You Can't Slow Any Faster Than This...

FASTER is the movie everyone wanted to see The Rock in after he went marshmallows and took up some goofy roles that questioned his validity to give dirty looks and sport tattoos.

On the bad ass motherfucker scale, he doesn’t disappoint. He’s so tough that he hardly has any dialogue. I think he probably said a max of 50 words during the almost 2 hour movie. It’s nice when your anti-hero just shuts the fuck up and destroys everything in sight.

The jest of the story is that Mr. Rock, his brother and a couple others did a bank heist. Another crew found out about it, cornered them and things went all Costa Rican.

Mr. Rock’s brother went to bed with a slit throat and The Rock himself won a bullet to the head. Movie magic made it possible for that bullet to miss his brain and shoot out his cheek bone. Since Mr. Rock survived, he got a prison term for robbery.

Horary Justice.

Faster forward and he’s out of prison, violently hunting down everyone that had to do with his brother’s demise and the reason he’s forever setting off metal detectors, because of a big steel plate in his head.

This is all fun and games but it gets old faster than a priest can convince an alter boy that he should let God feel him up.

The film also stars former Angelina Jolie taste tester, Billy Bob Thorton. He plays a down and out detective assigned to the case. He’s not only battling an uphill struggle for capturing the Rock, but he’s also fighting a drug addiction problem, a bitchy ex-wife problem and a kid who’s battling obesity and losing problem.

Thorton has always been good at playing a low life loser so he twitches and stumbles through out the movie until the final scene that’s supposed to be a twist of M. Night Shamalam-a-ding- dong proportions. Which it’s not, but then again neither are M. Night movies anymore. No harm no foul.

There’s also some guy in the movie that’s really impressed with himself and likes to do yoga and kill people. So he chases The Rock around while having therapy sessions with his psychiatrist over the phone and tries to convince his girlfriend she should marry him so he has a wife to fuck over.

The movie tries to be deep and touch on the microcosms of the main characters personal lives as well as the self imprisonment of revenge and the serenity of surrendering, redemption and forgiveness.

But you know what? I can hear all that in church, and church is free. So when I let my girlfriend put down her hard earned money to pay for my movie experience I expect violence, action and narcissistic behavior. Not some kum by yah my lord Homily.

Faster started out great and then prematurely ejaculated leaving me with someone lying on the bed just wanting to talk. Yawn.

2 Donkey Punches out of 5.

Skyline Movie Review

SKYLINE is the epitome of a crap movie. It illustrates that yes, we’ve come to the end of the line here folks, it can’t get any worse. Sure, there’s a lot of eye candy. But just like real candy decays your teeth, this candy eats away at your mental capacity.

This flick rips off every movie in its genre and it burrows from Signs on two fronts. First the whole “water” concept and second, when you leave the movie you’ll be foaming at the mouth like Mel Gibson.

The basic rundown of the movie is as follows, and while I’m going to include the ending, it shouldn’t be referred to as a SPOILER so much as a WARNING about the movie’s outright ridiculousness.

Set in L.A., the story follows 4 young, hip industry people that are partying it up at a Marina Del Rey high rise. This part of the movie was the most believable because it shows what L.A. is best known for; The Douchebag Lifestyle.

The 4 malcontents pass out and wake up to a pretty blue light. The light is equivalent to an Angelfish’s bioluminescence which is used solely for the purpose of attracting it’s dinner. Thousands of Angelenos fall for the blue light special and get whisked away. Our 4 hero’s avoid the trap and decide to flee the city.

This doesn’t work out so well because there seems to be a merry band of interplanetary marauders terrorizing the city streets and contributing to horrible commute times. There’s giant monsters and evil octopus’s out sucking up old people, pissy people and the token black guy. No one is safe.

I’d say that judging by how bad the aliens fucked up the city and their disdain for it’s residents, they probably came here to vote for Meg Whitman, only they showed up about 8 days late.

