Where's The Rest Of Me?

In The Beginning... - A Requiem For Rik Mayall

So that new "Harry Potter" flick... it was... something, right?

In the matter of full disclosure, I freely admit here that I am, in fact, a "Harry Potter" fan. I've read all of the books, and I've kept current with the films. I don't think they're high art, or anything. But the series (books & movies) is certainly above-average fare. The book series is well-written, and actually matures with its growing readership.

As the Boy Who Lived and his black magic pals grow up on the page, the young muggle boys and gilrs who read their exploits grow up right along with them. The series manages to capture the essence of growing up and facing the reponsibilities of the world that wait for the reader, wrapped up in a big, fanciful bow of good old-fashioned sorcery. That's endearing.

The film series does the same thing, only in the films the viewers actually get to watch young Harry and his BFFs mature before their eyes. The visual aspect of this phenomenon interests me. Being a jaded teenager when the first book was published, I missed out on that particular aspect of it all. But the fact that this family-friendly saga managed to ensnare me in my "fuck the world, I'm gonna sit in my basement and listen to 'The Misfits' " phase certainly says something about the wide appeal of the franchise.

Anyway, as a "Harry Potter and the..." fan, I've enjoyed watching the startlingly inept boy wizard's adventures on the silver screen. It was a rough start, to be sure, with the firmly middle-of-the-road director Chris Columbus' inaugural entries in the franchise. Don't get me wrong; the first two films are hardly bad cinema. They're just not terribly inspiring. I saw the films, and I enjoyed them, to a certain degree. But they didn't really stick with me.

In fact, I daresay that the only reason why I enjoyed them as much as I did was because I was so familiar with the source material that my mind automatically filled in all of the gaps left in the lackluster adaptation.

Needless to say, as soon as Chris Columbus walked away from the franchise (as a director), the quality of the subsequent films improved. Dramatically. Bringing on Alfonso Cuaron to direct "...and the Prisoner of Azkaban" was a cool choice. And although that film bafflingly excised several matters from the book that I thought were rather important (the origin of the Marauder's Map? Anybody?), it was clearly a step in the right direction.

Then Warner Bros. got Mike Newell to direct "...and the Goblet of Fire". The man who directed "Donnie Brasco"? Working on a "Harry Potter" flick? Fine by me. The end product certainly has its flaws. I mean, adapting a novel the size of a fucking phone book into a 2 hour+ film is certainly a challenge. But the movie is good. Really good.

After Newell departed to follow his dream of casting a bunch of white people in a film about ancient Persia, the studio reached out to David Yates to take over the directorial reins of the megablockbuster film franchise. Now when Mr. Yates was announced as the director for "...and the Order of the Phoenix", most people answered this news with a resounding shrug. Not me. For I recognized David Yates as the director of the astounding "State Of Play". Not the inferior 2009 movie. No, I'm talking about the superior 2003 BBC mini-series.

What was that? You've never seen this mini-series? You, Dear Imaginary Reader, should be ashamed of yourself. You owe it to yourself to watch "State Of Play". The min-series, not the film. Although the film is good, too. But I'll take John Simm over Russell Crowe any day of the week.

My point is, I thought throwing David Yates into the Potter-verse was an inspired idea. His pedigree left me assured that he would be able to give the "heavier" moments in the final chapters the depth and weight that they required, without sacrificing the "breathing room" sequences of levity that are necessary in such a story (he also directed an adaptation of "The Young Visiters". I can't help but notice your blank stare. Just Google it).

And my faith in Mr. Yates was rewarded. You see, I'm one of those people who believes the film versions of "...and the Order of the Phoenix" and "...and the Half-Blood Prince" are the best films in the series. Needless to say, when Yates decided to come back to direct the adaptation of "...and the Deathly Hallows", I wasn't worried. Until Warner Bros. announced that they were going to chop the manuscript in half and make two movies out of it.

You know... to give the story the respect it deserved.

But hey, two more "Harry Potter" movies from David Yates is better than one! Right?

But What About Dobby?! - Adventures In Camping

So Dumbledore's dead. The world's falling apart. Evil wizards are killing muggles. Voldemort's still wondering where his fucking nose went. Basically, the situation looks grim. Brave young wizard Harry Potter and his pals have quite the quest ahead of them, a search-and-destroy mission involving the remaining horcruxes that contain bits of Voldemort's shattered soul, in a hail Mary effort to rid the world of the serpentine son of a bitch once and for all.

