Category Archives: Movies

Valentine (2001)

Yes,  I've sunk to showcasing blatant T & A. Now keep reading.I know what you’re thinking, because I sure thought it when I saw Valentine in my TV listings: Christ, didn’t this just come out in theaters?

Yes. Yes, it did. And when your crappy movie makes reams and reams of Jack Squat in the theaters, that’s when you push it into video circulation as fast as possible. You also try your darndest to sell your crappy movie to the cable networks and hope against hope that they show your little darling of a picture in Prime Time, where a much more receptive audience will finally, finally understand and appreciate your genius. Those theater-going plebes wouldn’t know a good movie if it brained them with a Dolby anyway.

I found Valentine playing at 9:45 p.m., Tuesday night, on one of the HBO Clone channels. It played right after The Craft. You guys remember The Craft? Much, much, much better movie than this POS, despite Fairuza Balk’s Mick Jagger lips…which, I will admit, I’m more than a little fond of. They’re so damned…delicious. She’s so damned delicious. Though it’s probably just my thing for goth chicks. And witches. When I see a movie with goth chick witches, man alive, am I ever in heaven. {More}

The Giant Gila Monster (1959)

Our Hero. So perfect you want to slaughter him.Like most movies of its era, The Giant Gila Monster begins with a soliloquy from Our Humble Narrator. While the camera lovingly moves over shots of a desolate desert landscape, Our Humble Narrator informs us that:

“How large the dreaded Gila Monster grows, no man can say.”

Looking for an explanation as to why this Gila Monster is so Giant? Well, there it is.

We cut to a couple parked in the middle of the tangled desert wasteland. (Not the most romantic setting in the world but what do I know? Maybe gnarled old trees are like Spanish Fly to some.) Later on, we’ll learn their names: Pat (Grady Vaughn) and Liz (Yolanda Salas). But for right now, don’t get too attached. Just as they get all close and lovey, an unseen force shoves their car over a cliff. Now, if I were one of those people who’s obsessed with finding subtext in even the most bizarre pieces of crap cinema, I’d be amazed. I’d point out that it showcases just how merciless the morality of 1950s horror pictures really was…even make the observation that, unless Liz is giving her man a nice, off-camera handjob, this couple’s only crime is snuggling. I’d then go on to note that at least 80s Slasher flicks let you have sex before you died. Let no man say our culture hasn’t moved forward. {More}

Lara Croft: Tomb Raider (2001)

Lara keeps a look out for falling plot contrivances.

As Tomb Raider opens, we find Lara Croft (Angelina Jolie, of course) hanging suspended from a rope. Not even her intricately woven braid stirs. Then, in what will quickly become a matter of course for this film, she runs-jumps-flips-climbs her way through an ancient looking cave of faux ruins and blows the holy hell out of the ultra-advanced robot assassin that serves as her “sparing partner.” All in a flash-bang opening action sequence designed to drive home a singular point: that Lara Croft is a Badass. Needless to say, the sequence accomplishes its goal…so, I asked myself, what the hell is the rest of the movie supposed to do?

Spiral ever downward, apparently. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Angelina Jolie is Lara Croft, the Tomb Raider, only child to “legendary” archeologist Lord Croft (Jon—Anaconda—Voight). So when she’s not destroying her own robots or lounging about the eighty-plus rooms of her ancestral home Lara likes to gallivant around the globe and engage in a spot of grave robbing, stealing priceless artifacts and…doing…something…with them. If you don’t live under a rock, you probably already knew this, or could figure it out from the incredibly-obvious title. {More}

The Blob (1988)

When a movie critic takes ill, coughing up and subsequent spitting out of large, globular balls of protoplasm, it’s best to avoid films centered around amorphous masses of protoplasm.

I, being me (i.e., stupid), ignored this credo and rented this: the 1988 remake of The Blob. Nothing like a horror movie to get you over a bout with the flu. Or am I the only kid who’d fake a sore throat so he could stay home to watch the one o’clock creature feature, back before the Sci-fi channel sold the fuck out?

