last House on the Left, either hasn't watched it lately or has a fucked up idea of entertainment.

Craven also directed Scream, arguably the first slasher movie since Halloween most legitimate critics liked, mainly because it was a straight-faced satire. As with most horror film franchises, Scream 2, Scream 3 and Scre4m naturally followed. All were directed by Craven, and because of the self-aware nature of them, he actually became somewhat respected in Hollywood on a level Carpenter & Romero never were.

But the thing is, he also made a slew of dated, schlocky shit nobody remembers or talks about (Swamp Thing, Deadly Friend, Shocker, The People Under the Stairs, The Hills Have Eyes II, Cursed, Vampire in Brooklyn, etc.); you know, the strikeouts in between homeruns. There's also been a few truly good Craven movies nobody talks about either, which could be considered RBIs (Wes Craven's New Nightmare & Red Eye, which, in my humble opinion, are his two best).

Then there are the 'foul balls.' Those misguided swings that, while technically considered strikes, at least got a piece of the ball. These would be the Craven movies where he a got the bug up his ass to take himself seriously. His lone attempt at straight drama, Music from the Heart, is the most obvious foul ball (like a decent hitter facing a superior pitcher from a different division).

Which leads us to 1988's The Serpent and the Rainbow, a foul ball in more ways than one. First, it was Craven's attempt at a 'serious' horror film, one which should not have been lumped in with the slice & dice flicks he was renowned for, but his name was used to market it to the same teenagers who made A Nightmare on Elm Street a hit. Second, and more importantly, The Serpent and the Rainbow is the most boring movie Wes Craven ever made. Until this one, no matter what Craven's overly ambitious intentions were, at least his other movies moved.

The Serpent and the Rainbow, based on Wade Davis' non-fiction book about an ethnobotanist's adventures in zombification, is a turgid, slow-moving affair, so wrapped up in its own pretention that it forgets horror movies are supposed to be entertaining. This movie had to be an unpleasant surprise for Craven fans at the time, and although I wasn't necessarily a Craven fan, I liked A Nightmare on Elm Street enough to give this one a shot, especially since I was dating at the time.

This was in 1988, about a year since my divorce from my first wife. The reason for my divorce was irreconcilable differences, which, roughly translated, meant we got married way too young. Anyway, after four rough years, I was a free man for the first time since high school, but hadn’t matured a hell of a lot since then. So I more-or-less nailed anything that moved, mostly without involving the ritualistic courting required for any long-term relationship. Eventually, though, I met a girl I actually liked beyond her physical attributes. This meant, of course, if I wanted any chance with her, we’d have to go on an actual date, not just get hammered in a bar and sleep together.

I had two problems with this. First, even though I was 23 at the time, my definition of a date was the same as when I was 17, buying pizza and going to a horror movie. Second, I was in the process of flunking out of college, with no personal income to speak of; most of my discretionary cash came from shoplifting VHS movies and selling them to a pawn shop. Still, this girl seemed impressed enough to take a chance and go out with me (but since I had no car - just a skateboard - she had to drive).

A few days prior to our date, I managed to steal enough videos to afford a movie and dinner at Red Robin afterwards. In my state of stunted adolescence, I chose the only horror movie playing at the time, Wes Craven’s The Serpent and the Rainbow. Chicks dig horror movies, right?

Bill Pullman is forced to rewatch Independence Day.

That may or may not have been true, but I wouldn’t have known it from The Serpent and the Rainbow, which was more like a long-ass travelogue than a horror film. Yeah, there were a few cool scenes (one involving spiders, the one creature most likely to make me piss myself), but nothing like the cheap thrills I hoped my date would enjoy. The movie ended up being a dull, unintentionally-funny, badly-acted snoozefest, made by a guy who obviously wanted to be taken seriously as a filmmaker, but didn’t yet know how.

And thank God. It gave me and my date a lot to talk about during dinner afterwards. I still wasn’t used to going back into the dating game; before we went out, I was pretty nervous, praying there wouldn’t be any dreaded stretches of uncomfortable silence where we struggled to engage in small talk. Thanks to the pretentious shit that was The Serpent and the Rainbow, I didn’t need to worry; we had a lot of fun at the movie’s expense, something I do not think would have happened if we watched a good film.