Our heroes are visited by Minister of Magc Rufus Scrimgeour (Bill Nighy! Hooray!), who gives them some important items bequeathed to them in Dumbledore's will. Except for the Sword of Gryffindor, because apparently Dumbledore in his old age forgot that the fabled blade didn't belong to him, but to Hogwarts. And it's missing.

Mad-Eye Moody shows up (Brendan Gleeson! Hooray!), sets up a great big convoy of Harry Potter clones on broomsticks to evade the Death Eaters en route to sanctuary at the Weasley house. Mad-Eye dies off-screen (Boo!) and Harry's beloved owl Hedwig takes the loss to defend her owner (...*shrug*). At the Weasley house, we're introduced to elder brother Bill (in the books, we meet him in "the Prisoner of Azkaban"), and he is immediately married to Fleur Delacour (*shrug*).

During the reception, the partygoers are informed that Minister Scrimgeour is dead (Boo!) and the Death Eaters have taken over the Ministry of Magic. Then some Death Eaters show up to crash the party. Harry, Hermione and Ron disapparate and some stuff happens. There's a wizard fight in a diner, Harry talks to the Black family's surly house elf Kreecher, the gang finds out that a locket/horcrux once owned by Regulus Black is now in the hands of one Delores Umbridge. You remember that cold-hearted bitch, right?

Our wizard heroes break into the Voldemort-friendly Ministry of Magic, get into some wacky misadventures, steal the horcrux, and get out while the getting's good. Unable to destroy the horcrux outright, they decide to travel through England's beautiful Forest Of Dean for a while, until they're able to figure out a way to crack this evil clam open and destroy the meaty soul-chunk within.

They take turns wearing the One Locket To Rule Them All around their necks, attempting to keep its evil influence from corrupting them. Too bad Ron didn't get the memo, as he is overcome with jealousy (he wants to bone Hermione) and fucks off to parts unkown. But then he comes back, because who else was going to save Harry from drowning in a frozen pond whilst trying to retrieve the Sword of Gryffindor?

Certainly not Harry himself, considering he didn't have the foresight to remove the absolutely evil One Locket from around his neck before he jumps into the frigid water. Sure, he takes off his clothes before diving in, because he watches a lot of "Man Vs. Wild". But I guess Bear Grylls didn't cover objects corrupted by pure evil in his "documentary series".

Our heroes visit Xenophilius Lovegood (Rhys Ifans! Hooray!), and he betrays them to the Death Eaters because they're holding his daughter Luna hostage. Before he does that, Exposition Lovegood tells Harry, Etc. about "the Deathly Hallows", three legendary objects that hold incredible power (the Cloak of Invisibility, the Sorcerer's Stone, and the Elder Wand). The tale of the Deathly Hallows is relayed to the audience in the form of a delightful animated sequence, the highlight of the film.

Anyway, Harry and the gang are carted off the the House of Malfoy, where they meet up with Luna, Olivander (John Hurt! Hooray!) and a goblin (Warwick Davis! Hooray!) in the Malfoy rape dungeon. Before the Death Eaters have the chance to seriously fuck up Harry's day, everyone's favorite house elf Dobby shows up and teaches every other heroic character in the "Harry Potter" series how it's really done.

Seriously, the little man's a badass. Why couldn't the series be called "Dobby the Destroyer and the..."?  Dobby decides it's time to pull a "Delta Force" and disapparate the hostages to safety. It's what Chuck Norris would have done. Unfortunately, Voldemort's favorite bag of crazy Bellatrix Lestrange manages to nail poor Dobby with a well-timed dagger throw as the crew disapparates.

Now safely out of harm's way, kind-hearted Dobby has served his purpose in the story, and now it's time for him to die. He cacks it on a picturesque beach, and the audience cries along with Harry Potter and his crew. Harry insists that they bury Dobby "the ye olde way" (without magic) and our heroes are left on that beach to wait for Part 2's release next Summer.

Meanwhile, Snake Face breaks into Dumbledore's tomb and finds the Elder Wand in the dead wizard's possession. Voldemort literally takes the Elder Wand (which looks suspiciously like a dildo) from Dumbledore's cold, dead hands. He then proceeds to raise the Elder Phallus into the night air, erupting into a Black Magic orgasm as the film smash-cuts to black. Roll credits.