ANYWAY…

The crew retreat’s back to the high rise and spend the next hour running around, hiding, screaming and blowing shit up while speaking in Spanish which I’m sure even our galactic invader’s were pissed to hear because they came to America to hear their victims scream in English god damn it.

Finally the body count is down to two. Boyfriend and girlfriend who is pregnant. Nothing is killing these invaders off, not even nukes, so they give in and go to the blue light in the sky.

Once in the ship, it’s clear that these E.T.’s are lousy housekeepers. The place is a mess and there’s corpses everywhere just like dust bunnies. Random humans get picked up and their brains are extracted and ran through a tube into the aliens hungry little mouths.

Now if the movie had any type of metaphorical merit, it was this scene. It reflected exactly what was happening to the audience, our brains were being sucked right the fuck out of our heads by way of a stupidity vacuum.

The boyfriend gets his brain sucked out but his is a Jedi brain and it overtakes one of the alien bodies enabling him to make an even bigger mess of the already trashed ship and caress his pregnant girlfriend with his alien claw.

And that’s where the movie (and my patience) abruptly ends.

If I had to conjecture on the story’s epilogue, I’d say that pregnant girlfriend and alien boyfriend went to go live in Johannesburg with that guy from District 9 since he has similar problems and they could probably be a good support unit for one another. And should you choose to see this movie, you’ll be needing a good support group afterwards as well.

0 Donkey Punches out of 5

A New Attitude

As most of you know I’ve been out of work for one day shy of a month. For those of you that are just now finding this out, well, we’re all caught up.

Most of my days are Bukowskian without all the sex with ugly chicks. I write and drink which is both bad and good depending on how drunk or sober one might be when judging the situation.

I haven’t bothered looking for work because I know nothings out there. But once in a while I still reply to the occasional want ad. Although I noticed that my reply is a lot different than in my younger days.

Back then I was adamant about trying to put my best foot forward and prove to a would be employer my absolute ductility and desirability in wanting to be another cow in a faceless herd only to end up the main course on some CEO’s dinner plate.

Things seem to be a bit different now. Below is the ad and my response.

Hi I'm looking for writers who are funny. Someone who can write quick short and hilarious material having to do with African American interest. I would love to meet as many writers as I can and read over some of your work. most of this content will be post on a celebrity blog that is very successful. -----meaning a lot of eyes on your work. Hey if your interested just reply to this email Attach a few pages of your work and I will be in contact. Office is located at the Hollywood Production Center so its local.

Here's my submission showing off my writing skills or lack thereof. It's a review of the movie Jennifer's Body and even though that has nothing to do with African Americans, in a way it does and this is why; Anything that has to do with white people and bad movies almost never involves African Americans. White people like to be terrible on their own accord if possible. It's true, just read your history book (preferably one that wasn't written by a white person...if you can find such a relic).

While I don't have a lot of dealings in African American culture, I did date a black woman for several months last year and I'm almost positive that she'll help me with any pitfalls I may experience along the way should you make the mistake of hiring me for the chump change you're probably paying for this gig.

Beings that I'm responding to this want ad late further solidifies that I'm a true writer because 1.) I have no sense of urgency. 2.) I just got internet at home and have spent the past 48 hours non stop on youporn & I've been drinking...heavily.

While this might be a red flag for you, I'd like to point out that my shrink told me that most writers spend their days being drunk, masturbating and procrastinating.

So even if you disagree with my self delusion that I'm a writer, you can't disagree with someone that not only has a degree, but also a lot of my money for telling me something my own mother went hoarse with rage from screaming at me during my entire adolescent years.

Anyway, I got off track, here's the review. No farm animals were hurt in the making of it, only shaved...

Paranormal Activity 2

When I saw the 1st Paranormal Activity it had it’s moments. But it wasn’t until after I got home and laid alone in my apartment that the movie really did it‘s magic. It’s creep effectiveness had to do with the things that happen around one when they are at their most vulnerable. Asleep, unaware and unprotected.