So I rented The Blob and it is anything but appetizing. I managed to keep things under control. When there’s nothing in your stomach, logic suggests that nothing can come out, and logic prevailed. Thanks to a childhood encounter with Cronnenberg’s Fly, it takes a lot to send me to the porcelain bus. I could go into detail and have all of you bask in my gorge-holding prowess, but my mother reads this, too. And she’s already heard it.

Enough about bodily functions. Let’s talk about large, gelatinous, alien monsters. Yeah, baby, yeah!

The basic story hasn’t changed. Giant rock falls from space, deposits carnivorous alien ooze. Rustic old coot pokes ooze with a stick. Hilarity ensues. Alien ooze begins devouring residents of Small Town America and its up to a bunch of “no-good kids” to stop it before it grows too large to handle. As always, the devil’s in the details.

This time, town badboy Randall Brian Flagg (Kevin Dillon) and cheerleader Meg Penny (Shawnee Smith) are charged with stopping the malevolent muck. And while Meg still begins the movie as A Nice Small Town Girl, Brian Flagg is the kind of rebel that would make Steve McQueen mess his pants. He’s a cigarette smokin’, motorcycle riddin’, beer drinkin’, leather jacket wearin’ son of a bitch, and even though I liked Flagg well enough (I always root for the Rebel Without a Clue), I’m smart enough to recognize him for the caricature that he is. Still, he’s a fun caricature. And the script does manage to shoehorn some his softer side into the goo and gore. Occasionally. I counted four such scenes myself. Your actual mileage may vary.

With that kind of stellar characterization, it falls on Kevin Dillon to play a reluctant hero that’s both believable and likeable. He does a decent enough job, but I’ve seen people bungle this character so badly. Dillon plays the roll competently, and if that’s what you like, go ahead. He doesn’t embarrass himself, but he won’t be earning a place in the Rebellious Teenager hall of fame, either.

Shawnee Smith, on the other hand…now there’s an actress I could get into. (Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, knowwhatImean, knowwhatImean?) Here, she’s playing another great caricature of 1980s horror: the Final Girl, escaped from her Slasher origins, the traumatized heroine who  goes from cheerleader to machinegun toting Righteous Babe in under 85 minutes, a transition that would make Heather Langenkamp proud. Now, Smith is no Langenkamp, but like her costar, she’s competent enough in the Final Girl role.

That word, competent, just about describes this entire movie. It provids just enough fun to fill up your life, never rising above the sum of its parts. Co-writers Frank Darabont and Chuck Russell (who also directed things) seemed to know exactly what was needed to turn out an old fashioned B-movie…rather like The Blob. They don’t try to explore any Great Themes of Literature or examine the Heart of the Human Condition. With the exception of the Evil Government Agency sub-plot, it’s all Teenagers vs. Slime.

Evil Government Agency sub-plot, you say? Yes. Here we see the only real contrast between the two Blobs. In the 1950s, a bunch of “no-good kids” spend the entire movie trying to convince skeptical authorities of the Horror mucking around. Once everyone gets a good look at the Blob in action, the residents of Small Town American came together to defeat the alien menace with  American can-do spirit. Because if we don’t, the Commies win!

Not so here. Post-Watergate, an Evil Government Agency, headed by the shifty Dr. Meddows (Joe Seneca), descends from on high, invading Small Town America in level 5 bio-suits. They quarantining the town, touting machine guns, and aren’t the least bit shy about opening fire on United States citizens. I won’t tell you what connection they have to this incarnation of the Blob, but…you’ve probably already guessed.

The two Blobs are obvious children of their timess. In the 50s, cops and “punk kids” worked side by side and the local sheriff could get on the horn to the local military base with no problem. The institutions of authority that we, as Americans, put our faith in triumphed because, by God, they’re American institutions, and these colors don’t run!

Here, the institutions of authority we put faith in are useless in the face of an alien menace. They run around fruitlessly trying to maintain the status quo, shooting everything that looks at them funny. Don’t close those beaches. I am not a crook. We had to destroy that village in order to save it. Not at all a metaphor for current geo-political conditions. Not at all. Blah, blah, blah. In the end, this evil government agency’s efforts come to nothing, society breaks down, anarchy rules, and its up to those “no-good kids” to save the world. I don’t know about you, but that kind of story  just warms the cockles of my heart.