I didn't really enjoy "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1". Of course, I also didn't have such a great time reading the first half of J.K. Rowling's book, either. The story just spent far too much time spinning its wheels with the epic "camping sequence". I had vainly hoped that the film would remove most of the camping bullshit, just to keep the narrative rolling along. I knew when the story was split into two films that my wish was not to be.

Sure, there were some things to like about the film. The sequence involving Harry, Ron and Hermione sneaking into the Ministry of Magic to retrieve the One Locket was a highlight, as was the startling climax at the Malfoy mansion. But overall, I was just bored. In fact, the delicious "butterbeer" that I enjoyed during the film (one of my local theatre's themed mixed-drink concoctions) was better than the actual movie.

The biggest problem with the film is that's it's not complete. It's literally half of a movie. The narrative reaches a certain point where it just stops. The "Lord Of The Rings" films didn't end so abruptly.

Despite my misgivings with Part 1, when Part 2 opens next Summer, I'll find myself excited to see the action-packed conclusion to the "Harry Potter" saga. Because the second half of the novel was a blast. And at least the boring part is out of the way.

The Sleeper Has Awakened! - When You Feel Like A Pervert

One of the most appealing aspects of the "Harry Potter" film series is the cast. The films are populated with a virtual "who's who" of British cinema, and they all treat the material with respect. I've yet to see a haughty actor phone-in their performance. More intriguingly, the principal cast of characters has remained consistent from film to film. No major leading or supporting role has been recast, aside from Dumbledore, of course. But that wasn't his fault.

It's been surreal watching our three leading actors Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and Rupert Grint (Harry, Hermione & Ron) grow up on screen with their characters. We, the audience, have seen these three young, inexperienced child actors mature into capable, talented young adults. This was the smartest decision Chris Columbus made when he directed "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone". He hired these three kids to portray the central roles of one of the biggest theatrical franchises the world has ever seen.

The formative years of their lives have been captured on film. When these actors are grandparents, they can watch the films with their families as home movies of a sort. A walk down memory lane. It's a fascinating thing.

It's also a rather uncomfortable thing, if you look at it a certain way. For the audience, I mean. As I've said, these actors are adults, now. They've gone through puberty. We can assume they're having sex. Hell, an episode of the brilliant Ricky Gervais / Stephen Merchant series "Extras" centered around this very topic, with a horny Daniell Radcliffe stalking a film set with a condom burning a hole in his pocket, eager to get laid.

It was funny, but it also raises a question, at least to me: is it okay to find these now-adult actors sexually attractive?

If you surf the web long enough (12 seconds), you'll surely find multitudes of message board posts commenting on "how hot" Emma Watson is, or how Daniel Radcliffe "looks dreamy" (sorry Rupert "Thunderpants" Grint!). Civilized society says that these actors are of legal age, so it's okay to find them attractive. But think about it. Millions of people have seen the "Harry Potter" films. These actors will forever be tied to their signature characters. And they first appeared in "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" as children.

Sure, Emma Watson is an attractive woman now...

 ...But she used to be a cute kid.

                                                         

That's how we were introduced to her. For every guy who looks at a photo of Miss Watson at the premiere of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1" and thinks I'd hit that, they have to reconcile that image with their memories of the same actress as a ten year-old child. Doesn't that make them feel a little like a pedophile?

Let's look at Shirley Temple, as an example.

She was the first child star, becoming a bonafide icon in 1934's "Stand Up And Cheer!" at the age of 5. Within two years, she was one of the most recognized people in the world. Everyone knew Shirley Temple. She retired from the business in 1950, on the day she married Charles Alden Black, a man nine years her senior.
Now obviously Mr. Black was aware of Shirley Temple before he met her in the flesh. He was probably in a similar situation to many of the young men who now hold lust in their hearts for Emma Watson. Black had certainly seen at least several of her films, featuring Temple as a precocious, singing and dancing little moppet. And yet, one day he met Shirley Temple and thought to himself, I'd hit that. And he did. They had two kids.

I'm just wondering how he could get it up if Temple's stirring rendition of "The Good Ship Lollipop" kept creeping into his mind, unbidden. How far back in her filmography did Black's lovely wife become persona non grata?