We both laughed a lot that night and had a great time, and I eventually ended up marrying this girl, even after she informed me she doesn’t like horror movies at all. 

So maybe I have Wes Craven to thank for my current marriage, now going on 24 years. Who knows...if The Serpent and the Rainbow was actually a good movie on par with The Exorcist, me and Francie might have been forced to create phony conversation about other subjects during dinner, then gone our separate ways. But because Serpent sucked hard, we had a lot of fun stuff to talk about on that first date, and we got a feel for each other’s sense of humor, not to mention our quirks and interests.

Now that I think about it, maybe The Serpent and the Rainbow, despite how shitty it is, is another homerun...just one that’s hit during Spring Training, when it only matters to those watching that game at that time. Such a homerun may not matter to most fans, just like horror films don’t matter to my wife, or most Wes Craven films don’t matter to me. But at one moment in my life, this one mattered.

COBRA: How Not To Eat Pizza

Starring Sylvester Stallone, Brigitte Nielsen, Reni Santoni, Andrew Robinson, Brian Thompson, Art LaFluer. Directed by George P. Cosmatos. (1986, 87 min).

This movie tortures me. It's either the one of the cleverest movies of all time or one of the dumbest.

I’ve watched Cobra several times over the years since it came out in '86. I’ll probably watch the damn thing several more times just trying to figure it out, because I’m convinced Mr. Stallone is trying to mess with my head.

Marion Corbretti (Stallone) is the baddest member of the Zombie Squad, L.A. cops who handle the jobs no one else wants (I didn’t know cops were allowed to pick their cases). We first meet Cobretti (aka ‘Cobra’) when he’s called in to deal with a shotgun-toting psycho who's blowing away customers at a supermarket. Cobra roars up in a nitro-feuled, Titanic-sized hot rod. Decked-out in a skin-tight black T-shirt, even tighter jeans, boots, sculpted hair, mirrored shades, leather gloves and a toothpick in his jaw, Cobra makes Duke Nukem look like Justin Long. He strolls into the darkened store, finds his quarry, pops open a beer, takes a drink, tosses out a casual one-liner (“You're the disease...I'm the cure”) and blows the guy away. At no time does he remove his sunglasses.

It's at this point I'm wondering if this is supposed to be a comedy, because the whole scene is pretty damned funny, which actually makes sense when you consider Cobra began life as Sylvester Stallone’s rewrite of Beverly Hills Cop back when he was originally offered the role. Anyway, even though he saves the day, Cobra is berated by a dumbass reporter for killing the man, never mind that the perp already slaughtered several innocent people.

After another productive day of blowing folks away, Cobra retreats to his Malibu apartment. This is where the movie really gets weird. First, he turns on the TV so it can inform us of the movie's plot...a string of random axe-killings. While he's watching TV and cleaning his gun, Cobra takes a slice of leftover pizza from his freezer and uses a pair of scissors to cut off a little triangle for himself...still wearing his gloves. Then he eats it frozen.

I've occasionally seen folks use a knife and fork to eat pizza, which is somewhat anal-retentive to begin with...but scissors? Raise your hand if you've ever thought a slice of pizza was so unmanageable you felt the need to cut it into smaller pieces. And even if you are OCD, would scissors ever come-to-mind as the perfect tool for the job?

Surely, Cobra must be a comedy, because this is the most random, off the wall and downright weird scene I've ever witnessed in an action movie. And, yes, it's funny as hell.

Then the killings start. People are stalked and slaughtered by a group of axe-wielding lunatics, apparently doing this to create their own New World. They are led by a perpetually-sweaty guy called the Night Slasher (Brian Thompson), whose nostrils flare so huge you could park your car in them, and whose eyes threaten to pop out of his skull like an overly-excited Pomeranian. We're also treated to several backlit scenes of this cult ceremoniously raising their axes over their heads and clanking them together.