A few more things before I let you go. I’d just like to point out that what I said about Chuck Russell’s writing goes double for his directing. He keeps things simple and direct, with no fancy tricks or directorial eye candy to distract you from what’s on screen. Good job there.

Also, props to Lyle Conway for his excellent creature FX. Let’s face it, the old stop-motion Blob was cutting edge…for 1956. Twelve years old or not, Conway’s Blob is much more kinetic than its cinematic father, proactively chasing its prey rather than just rolling over whatever hapless human it encounters. And you gotta love those tentacles.

You don’t have to love the fistful of side characters that populate this Idyllic Small Town…but I found I couldn’t help myself. Because, while they might not be interesting, they’re at least recognizable. The shrewd dad (Meg’s father, played by (Art LaFleur), Fran (Candy Clark), who owns the local diner; even Moss the mechanic (Beau Billingslea). Like Brian the Rebel, they’re all caricatures. But through decent writing and competent acting, I enjoyed spending some time with them.

All in all, you might enjoy spending time with this movie, too. Instant classic? Hell no. Fun waste of time? Hell yes. If you want more Blob for your buck, then step right up.

GGGHalf-G

The Killer Shrews (1959)

The second part of our Ray Kellogg fort night (thank you once again, Nathan) begins with this statement, which has nothing at all to do with the rest of the movie. But whatever. Bad Movie Law states that Our Humble Narrator must say something before the start credits role, even if it’s an unnecessary non sequitur.

The actual story begins with Thorn Sherman (James “Roscoe P. Coltrane” Best)! Hell of a name, isn’t it? Thorn Sherman! Just disserves to be written with an exclamation point, doesn’t it? Thorn Sherman! One of those strong, manly action names like Buck Rogers! or Dirk Pit! Names of manly men who do manly things without a hint of those ugly feminine traits. You know, like emotions.

So Thorn (!) Sherman and his Token Black Dude, Rook (Judge Dupree), are sailing to this deserted island with a cargo full of supplies. Seems there’s this weird scientist who lives on this island and he’s set himself up a nice little spread, far away from humanity. Out here, all alone, nothing but miles and miles of ocean in every direction. No possible way that someone could just happen by to, oh, I don’t know, save their lives. Oh, and did I mention there’s a hurricane on the way? Yep. Both Rook and Thorn (!) can feel it coming with their Sailor-Sense.

Thorn (!) and Rook anchor their boat and row ashore, seeking shelter from the storm. On the beach, they meet Dr. Craigis (Baruch “One of my sperm will soon become Sidney” Lumet), his Hot Scientist Daughter Anne (Ingrid “Former Miss. Universe” Goude, once again proving movie scientists really are trying to create a master race) and a gun-toting, drunk looking assistant named Jerry (Ken “I produced this piece of crap movie” Curtis). Thorn (!) shares news of the storm with Dr. Craig, and we discover that the One Radio on the whole damn island has been broken for some time. Wow. Now they’re completely cut off. Sure would suck if some form of mutant killer monster were to be roaming the island…

Everyone but Rook treks to Dr. Craig’s little island villa, surrounded by an eight foot high picket fence. Thorn (!) doesn’t ask questions. Sure, everyone’s acting a bit strange and Anne keeps jumping at every song she hears. And these people sure are doing strange things to rodents and really sound like they want to leave the island before dark but, hey, why ask questions? Thorn (!) is like that. If it isn’t his business, he doesn’t poke his head in. He even says so, later on. He’s a 50’s man!

Except that all this is about to become his business very soon. It seems Dr. Craig, Jerry, and fellow scientist Dr. Radford Baines (Gordon MacLendon), have been playing around with shrew genetics, trying to do something about the problem of overpopulation. Or some such. They chose shrews because of their rapid reproduction rate (try saying that three times fast) but their experiments have had a few…unforeseen side effects.