Now I know that everybody started out as a child, and despite that knowledge,we've still managed to fuck our way into a worldwide population of 6 billion+ without feeling like a species of hapless pedophiles in the clutches of Chris Hansen. But for most of us, aside from a few pictures in an old photo album or the occassional home movie, we have little evidence to remind us that the people we choose to love were once delightful little children.

All I know is that like most heterosexual males in my demographic, I've looked at pictures of Emma Watson at the premiere of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" and absent-mindedly thought I'd hit that. But then I think about it for a few seconds, and I start to feel a little creeped-out. Then I watch "Extras" and see Daniel Radcliffe fling a condom at Diana Rigg's head, and I laugh.

I'm easily distracted.

P.S. - I'll be back to talk about "Faster" in a few days. You've been warned.

Why Does This Bourbon Taste So Good?!

I celebrated my 28th birthday last night. Well, I say "celebrated", but all I really did was venture out into the chilled night air to the local movie house to see a movie. That's my tradition. If something great opens around my birthday ("The Mist" & "No Country For Old Men"), that's fantastic. If something terrible opens ("Dungeons &Dragons", "Vertical Limit"), it doesn't matter. I'm still going to spend at least a few hours in a darkened auditorium, watching some damned thing.

This year, I had hoped that Darren Aronofsky's "Black Swan" would open in my neck of the woods. Alas, the film is not scheduled to open 'round these parts until Christmas, when it will make a fine double feature with the Coen Bros' "True Grit". The only big release of the last week in Wichita was "The Warrior's Way", a bizarre, uninspiring-looking "cowboys vs. ninjas" story featuring Geoffrey Rush of all people as... well, according to the unceasing onslaught of "Ninjas. Damn!" commercials that assaulted me for the past two weeks, some dude with a tumor in his everywhere.

I didn't really want to see "The Warrior's Way". This coming from a man who actually paid to see "Legion" is a little hard to swallow (kinda like those malignant tumors, eh, Geoffrey Rush? ...sorry). Instead, I opted for Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson's latest cinematic effort, the R-rated action thriller "Faster". I will ramble about this film, as well as the big "Harry Potter" half-movie soon. But not today...

To tide you over, Dear Imaginary Reader, I have given you the gift of the highly anticipated third installment of "The Podcast Of Lies"! This episode, entitled The Costilini Mandivore Podcast, features discussions on varied topics, including Costas Mandylor, "Sex Machine" himself, Mr. Tom Savini, Juggalos, Tila Tequila, and the rather sensitive subject of gimps.

And in this season of charity, we must not forget the gimps that live among us, marginalized by the hoi polloi, branded as outcasts by the politicians and the CEOs. We must open our hearts and our homes to the poor, downtrodden gimps, and show them that we are not the toe-eating, sewer-haunting monsters they believe us to be. We're all just people. Some of us happen to have extra fingernails (and nostrils), but that's a trivial, cosmetic thing.

What was I talking about? Oh right, the podcast. It lies beneath this text, for your listening pleasure. Although I am no fool, and realize that nobody will ever click the massive "play" button suspended below. And I don't blame them. You see, my cousin and I, we're so funny our infectious laughter has been known to kill people. This is a proven scientific fact.

So enjoy the podcast, you invisible sons of bitches, and wish me luck while I crack open this bottle of gin and continue "celebrating" my miserable birthday, watching re-runs of "Married... With Children" with my imaginary friend GOTUS.



By the way, you're welcome.

The Words Come Alive!

Damn, I should have used that title for the "Saw 3D" post. Oh well.

Good news, everyone! A brand new "Podcast Of Lies" has arrived for your auditory pleasure! I recently sat down with my hip cousin Ky, and we rambled about Werner Herzog and various Charlie Sheen news items. And when I say "rambled", I mean we fucking rambled. This 22 minute podcast is trimmed down from nearly 2 hours. The cream rises to the top, as they say. I don't know how creamy this little audio file is, but I know one thing: this podcast will change your life. There. I said it. Listen to it below, or visit our podcast page here and tell us how our words make you feel. We're open-minded.



P.S. - I have nothing else to add.

November Makes Me Mad!

Hey kids! Did you like "Planes, Trains, & Automobiles", but thought it was too schmaltzy? Maybe Steve Martin wasn't as douchey as he could have been? Maybe John Candy wasn't stupid enough? And fuck Thanksgiving! Our protagonist has to get home in time to witness the birth of his first born child! And who doesn't love "Two And A Half Men"?