Okay...maybe Cobra is still a comedy...just a black comedy.

Then this cult makes a mistake. They leave a living witness to one of their killings, a fashion model named Ingrid, played by Brigitte Nielsen (who was Stallone's girlfriend at the time). We know she's a model by the hilarious photo shoot where she poses seductively among robots which look like there were constructed from shit kids find in the garage. Speaking of Ms. Nielsen, even though I always thought she looked like a man in drag (especially in recent years), I gotta admit Cobra is one movie where she doesn't look half bad (though he thespian skills are still all bad).

"Dude...how's my hair?"

Fearing the Night Slasher will come after her, Cobra and his thankless partner, Tony (Reni Santoni), are assigned to protect her. The two also fight over her hospital food in yet-another WTF scene (there are actually a lot of strange scenes related to food). Tony reassures Ingrid that no one is better than Cobra at catching psychos, yet the audience never actually gets to witness this supposed talent. In fact, Cobra does no real detective work throughout the entire movie. Most of the time, he's running away from these psychos with Ingrid & Tony in-tow, occasionally riddling them with bullets when they get too close.

Speaking of which, the Night Slasher's cult army must consist of the biggest dumbasses to ever walk the Earth, as exemplified during a scene in which they are chasing Cobra & Ingrid on motorcycles. Cobra's in the bed of a pick-up, spraying machine gun fire at his pursuers, who drop like flies as they are gunned down. Do the others make any attempt to avoid dying? No. They keep coming (not even swerving out of the way), only to be gunned down themselves. It's like my annual battle with ants in my kitchen. It doesn't matter how many ants I dispatch with spray, traps or the good-old-fashioned fist, the other ants don't get the message and keep on coming.

Surely this must be a comedy...right?

But it's not all mayhem. Halfway through, there's the get-to-know-you scene where Cobra comments on the amount of ketchup Ingrid put on her fries (yet another random food scene), followed by a romantic interlude where Ingrid has the hots for Cobra. When she tries to get close, he warns her, “Not a lot of people like the way I live.” I don't know if this statement is supposed to signify his dedication to his job, his 'rebellious loner' status or his penchant for using office supplies to cut his food. I guess it doesn't matter, because Cobra and Ingrid end up doing doing the nasty anyway.

Anyway, by the end, after all the violent heroics, bloodshed, corny dialogue and the concluding scene where Cobra & Ingrid ride off into the sunset on a Harley to yet-another synthesized 80's tune, I'm still left with this quandary: Is this supposed to be a an ironic black comedy, or the most cynical vanity project in Sylvester Stallone's entire filmography? This very question might make Cobra one of his most watchable movies.

Even after all these years, long after I finally understood the final scene in 2001: A Space Odyssey, I'm still tortured by why Marion Cobretti feels the need to use scissors to cut his pizza.

Highly-Debatable Lists: Top 25 Magic Movie Numbers

Of course, anyone who grew up in the 70s knows that 3 is the magic number. But in Hollywood, there are many more. This is FKMG's highly-debatable list of the most important, commonly-recurring and/or trivial numbers everyone needs to know about the movies.

Click here for FKMG's Top 25 Magic Movie Numbers

6 DISNEY Classics Featuring Lines From Other Movies

“Now here’s two words for you…shut the fuck up.”

“Ever seen a grown man naked?”

“If I were the man I was five years ago, I’d take a flamethrower to this place!”

“I’ma get medieval on yo ass!”

“I knew it…I’m surrounded by assholes.”

“When there’s no more room in Hell…the dead will WALK THE EARTH!”

CD Review: 'BEST OF BOND...JAMES BOND: 50 Years, 50 Tracks'

For me, the sign of a good CD is based on how long it stays in my stereo whenever I'm in my car. A good CD plays non-stop for about a week; a great one serves as a soundtrack for my drive and almost never gets old. And really, doesn't having James Bond music cranking from the speakers of your SUV make perfect sense?