Faster than you can say, “Tampering in God’s Domain” Rook (who stayed behind to secure the boat for the approaching hurricane), is chased up a tree by a pack of dogs with lots of fake fur glued onto their backs, with similarly fake tails sticking out of their asses. However, once director Ray Kellogg gives us a shrew close up, you’ll see the Killer Shrews magically transform from dogs with fur glued to their backs to stiff, doll-eyed, fang toothed puppets. It’s magic, man, I tell you what.

So Rook catches a nasty case of dead from the Killer Shrews. Meanwhile, back at Isolated Local Central, Anne and Dr. Craig spill the beans to Thorn (!). Somehow, this strain of giant shrews escaped the lab and began breeding. Since shrews need to eat about twice their body weight everyday to keep their metabolisms going, the Killer Shrews have pretty much depopulated the island’s native wildlife. So the Shrews are looking to rustle up a nice human on rye with a side of fries and a coke. Now just $4.98, please pull up to the next window.

After all was said and done, I turned to my friend and asked her a riddle. “What do you get when you take Night of the Living Dead, fill it with uninteresting characters and tack on a stupid happy ending?”

Answer: The Killer Shrews.

Except that won’t work, really, because Shrews was made in 1959, it’s just the obvious parallel that every review of The Killer Shrews follows…both of them.

Like The Giant Gila Monster, this movie is (in)famous for its <air quotes> special air quotes effects. In this case, the extra harry dogs and their rat puppet counterparts. How do they look? Like harry dog and puppet heads on sticks. And even though so much of this movie is dark (I’ll be damned if I knew how the shrews get through that kitchen window–I had to wait for a character to explain it to me), the scenes with the Head Puppets are always lovingly well lit. Too bad for them.

Acting wise, everyone in the movie gets stuck in that bog of mediocre acting. After this, the highest anyone in the cast would rise is James Bests role in *snort* The Dukes of Hazard. Hell, he’s the only one really worth talking about. Here, best plays Thorn with an off-Southern accent. That, plus the few crumbs the script drops about his past, made me call him a Good Ole Boy more than once.

Thorn seems quite the redneck, yessir, but (despite my better judgment) I found myself…not liking him, exactly. But he does what I would do in this situation: he grabs a gun and tells everyone to shut the hell up. In my case, I would tell everyone to shut up so I could think. I guess Thorn just tells everyone to shut up so he can throw some more bad pick-up lines at Anne or drink copiously in silence.

The rest of the cast is…wait, I said they weren’t worth talking about, didn’t I? Wow, there goes that paragraph. Coolness.

Seriously, though, I think the acting here is better overall than the acting in our last Ray Kellogg picture. Mostly because the actors here are adults playing adults instead of thirty year-olds playing teenagers. Baruch Lumet doesn’t embarrass himself too badly as Dr. Craig, even though the good Doc gets all the pontificating speeches. Everybody else, though…fuck um. Let the shrews take um.

Then we can move on to talk about what really pissed me off about The Killer Shrews. The movie has no brains and no balls. I hate to do this, but I’m going to sully Night of the Living Dead‘s name some more by bringing it out again. It’ll help me show all of you just why Shrews is such a bad movie. Its not because of the mediocre acting. It’s not because of the thrift-shop special effects. It’s not because Our Hero is a dick. Oh, gosh no.

Want to know why Shrews sucks so much? It’s all because Thorn doesn’t kill Jerry.

Halfway through the movie, Thorn beats Jerry senseless because Jerry is an even bigger dick than he is. Climbing a stack of crates, Thorn gets ready to toss Jerry over the side, down into the shrew horde. But, at the last moment, Thorn catches Anne staring at him and her beauty sooths the savage beast. Somewhat.