Then you're in luck, my friend! Because "Due Date" is the movie for you!

The basic plot boils down to this: Robert Downey Jr. plays an asshole named Peter Highman who finds himself stranded in Atlanta. He's mistaken for a fucking terrorist by some nerve-wracked Air Marshall, and shot with a rubber bullet, due in no small part to the aforementioned idiot pothead. Removed from the plane and placed on the infamous no-fly list, Downey needs to get back home to Los Angeles to be with his very pregnant wife before her scheduled Cesarian section in a scant few days.

In dire straits, Highman comes across the idiot pothead named Ethan Tremblay, played by Zach Galifianakis, who has decided to drive to LA in a rental car with his late father's remains stashed in a coffee can, to achieve his dream of movie stardom. Highman, without his wallet, reluctantly agrees to Ethan's offer to drive to La La Land together. Hilarity, it ensues.

If anybody is going to see this movie expecting a "laugh riot" comedy on the level of director Todd Phillips' previous movie "The Hangover", you are going to be disappointed. And if you're expecting Zach Galifianakis to portray a loveable weirdo in "Due Date", like his Alan Garner in "The Hangover", you'll be severely disappointed.

His character in "Due Date", Ethan Tremblay, is one of of the most recklessly stupid characters I have ever seen in a motion picture. Aggressively stupid. Amazingly stupid. Annoyingly stupid. And many other adjectives that begin with the letter A. I found Zach Galifianakis to be unbearable in this movie. And I'm a fucking Galifianakis fan.

I love his stand-up. I love his "Tim & Eric" character, Tairy Greene. I loved him in "The Hangover". But throughout "Due Date", I just wanted Robert Downey Jr. to shoot him in the back of the head, like Lennie in "Of Mice And Men". He needs to die before his disturbing stupidity gets somebody killed. By the film's third act, I was praying for Peter to tell Ethan about the rabbits again.

Now I will make my case for the mercy killing of Ethan Tremblay...

Exhibit A: Since Ethan's bag was confiscated at the airport, he has no marijuana. And Ethan needs his marijuana. So near the beginning of their shared road trip, Ethan stops by a local dealer's house to score some weed. This allows Todd Phillips to cast Juliette Lewis in a cameo role as the laid-back dealer, which is fine. I like Juliette Lewis, and she does a decent job in the role.

While Ethan and his new druggist friend are playing "Inside The Actor's Studio" in the kitchen, Peter is tasked with watching the dealer's kids. One of the kids is a little prick, and Peter slugs him in the gut, threatening him with further bodily harm if he dares to tell his mother of the assault. This is hilarious. But this is not the point of my story.

Here's the point: After the deal is done, Ethan and Peter hit the road again, stopping at a hotel for the night. Peter doesn't have any money, seeing as how his wallet is missing and all. Ethan's credit card is rejected, and he reveals to Peter that he doesn't have enough money to pay for a hotel room. You see, he spent over $200 on the marijuana he bought from Juliette Lewis, and only has $60 left. Because he's fucking stupid.

Peter suggests his wife wire them $500 bucks, but because he has no wallet (no I.D.), she'll have to wire the money to Ethan. Sounds good, except when they get to the local Western Union, wheelchair-bound Danny McBride informs them that he can't complete the transfer because the funds were sent for "Ethan Tremblay", and that is just the fucking stage name for Ethan Chase. You know, the name on the man's driver's license.

Long story short, Peter loses his cool and insults Danny McBride, McBride whips out a baton and beats the dogshit out of Peter, and they wind up sleeping at a rest stop. That morning, Peter ditches Ethan at the rest stop while he bathes in a sink, but has a change of heart and returns with coffee and donuts before Ethan can catch on. That alone strains credibility.

Exhibit B: He loves "Two And A Half Men". So much so, that he runs a "TAAHM" fansite. This alone proves my point.

Exhibit C: Ethan takes over driving duties while Peter catches some much-needed sleep. The poor man must be simply exhausted dealing with Ethan's shit. Of course, Ethan being a bloated sack of fuck-up, he can't be trusted to do anything right. He falls asleep whilst driving on the highway, veering into oncoming traffic. Peter wakes up and desperately tries to wake Ethan up, but Ethan sleeps like the dead. The rental car careens off a bridge, and a horrifying crash ensues.