Besides, anyone who loves movies has gotta give some love to the music of James Bond films, particularly the traditional title tracks. In a way, these songs have marked the time in the ongoing Bond saga, as well as reflecting popular musical tastes of their time. For many of us, the older tunes bring back a flood of nostalgia, and the second disc in this collection, consisting of a lot of incidental music and lesser-known songs, will have those same folks going, "Hey, I remember that scene!" This latest updated collection in the Best of Bond CD series is arguably one of the coolest pop culture time capsules you can own.

Disc one contains every title song from Dr. No (the original Bond theme) through Quantum of Solace. Sure, some have aged better than others, though it's almost impossible to hear Shirley Bassey belt out "Goldfingaaah!" without a shit-eating grin on your face. Of the other 60's era tunes, "You Only Live Twice" is arguably Nancy Sinatra's second-finest moment as a recording artist.

What's really surprising about this collection, considering the typical Bond purist's tendency to only show affection for the old stuff, is how good some of the latter-day title tunes really are. Sure, there's some clunkers, like Madonna's techno, autotuned crap (ironic, since she can actually sing), but the songs by Sheryl Crow, Duran Duran, Garbage and Chris Cornell are terrific modern tunes, yet they still retain that classic, exotic 'Bondness.'

Most of disc two consists of selections from the film scores themselves. You won't know them by their titles, but will be able to instantly identify them within seconds after they begin. It's a virtual treasure trove of music for anyone obsessed with the Bond series. It's kinda cool seeing how the scores evolved over the years, depending on the composer, yet still seem part of a cohesive whole. This disc also features an amusing techno-adaptation by Moby of the original James Bond theme, complete with well-placed audio samples.

On the other hand, this second disc is somewhat marred by the inclusion of songs by lesser-known artists which don't equal the quality of the title tracks on disc one (including two by The Pretenders, neither of which will be remembered as their finest moments). I would think most Bond fans would prefer more tracks culled from the various scores.

All-in-all though, this two-disc set is definitely worth picking up by any Bond fan. As for me, whenever I get into the car, I like to have just the right music to serve as the soundtrack for my drive, whether it's to the grocery store or our monthly trek to my mother-in-law's house. This one serves both purposes quite nicely, and won't leave my car for a long time.
 

FINAL DESTINATION Series: Quality Father-Daughter Time

Starring Devon Sawa, Ali Larter, Seann William Scott, A.J. Cook, Michael Landes, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Bobby Campo, Nicholas D'Agosto, Molly Harper, Miles Fisher & Tony Todd. Various Directors. (2000-2011).

Not too long ago, my youngest daughter, Lucy, celebrated her ninth birthday. She invited some friends over to the house. Accompanied by their parents, the kids engaged in the usual party activities: games, prizes, all the cake, ice cream and candy they could ingest before running around crazily from the sugar rush. And of course, there were presents.

Lucy got lots of Barbies, coloring books & Polly Pockets from her friends, gifts probably picked out by parents at the last minute before coming to the party (like we always do whenever our kids are invited to one). Lucy was gracious and made sure to thank each of her friends. She hadn't yet opened the gifts from the family. We were planning on doing that when the party was over and everyone left, but after she gave us the Puss-in-Boots face, we relented and allowed her to open just one.

She selected the single gift I chose, a little last-minute surprise I picked up on the way home from work the day before...a box of all five Final Destination movies.

You should have seen the looks I got from the moms who chose to stay for the party, especially since most of them knew I was a teacher. I knew what they were thinking...

That's no gift for an impressionable nine-year-old...So much for my kid ever coming here for a sleepover...What's in the other packages, a water bong and a bag of weed?

For those of you thinking the same thing, don't worry, I'm saving the bong & weed for her twelfth birthday.

Despite the confused faces of her friends expecting Strawberry Shortcake videos, and a few parent scowls of disapproval, Lucy was ecstatic. She's been my horror buddy on weekends for a couple of years, and we'd already watched the Parts 1-3 in the Final Destination series together, as well as Part 5. She'd been hounding me to see the fourth one (simply titled The Final Destination), which I did not own because it's really shitty. I tried to tell her this, but she still wanted to see it for herself. Unfortunately, the only place I found it was in a boxed set with all the other ones. So I snatched it up, confident she'd be amused.