Had Thorn done his bit of Jerry-tossing, this movie could’ve touched on some very weight subjects, my fine feathered friend. Instead of a movie about a bunch of people trapped in a little house surrounded by killer shrews, this movie could’ve had a damn sight more brains. It could’ve been a movie about just how far a man can go. It could’ve made the audience sit back and think, Damn, would I be able to hold on to my humanity in a similar situation? It could’ve done what horror fiction is supposed to do: scare you. Unnerve you. At least Night had the balls to kill a nice, juicy blond haired-blue eyed white girl. Here, the only people who die are bad guys and ethnic characters…making me wonder if The Killer Shrews is really thinly valid Nazi propaganda.

Yeah, well, if everyone were after you, you’d be paranoid, too.

Half-G

Batman: Mask of the Phantasm (1993)

It's the shadow of the Bat.
It's the shadow of the Bat.

This is more than a good movie: it’s the movie I watch at least once a year to remind myself why I watch movies. Produced by the same writers, directors, composers and cast as Batman: The Animated Series, Mask of the Phantasm is not only the best superhero movie of the 1990s, its easily the gold standard by which to judge all subsequent  superhero films.

Shame the thing isn’t better-known outside of the fan community. It’s unique among superhero movies of its age, both for its faithful importation of material already present in Batman comics and for its deft incorporation of new story elements that add depth and meaning to the source, reinforcing key themes without hitting the audience in the face with some overriding Message or a lot of heavy Exposition. Arguably the most mature American cartoon feature to date, it deals with grand questions of fate, free will and the psychological cost of living in the shadow of one’s past. Plus…it’s frickin’ Batman. Honestly, what’s not to love? Continue reading Batman: Mask of the Phantasm (1993)

Jurassic Park 3 (2001)

I can remember walking out of the first Jurassic Park with a headache and a thought: This movie deserves a sequel. Retrospect allows me to see how very, very wrong I was to even sub-vocalize such sentiments. Jurassic Park, for all its numerous, PG-13, summer-blockbuster flaws, was too good for a sequel. And now it has two to sully its reputation. Two mediocre attempts to recapturing the magic and the wonder that just dripped off the first film…something utterly impossible. And do you want to know why? Want me to tell you? ‘Cuz I will. Just watch me. But first you’ll have to sit through the plot synopsis, and a few paragraphs of my bitching and moaning. (Well, it is what we’re here for, after all.)

We open in the waters of Isla Sorna, The Lost Wrold‘s Site B. As the camera pans over picturesque cliffs the word “restricted” flashes across the bottom of the screen in BOLD RED CAPITALS. This, of course, means nothing to us, and even less to a guy named Ben (Mark Harelik), who’s decided to take his future-stepson, Eric (Trevor Morgan) parasailing over Isla Sorna’s many panoramic coves. After an unseen something-or-other makes a meal of their boat’s crew, Ben and Eric compound their original Bad Idea with a One That Is Still Worse, landing on Isla Sorna, the Worst Vacation Spot on Earth. {More}

Hollow Man (2000)

Filmmed in spooo-ooky vision.As a character, the Invisible Man never really had much going for him. I’m mean, sure, you’re invisible. Then what? I know we’ve all had a masturbatory fantasy or two about then what, but what about after that? Well, Christ on a crutch, if you ever get to that point, don’t you dare do as Kevin Bacon did.

H.G. Welles Invisible Man is another in a long line of classic SF novel Universal Pictures dumbed down during their horror heyday, back in the 1940s. Paul Verhoeven’s Hollow Man obviously started dumb, needing no help from its studio’s dumbing down department. It’s pretty obvious that, as with so many other pictures these days, Hollow Man is an excuse to show off some, admittedly damn cool, invisible man effects…and that’s about all. But the question remains: What the hell do you do with your invisible man?

Back up with me a bit. Sebastian Caine (Kevin Bacon) is a brilliant scientist. (Yes, we’re supposed to except Kevin Bacon as a brilliant scientist. May I continue?) When he’s not trying to catch a glimpse of his hot lady neighbor, Sebastian holds court in his secret, underground, government-funded lab. There, Sebastian’s toiling away at his secret underground government-funded invisibility project,  and as the movie opens, Sebastian finally crosses the last big hurtle: how to make an invisible subject visible again. With this, he shall rule the world and declare his reign the Empire of Invisible Man the–

Wait, wait. No. Getting ahead of ourselves again. With this, he and the rest of his team go out and celebrate. W find that Sebastian and team member Linda McKay (Elizabeth Shue) have a little history together. A history Sebastian dearly wishes to repeat. But the lovely Elizabeth has other ideas. Unbeknownst to Sebastian, she’s shagging with team member Matt (Josh Brolin). All of this soap opera will factor into the plot, eventually. Hell, you’ll even be able to figure out how. The movie will be kind enough to telegraph this (and many other plot developments) right into your brain. Oh the miraculous powers of Movie Science!