Peter is all busted up, with a few cracked ribs and a shattered arm. Ethan, being asleep at the time, flopped around the car interior like buttered noodles, and is unharmed. Dangerously stupid.

Leaving the hospital, Peter calls his old pal Darryl (Jamie Foxx), and he comes to the rescue. At Darryl's home, he makes some coffee for Peter and his squishy golem Ethan. They all taste the coffee, and it's revealed that Darryl made the coffee from the contents of Ethan's coffee can. Much panic, spitting, and gagging ensues.

Ethan retrieves his father's ashes from the coffee maker, but because he's stupid, he spills the ashes all over Darryl's immaculate kitchen floor. Here, we are given a weirdly poignant moment, with Ethan on his knees, frantically trying to collect the ashes, before finally breaking down. Peter, being a real human being and not a disturbing caricature of mental impairment, comforts the man-child. This changes nothing.

Exhibit D: After Ethan springs Peter from the Mexican Border Patrol (don't ask), they stop by the Grand Canyon to spread the remains of Ethan's father. Now is the perfect time for a heartfelt confession, so Ethan reveals that he's had Peter's wallet the entire time. He kept it a secret, because he didn't want to go to Hollywood alone. Awwwwwwww!!!

Being a reasonable human being pushed to brink of madness by this nightmare made flesh, Peter snaps, trying to kill Ethan. I was hoping this movie would take a seriously dark turn, and Peter would succeed, tossing Ethan's lifeless corpse off the cliff to join his father, returning to Los Angeles and his pregnant wife with a clear conscience.

Alas, this did not occur, because Pete's wifey gives him a call, informing him that her water just broke. The fat man gets a reprieve, as they jump into their Mexican Border Patrol truck, en route to L.A.

Exhibit E: Ethan finds a handgun in the Patrol truck's glove compartment. Being dumber than "Models Inc.", he accidentally fires the gun in the truck, shooting Peter in the leg. This man is too stupid to live.

In the end, Peter gets to the hospital before he bleeds to death, and witnesses the birth of his baby daughter, Rosie Highman (do you get it? Of course you do, you have a brain), and Ethan excuses himself to meet with a talent director. The film ends with Peter and his wife in bed, watching Ethan's small-screen debut as a guest star on "Two And A Half Men".

That's "Due Date". It's not a very good movie. And it's mostly due to Zach Galifianakis. Perhaps I'm in the minority here, but by the time the credits rolled, I couldn't bring myself to like Ethan Tremblay. I hated him. The atrocious dialogue he delivers doesn't sell the idea that Ethan is a naive dullard; he comes off as a mentally disabled sociopath.

Actually, that description does a disservice to the mentally handicapped. I've spent some time with the developmentally disabled, and I know that they make better choices than Ethan Tremblay. This is fucking Hollywood stupid. Any of the charm or likeability that Galifianakis displayed in "The Hangover" is nowhere to be seen. Ethan Tremblay is a reckless fool. I despised this character.

Robert Downey Jr is supposed to be a guy with some anger issues, but spending time with a subhuman like Ethan, his rage seems perfectly justified. This bearded homunculus is slowly driving Peter insane, and at the end of the movie, I'm supposed to believe that these two actually keep in touch?! They become friends? I just couldn't buy it.

There was no chemistry between these two people. I couldn't believe that these guys could ever become friends. Would Peter be foolish enough to let Ethan get anywhere near his infant daughter? As soon as she starts crying, he'll snap her damned neck because he doesn't know his own strength! The bottom line is that the central relationship in this film fails to connect. Therefore, the film fails.

There are some laughs in the film. But in the end, it wasn't worth my time. I'd like to say it's an ultimately forgettable, yet somewhat entertaining comedy, but the very presence of Ethan Tremblay means that I will sadly never forget this movie.

In Other News... "The Apple" Is Rotten

Have you ever seen 1980's "The Apple"? It's a sci-fi musical written and directed by Manahem Golan, the mad Israeli producer responsible for such classic films as "Delta Force", "Masters Of The Universe" and "Superman IV: The Quest For Peace".