Suffice to say, I had trouble sleeping the next couple nights much akin to the way you’d probably have a hard time getting drunk around people you call “friends” after you see the Polaroid pictures of the last time you passed out in their company and they all put their cocks around your wide open mouth while you slept helpless on the floor.

So I wasn’t surprised at my apprehension the sequel’s effect may have on me.

Verdict: Yawn.

The director or editor did a great job in making the scenes organic and establishing characters, yet the whole “getting to know your cast” seemed so naturally done that I felt like I was watching mundane home videos of an anonymous boring family I couldn’t care less about.

With this new version there was also the use of simultaneous multiple camera views which at times bestowed upon me the unwanted role of feeling like I was a low paid security guard on watch detail during the graveyard shift in a gated community complex. When I left the theater I was looking for a time clock to punch my hours into.

The time it took to start the “paranormal activity” from a minor nuisance into a malevolent intruder was wearing. The intense moments either relied on something already done in the first movie (the female protagonist getting dragged around by an invisible specter or going into a “trance”). Or burrowed some M. Night tricks ( the cupboard scene from 6th sense or the baby walkie talkie scene from Signs).

Maybe the walkie talkie was picking up Alien transmissions that were stating this installment of the franchise was way disappointing even in a galaxy light years away.

Whatever the case may be, it was a bore but still left room for a 3rd chapter.

The writers were inventive in tying this episode in with its predecessor making it a sequel, prequel and real time parallel synched up with the first original victims that made you say “Ah ha!“ As well as “So what?”

The real test came later that night. I thought about the flick to see if it’d freak me out, I was asleep in seconds.

SO last night I watched the original, hoping to relive that nostalgic tension of yesteryear. I also had the 7 yr. old watch it with me in the hopes of at least being scared by proxy since it was a viewing with an unfamiliar viewer.

All that came to fruition from that excursion is a kid that now refuses to sleep while I’m trying to.

Bummer, just like the sequel

Grin & Bear It

My girlfriend has a 7 year old son named Robear that goes by the moniker Bear. He’s 3 ½ ft tall weighing in at 40lbs. Yet what he lacks in body mass he compensates for in personality and panache.

Bear is brilliant and possesses an amazing amount of comedic intuition. That intuition however, is impartial when it comes to appropriate and inappropriate times to share it.

Case in point: When his mother and I picked him up from school last week his teacher said he was in trouble. Homeboy looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown akin to Howard Hughes proportions.

“What’d he do?”

“This,” handing over a half colored picture of Sponge Bob holding a cigar or rocket directly aligned with his backside.

We didn’t see any outright infraction other than the half done coloring job. But maybe procrastination and indolence is tantamount to bringing guns to school these days or threatening to vote Republican when you’re of age.

His teacher could tell we were puzzled so she turned the paper over, exposing the damning evidence of Bear’s vulgar tendencies…and comedic genius.

“Look at my ass” were the flipside’s caption. I could actually hear Sponge Bob begging me to do so.

Containing my laughter the entire walk home whilst his mother admonished him was a futile attempt. Once I gained composure, I had 3.5 questions for him.

“ What’s that thing pointing at his butt and did you draw it?”

“ I don’t know what it is, and no, I didn’t draw it, it came like that.”

“Looks like a V-I-A-B-R-A-T-O-R.” I said in parental Morse Code to his mother.

“You always write sloppy, why is THIS perfectly legible?”

“I took my time because it was funny.”

I had to admire his ability to merge image and humor in a situation that the marriage of those two wasn’t intended. His sagacious answer left me with no retort. So, like any adult thumped by a child’s dry logic, I asked another question.

“Where’d you learn to spell this word?” Referring to “ASS”.

“Another kid helped me with it.”

I thought we were savvy on the word ASS. Then he pointed to the word “AT”.