So the Intrepid Scientists make a breakthrough. Do they immediately rush to the military men in charge, trumpeting their success to the four winds, thus squeezing God-only-knows how much more money out of the Military-Industrial Complex? Of course not. Sebastian has other plans: he wants to be the world’s first invisible man. Which is great and all. Who wouldn’t? But shouldn’t there be, say…rigorous psychological screening processes involved in choosing Project Invisible’s first human text subject?

Ah, but if there were, there would be no story here. So Sebastian turns invisible. Everything’s fine, at first. Even a little fun for him, and for the audience (who are, after all, only here for this bit of the picture). But when the reversion procedure nearly kills him, Sebastian is forced to stay invisible for days…and weeks…and he…

Well, I’m sure you can see where this is going. The only place it can go, really. H.G. Wells made “invisibility drives people insane,” the premiere SF law that it is today. If they aren’t insane to begin with, being see-through sure takes care of that, and while Sebastian Caine may be many things, “stable” is certainly not one of them.

That’s the whole point of the movie: its the old Ring of Gyges again. Power in the wrong hands can be a really bad thing…and who among us fragile, fallible human beings has the right pair of hands for a power such as this? The film makes sure we know Sebastian right off for the flamboyant, cocky, don’t-you-just-want-to-punch-him bastard he is. Being invisible only reinforces these tendencies of personality. And while it might’ve been nice to see a bit of simple human decency from our Mr. Caine, at least he’s a consistent bastard all the way through.  Had Sebastian started out as aw-shucks kinda guy and then gone psycho I would’ve been particularly pissed. Absolute power doesn’t corrupt unless those worms Pink Floyd talked about have already eaten your soul away…and we all know they’ve taken Sebastian’s. After all, look at the damn title: it’s right there, smacking us upside the face. He’s a hollow man, see. There’s nothing in him but bastard.

No, the fact that invisibility turns Sebastian into a raving loony is fine and dandy. What I object to is what happens after he turns into a raving loony. So you have an invisible man, right? What do you do with him? Over the years I have never seen a more contrived answer than the one this movie presents.

I’m going to give most of the ending away, but fuck it. So Sebastian eventually comes to terms with himself as the Invisible Man through the healing power of megalomania. To this end, he lives out what Paul Verhoeven believes to be the logical conclusion of all those fantasies I mentioned a few paragraphs back, doing unsavory (off-screen) things to his neighbor (the hot babe). Sebastian then spies Linda and Matt making the Beast With Two Backs. This drives Sebastian through the dead end of Sexual Homicide Avenue, right into that broad thoroughfare of Revenge Killing Street. Figuring the only way to be an Invisible Man in a visible world is to kill everyone who knows his dirty little secret, Sebastian murders the Army CO in charge of Project Invisible, and traps his research team in the project’s underground lair.

So. We’ve got five people trapped in a secluded area, stalked by a superpowered mad man who proceeds to knock them off one by one in various unsavory ways. During this sequence, our group of supposedly-intelligent scientists separates five times, tries various means to kill their superpower assailant, and generally regress to the level of blithering idiots. In other words, for the last thirty minutes, Hollow Man morphs into the most expensive slasher movie in history.

Which is not to say Hollow Man it’s all bad. In fact, up until the aforementioned last thirty minutes, I was rather enjoying myself. It’s that enjoyment which really makes the aforementioned last thirty minutes sting. For starters, Kevin Bacon is the consummate cocky bastard. Is charismatic cocky bastard too strong a term? If so, who cares? Fact is: I almost got to like Sebastian Caine. He seemed like an okay guy, as cocky bastard Scientists go, and his turn toward Evil Town feels like the last desperate act of a screenwriter who panicked and took the off-ramp after realizing he might barrel straight into Interesting Charactersville.