And she was, because she loves these movies, and they all have the exact same plot. Each one opens with a spectacular disaster that would make Irwin Allen proud, but a few characters manage to cheat death because our hero has a premonition beforehand. Death doesn't like this, so he invisibly stalks them one by one, arranging elaborate, chain-event 'accidents' for these poor saps. Someone dies about every ten minutes or so until there's no one left to kill. End of movie.

Lucy & I watch them late at night after Mom's asleep, and our typical conversion goes something like this whenever someone's about to die:

Lucy: Ooh, Daddy...what's gonna happen? (She occasionally covers her eyes, but not often)

Dad: I'm not gonna tell you. Just watch, honey.

Lucy (curling up and clutching her blanket): Is he gonna get away?

Dad: You'll see.

(Nasty-ass death ensues)

Lucy: That's gross. How'd they do that?

Though they are plenty-bloody, the last thing the Final Destination movies are is scary (they're really kinda funny in a twisted way). They're more like gory Road Runner cartoons than horror films. Like the hapless Wile E. Coyote, we know nearly every single character is doomed. The only real suspense is wondering how they die, and if you've ever seen one of these movies, you know the deaths are elaborate, ridiculous and extreme, like psychotic Rube Goldberg concoctions.

Can you match each picture with the Final Destination movie it appears in? Maybe you should ask yourself if it even matters.

More importantly, these movies may not be art, but they are fun (well, me & Lucy think they are...my wife thinks we're sick), with simple plots even an eight-year-old can appreciate without suffering a sleepless night in fear of a similar fate. Sure, the movies are gross, but most kids love gross shit, even the gory gross shit, especially if presented as cartoonishly as in Final Destination. Those mothers at Lucy's party, eyeballing me in disapproval, are living in denial if they think otherwise about their own kids.

You know what really scares kids? When they see horrors which happen to characters close to their own age...the flying monkeys attacking Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, the child-eating tree in Poltergeist, the kid on an inflatable raft who's gobbled by a shark in Jaws, the mother's death in Bambi.

The shit that happens in the Final Destination movies is outside their own scope of reality, because the victims are all bland teenagers & twenty-somethings. Kids don't have any connection to characters like this, just like they have no idea what's its like to be a gangly coyote whose efforts to secure a meal results in failure every time. Plus, while the villain is a supernatural one, it isn't the devil or a vengeful spirit (which some kids are brought up to believe are real); nor is it a real-life monster getting off on torturing innocent people. I think most kids are plenty smart enough to know that Death, as an conscious entity, doesn't exist. Well, my kids are, anyway.

As far as Lucy is concerned, she knows the Final Destination movies are just that...movies meant to make you squirm in your seat in suspense, or go "eeeew" at an elaborately-staged demise. None of them have ever given her nightmares, though she did leave the room during the laser-eye-surgery fuck-up in Part 5 (but, hey...whose isn't squeamish about eye trauma?).

Anyway, long after the birthday party was over and Mom went to bed, Lucy, ever the night-owl, pestered me into watching FD4. Even though I hated the fourth one, I agreed, only covering her eyes during a sleazy, sweaty sex scene (something not present in any of the others). I'm sorry, no matter how old my daughters get, I'll never be comfortable watching that kinda shit with them.

Afterwards, she agreed that FD4 was stupid, then asked if it was too late to watch Part 2 again (our personal favorite).

THE HOBBIT: Here's Hoping It Flops

When The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring movie came out in 2001, we knew we weren't going to see the entire story, and we were cool with that. The Lord of the Rings was three books to begin with. Hence, three movies. Not a problem. Of course, it also helped that these movies didn't suck.

And I didn't really have a problem when Quentin Tarantino decided to split Kill Bill into two movies. They're kinda different in tone, anyway, and considering Tarantino's reputation, most of us appreciated it more as an artistic decision rather than a financial one. When you think about it, this was actually pretty risky, because while Tarantino's movies are mostly successful, they aren't really blockbusters.