“He crossed the ‘t’ for me.”

“You had an editor?”

“What’s an editor?”

“Never mind.”

“When he got finished helping me he gave the picture to my teacher and I got in trouble.”

Entrapment is a bitch as are creative partnerships that quickly disintegrate, leaving one with glory and the other in the failed ashes of misinterpreted artistic intentions. He was learning at least two valuable lessons today.

“Where’d you learn the word ’ASS’?”

“Oh. The movie you gave me, KICK-ASS”

I countered with irony.

“Where’s your responsibility? You agreed not to say that word out loud.”

“I didn’t SAY it.”

I was negotiating with Ganghis Khan.

He and I both shared the blame. But I didn’t shake him down. He’s going to curse, it’s a rite of passage.

I was sent to Catholic school in the hopes I’d be insulated from the harsh language of the world. Within my first month I was asking God to help me refrain from saying the word SHIT, FAG & BITCH all the time, all learned on God’s wholesome playground.

So I gave Bear a talk about making good decisions. I informed him that in the real world we have to choose our words wisely. Spoken and written.

He understood that notion, promising to use better judgment in any future endeavors on the page or otherwise.

I in turn told him we could create a character (during non curricular hours) in a comic strip environment that could use bad words depending on context and situation. He liked my attempt at “positive correction”.

ALL potential starts out raw, it’s what we do as parents that make it a talent or shame the child wears on their sleeve.

Jennifer's Body

I was recently in my Netflix que and Jennifer’s Body was suggested for me. I became offended, wondering if there was THAT much evidence in the movies I watched that would suggest I’d request something as intuitively bad as Jennifer’s Body. The answer in one word is yes.

So it arrived and I popped it in with a less than eager audience of my girlfriend who surprisingly enjoyed the flick with me. Here’s why you may or may not like it yourself:

It’s written by Diablo Codi. Codi’s famous for writing a story about a pompous teenage girl who smokes a pipe, gets knocked up by a geek and has uncomfortable moments with Jason Bateman in the movie Juno.

Jennifer’s Body is about another pompous teenage girl that has tits the size of melons, a brain that would shame a mule and who ends up the human sacrifice of a satanic band looking for fame and fortune by way of a blood ritual to Beelzebub.

Things don’t go exactly as planned and young Jennifer ends up possessed as a bloodsucker.

The film also has the usual teenage elements thrown in such as school, social pressures, boys and lots of indie music that lives up to it’s reputation of totally sucking balls.

Jennifer is played by Megan Fox whose 15 minutes are down to a solid 4 ½. The movie has other actors that you couldn’t give two shits about.

The important thing here is Megan Fox. There’s even a scene with her making out with another girl (oh yeah!) but the other girl is a geek so it’s a total boner flop in the pool of retarded sexuality (oh no!).

But watching Fox exude eroticism, narcissism and gore tinged cruelty is enough to justify the 90 minutes of your life you won’t get back. I’m sure that in time this movie will be given the title Cult Classic. Which means you’ll watch it even though you know it’s going to suck.

Like I said, it was fun. I didn’t expect much and got exactly that in return. There were also some LOL moments in the film. The best being when the satanic band was getting ready to sacrifice Jennifer.

My only gripe is the dialogue’s lame attempt at trying to be ultra-cool. My girlfriend even asked “Do teens really talk like that?” at which I said “No, Diablo Codi just tries too hard to be cool with what she writes. Coming across as the over 40 divorce’ sleeping with her teenage daughter’s boyfriends so she can feel relevant“.

But it’s not supposed to be a serious movie so who cares? I watched it, liked it and wrote about it. That’s gotta count for something, even though I’m still trying to figure out what that something is.

If you want some slutty Megan Fox, humor, bad music, tense moments, awkward sex, violence and vampires then pick it up. It is Halloween after all.

2 Donkey Punches out of a possible 5.