For example, Elizabeth Shue is certainly easy on the eyes, but her character isn’t what I’d call deep…just look at her. Actually, that’s no excuse. But here’s one: her character (along with the rest of Sebastian’s research team) is grossly underwritten. Her past with Sebastard is only barely sketched out, and I’m wondering what she could’ve ever seen in the guy. How, in fact, does anyone put up with his unrepentantly dickish behavior? If the characters weren’t so one note, I might be able to answer some of these questions. But it writers Andrew Marlowe and Gary Scott Thompson sent their creative energy. Bet you didn’t know they had any, but…well, it’s a lot like Kevin Bacon…you can’t see it, but it’s there. Ba-dum-tish.

"Does this mask make my lips look fat?"Not surprisingly, the best thing about this movie is its visuals, and sue me to the poor house but I’ve always enjoyed the work of  Paul Verhoven. I worship Robocop, Total Recall is my idea of a good time, and hell, even Showgirls has boobies. With all that, I expected a bit more from Paul than few CGI shots of Kevin Bacon’s skin disappearing.

Let’s be honest with ourselves: these are the best Invisible Man effects to date. They’re great stuff. But they can’t carry the picture. And Tall Paul can’t really turn this into the Slasher move he so desperately wants it to be. It just lacks a certain something…what’s that called? Oh, righ. It’s called originality. Man, where is my head, eh? Yes, that originality thing. It’s almost as annoying as that plot thing, in that people keep demanding it in their movies. If we’d just shut up about it, Hollywood could keep turning out its cookie-cutter retreads in peace.

Hollow Man is this close to being good. Hell, as it stands, the movie’s almost decent. Great special effects and a decent cast. But instead of trying something new, Hollow Man circles the same drain most of the SF genre seems rearing to dive down. Future directors, take heed: once you have your invisible man, do whatever you want with him…just don’t make him chase Final Girl’s down. Spoiler Alert: he’ll loose. Every time.

GG

Masters of the Universe (1987)

He's just thinking about kicking Jean-Claude Van Damme's ass.You remember He-Man, right? Of course you do. If you were anywhere between the ages of 3-14 during the 80s then you couldn’t spit without hitting (buy) He-Man (stuff). That steroid driven bastard was everywhere. You could find He-Man in toy stores, on TV, on T-shirts. Lunchboxes. Shorts. Shoes. Socks. Underwear. I even remember my cousin had a talking He-Man toothbrush holder. I can still hear its creepy, mechanical voice to this day. “I’m He-Man! I’m strong as can be! And I brush my teeth! With reg-u-larity!” {More}

Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000 (2000)

A monument to our civilization.Far-Right Fellow Traveler Michael Medved, a radio host and former PBS movie critic, famously declared Ed Wood’s Plan 9 From Outer Space the “worst” movie ever made. This, to the best of my knowledge, is the only true statement Medved’s made since falling into the clutches of now-Vice President Dick Cheney, back in the late-70s when Cheney was mere Chief of Staff to President Ford. Hopefully Battlefield: Earth’s mind-numbing atrociousness will send the insidious alien symbiote posing as Medved’s mustache into some form of toxic shock, finally freeing the poor man’s mind. He’ll stop writing stupid books about the “War on Traditional Values.” Because if he doesn’t, I might just have to declare a few nonsensical wars of my own…

How about a War on Scientology? Like any good disease, L. Ron Hubbard’s pseudo-religion dissevers to be eradicated with a full frontal assault, complete with Concerned Parent Groups and hearings before Senate Committees. Only this can prevent another Battlefield: Earth from polluting the planet’s imagination.

Sometimes I do things that most people, normal people, would consider deliriously stupid. Stupidity so grand that, if any of my friends were to witness it, I’d full expect them to look at me sideways and shout, “What the fuck are you doing?” {More}