The movie takes place in the far-flung future of 1995 (oooh, aaah!), and the United States is under the control of a sinister record producer named Mr. Boogalow. Yeah, a record producer is the tyrannical ruler of the U.S.A. Every citizen is required to wear a "Boogalow International Music" sticker at all times, and every day at 4 pm, productivity comes to a standstill as the population takes part in a mandatory "exercise hour". The entire world revolves around Boogalow's music.

Enter folk duo Alphie & Bibi, from some backwater town called Moosejaw. Boogalow sees great potential in Bibi, and convinces her to sign a contract with BIM. Alphie is shown visions of Hell on Earth, and declines to sign, sensing some bad mojo in the air. Bibi literally becomes a megastar overnight, singing one terrible rock song about America and amphetamines in front of a disinterested crowd, everybody drives around in the same "futuristic" station wagon, gets seduced by some prick who thinks he's Roger Daltrey, and dyes her hair purple.

Alphie tries to act, tries to sing, and fails at both, stares at things with his vacant, bulging eyes, tries to record a hit folk song, gets pounded by bald goons with tusks jutting proudly from the slavering jaws, tries to kill himself (I guess) and wanders into a park where he stumbles upon a hippie commune in a cave. He meets their leader, Barbarian Santa Claus (Joss Ackland), is annointed with patchouli oil, and joins their filthy order.

Eventually, Bibi looks around and realizes that Mr. Boogalow is the fucking Devil, and runs away. Barbarian Santa, shirtless and swarthy, guides Bibi to her loverboy Alphie in their reeking hippie hideaway. In the very next scene, Alphie is sporting a truly terrible fake beard, and Bibi is dressed like a stoned-out broad at a Phish concert, and they have a toddler. Mr. Boogalow, apparently stupid as well as evil, finally tracks Bibi down and an army of jackbooted stormtroopers descend upon the hippies.

Boogalow produces Bibi's contract, and demands that she return to her life of B-movie luxury as a hollow pop star in this brave new world, but Alphie assures her that some dude named "Mr. Topps" will shortly come and save the day. Bibi looks just as confused as I did when hearing this. I'm thinking this is some sort of Jonestown situation, and the kool-aid will soon be passed around to all the true believers.

Then a glowing car descends from the sky, and I think I'm hallucinating. Holy shit! Emilio Estevez is finally returning from his extra-dimensional vision quest at the end of "Repo Man"! But no, a sharp-dressed, well-coifed Joss Ackland descends from the heavens in his sparkly Caddy. Mr. Topps has arrived, ladies and gentlemen.

Topps shares words with Boogalow, telling his nemesis that he's taking the filthy hippies with him, to start over on a brand-new world, without Boogalow's evil influence. Then Mr. Topps leads the great unwashed into the sky, and the film ends. I realized as I watched the credits roll that I had just seen the fucking Rapture. De Nomolos lead the hippies to the Promised Land.

This movie is fucking insane. There is no real story to speak of. There's not nearly enough time spent on any of the characters to flesh them out in any meaningful way. The script is trash. The music is worthless. The performances are dreadful across the board. Nobody can sing to save their lives. The budget is too small to accurately portray the scope of the proceedings. And the direction is inept, at best.

And it ends with the fucking Rapture!

I found this movie at a video store that was going out of business for 3 dollars. I watched it, and I want my money back. I can't believe this movie got made. So if you, Dear Imaginary Reader, ever get the chance to view the minor cult classic "The Apple"...

...don't.

P.S. - A new podcast will rear its ugly head soon. You've been warned.

Game Over?!

The final entry in the excrutiatingly-long franchise, "Saw 3D", was loosed from the loins of Lionsgate into megaplexes across the country on Halloween weekend. And what was I doing on Halloween? Well, because I have essentially no social life, I was at one of those megaplexes, watching "Saw 3D". And because my cousin Ky is a mysterious fellow, he decided to join me.

We watched the damned movie, and now we've recorded a podcast wherein we ramble semi-coherently about it. Here it is:



And because that's not nearly enough, and because we have a lot of free time on our hands, we decided to record an additional podcast wherein we attempt to discuss the "Saw" franchise, in general. Here it is:



I understand that in posting this so far removed from Halloween, it is essentially irrelevant. Who the hell wants to hear two strange dudes talking about any "Saw" movies after Halloween? But you see, that's not my problem. I'm just the guy who stands on his Internet Soapbox, shouting into the void. It's a lonely existence, but I'm used to it.

P.S. - "Due Date" review forthcoming.