And it didn't really bother me when Warner Brothers decided to break up the seventh and last Harry Potter novel into two separate movies, even though it was obvious to everyone but fantards that the studio was simply milking the franchise for all it was worth. Same with Summit Entertainment and Breaking Dawn. First, I never gave a shit about either franchise anyway, and second, those movies are aimed primarily at the audience with the most discretionary income (teenagers). Unlike cutting Kill Bill in two, there was no real risk here, because both studios knew damn well enough obsessive fans would gladly pay twice to see the conclusion of their beloved sagas.

Which they did...because they are suckers.

Right now, some of those very suckers reading this may be zealously arguing that the final novels in either series couldn't possibly be told in a single film because they are too big, too epic.

That's horseshit.

Once upon a time, there was a 1,000 page novel called Gone with the Wind, one of the biggest selling books of all time. Funny...Hollywood didn't have any problem adapting that one as a single film.

But now, the practice of splitting novels is being abused, and what truly pisses me off is that it's such an obvious studio ploy to bilk as much money from moviegoers as possible.

We were all excited at the news The Hunger Games trilogy would be adapted for the big screen, and like The Lord of the Rings trilogy, we accepted that it would be three movies. But then the first Hunger Games film wasn't just a hit, but a worldwide blockbuster. It wasn't long before Lionsgate announced that the last novel in the series, Mockingjay, would be two films released a year apart. This was even before the second movie, Catching Fire, even started filming.

I'm sorry, but what the fuck?

If my Gone with the Wind example wasn't enough, a two-part Mockingjay movie shoots the whole 'too big for a single movie' argument right out of the water, because each book in the series is only around 300 pages long. Lionsgate is simply doing it to rake in twice the cash from folks they know will pay twice to see a conclusion.

Recently, we've learned Peter Jackson, who did such a stellar job adapting the three-part Lord of the Rings trilogy, would be adapting The Hobbit as a two-part film. Hey, I've read The Hobbit, and although I think Jackson's a great director, I can't think of a single reason why a 300 page novel needs to be a two-part film. Even if you're totally enamored with Middle Earth, is there really enough story there to justify two movies?

But it gets worse...

Even more recently, Jackson announced that his adaptation of The Hobbit would now be three movies, all released a year apart from each other, just like The Lord of the Rings. I'm sorry, but unless he's planning on including every scene where Bilbo Baggins sleeps, eats and takes a dump, the whole Hobbit thing just reeks of money-grubbing. I dare you - no, I double dog dare you - to convince anyone this isn't just a cash grab.

All you Tolkien fans, do some math....

You love The Hobbit? Fine. You're happy to see that this classic has been placed in the capable hands of Peter Jackson, the same guy who gave you Lord of the Rings hard-ons? Fine.

Now consider this: In order to get your Middle Earth fix, you will be required to pay an average of ten bucks to see each movie in theaters (assuming admission prices won't increase, which isn't likely). That's thirty bucks. Throw in ten bucks-worth of popcorn and sodas each time (which we all do)...there's another thirty bucks. That means you're paying $60 to watch one movie, spread-out over three years. And if you bring a date, double that.

Has there ever been any movie in history worth paying sixty bucks for? Well, that's what Peter Jackson and the producers of The Hobbit are expecting you to do. At this point, I don't care if the first installment is good or not. I refuse to pay admission to watch a third of a movie.

As much as I like Peter Jackson, I hope The Hobbit totally tanks at the box office. I hope it has the worst opening weekend of any movie in history, because this trend has to end. And all of you suckers happily shelling-out your hard-earned cash to watch the second half of a movie you already paid once for need to stop. Stop now.

The film, Gone with the Wind, was nearly four hours long, but nobody complained, because it was a good movie and you got a complete story for your money. Who cared how long it was? There's an old saying...no good book is too long, and no bad book is too short. The same thing applies to movies. I can easily sit through a four hour movie if it's any good. And even if you are a die-hard Twilight junkie, wouldn't you have been happier watching Breaking Dawn as a four hour epic than waiting a year to see the conclusion? Is the conclusion of any saga really worth paying twice the price for?