Storage Wars (TV EDITION)

It is common practice to sit back straight thumbs up after having your wisdom teeth removed. If you lay down on your back, the blod clots at the excavation sites could come loose and choke you to death. As you lay on the ground writhing for oxygen amidst the congealed blood stuck in your windpipe, you can't help but think, "Was it worth it all?" Well, I have no reason to even contemplate this future for myself because I am quite content sitting straight up. I am watching one of the most important shows of our generation, some would call it the televisual equivalent of Born to Run. This show is, of course, Storage Wars.

I've never reviewed a TV show before. This is new, unexplored territory like the Falkland Islands or a Black Hole. This show, a partially scripted, partial reality program follows five different entrepreneurs as they navigate the ever shifting roads of abandoned storage unit auctions. These people are Dave Hester, the son of a bitch who is often portrayed as the antagonist. If this were a movie about friends reuniting after a long period of time, Dave would definitely be the friend who sold out early on in his life to work for his girlfriend's father at the local car dealership. He is confrontational and flaunts his arrogant personality. There is Jarrod and Brandi, the young couple who constantly argue like a pair of old farts. This couple brings the much needed sexual tension to an already masculine dominated show. I'm almost certain that after a long day of bidding at auctions, Brandi rocks Jarrod's world. Just saying, she seems like kind of a sloot. Then we have Darrell, a big neo-Nazi looking goon. Actually, Darrell seems like a hooker with a heart of gold, except this hooker is actually a former Hell's Angel. Every time you see Darrell at an auction, you want him to just go ape shit and start beating someone's face in, but he doesn't because he would go to prison for breaking his probation. Finally, we have my personal favorite: Barry Weiss. This man is the pimp daddy of storage warriors. He is an old geezer whose age is actually yet to be determined. He acts like a wise guy and he talks like a 30 year old porn star. He is the kind of guy who shows up to an auction with Kenny Roger's son just for shits and giggles. I bet he pounds girls 10 years younger then him on the regular. I wouldn't be surprised if Brandi and Barry don't smash after the cameras turn off.

I do take some problems with the show, however. After every storage unit is sold and the items inside are inspected, the warriors take their special pieces to different authorities to figure out a price. Whenever they visit these experts, the price given is added to the total value the warrior has made from the storage unit. Whenever the expert gives a price range, the higher of the two prices are added to the value. Sometimes the ranges are as big as $400-$700 and the $700 is the added value. THIS IS HORSESHIT! What happens if the prospective buyer only gives $400? Then that means the warrior doesn't make a $350 profit off of the $350 storage unit he bought; it only means he made a $50 profit. This is outlandish. If anyone understood what I just wrote, you are not outlandish. What is outlandish?

Also, rumors have spread that producers plant special items in the storage units to give the show more appeal or allow for more opportunities to cut to commercial break with a cliffhanger. And guess what, Estonia? I don't believe a single rumor. America has a collective of crazy people who hoard crazy shit in their storage lockers and forget about them. I mean, seriously, can't someone collect hood ornaments worth thousands of dollars and not remember that they are in there? 

Well, time for another Vicodin fix. Bye.

Swingers (Special Wisdom Teeth Edition)

The relationship culture of contemporary times has changed greatly from the courteous, chivalrous courtings of early man. Back in the day, men would give gifts and offer sacrifices to the gods in exchange for the hand of a woman (or young girl) in marriage. This symbolized the great debt to which they owed the gods for the love of such a fine lady. Once the man owned the lady, he would entrust her with his estate. She became the housewife, the landlady, the keeper of the castle. Then when the man died, she would thrust herself onto the pyre and take her own life so that she could be with the man she loved, both in life and in death. Today's romance culture is all about getting it in. You go out to a bar and find the drunkest girl at the party and try to get some. If you're lucky, she brings a friend a long. For the dude or girl looking for something a little more longer lasting, you get their phone number and text them at odd hours of the night with phrases like "You up?" "Come over and say hi" "I'm so bored" "Maybe we should chill in a little". As I sit on my couch, generic store brand peas strapped to my balloon cheeks and apple sauce drizzling down the front of my shirt, I wonder what my wisdom teeth are doing right now? Are they happy now that they can live a life of freedom, maybe see the world, maybe catch a movie? Do they miss me? Is I a good mouth? How long does Vicodin last? Is it easy to obtain? But these are merely the questions of children. The real question is "How good is Swingers?" The answer, faithful plebeians, is money.
What can be said about Doug Lyman's Swingers? To say that it sparked a cult following is not enough. To say that it embodies the spirit of every young man trying to make it big is not enough. Swingers is a film about growth, redemption, and the power of a strong personality. Mike (Jon Favreau) and Trent (Vince Vaughn) are two 20 something unemployed actors trying to make it big in Los Angeles. Along with their friends Rob (Ron Livingston), Sue (Patrick Van Horn), and Charles (Alex Desert), the group chugs their way along the nightlife of L.A. in search of parties, "beautiful babies", and stardom. Mike is coming out of a difficult relationship and always brings his troubles with him to parties. This makes for some very funny moments including one scene in which he leaves twenty disturbing messages on a woman's answering machine. Filled with themes that strike at any rising star's heart, Swingers is a movie for the ages.
This movie is so exceptional because of its dialogue. The ways in which Trent tries to explain the female persona or the proper way in which to return a girl's phone call are mesmerizing. Vince Vaughn is perfect for this role and his future roles are clearly building of his role as Trent. Jon Favreau plays an excellent Mike. Mr. Favreau is an actor whose droopy, affected voice screams Mommy problems. He is a scarred man and he plays it nicely. (WHAT A GREAT FUCKING REVIEW SO FAR!)
But there is an oasis in the desert of despair and that is The Dresden. Located in L.A. on some fuckin street, The Dresden is the hangout for the group. After a night of rejection and piss, this is the one place the group can retire to and feel like royalty. Of course, it is full of old people, but that does not tarnish the feeling the group gets when they enter.
I love this movie because it ends on such a good note. The kind of note you get when you know that shit has been going on all day, but something happens and you just finally figure out it will end up good. It's that kind of note. Yeah, that kind of note. Well, I have totally forgotten what I'm writing about. Oh, yeah Swingers. Good movies, check it out. Really low budget film, but it's got a deep message. Keep your friends close, but keep your friends closer.

Midnight in Paris

Woody Allen's latest film (well not latest, he does have a new Italian movie coming) Midnight in Paris has proven to me a fact that I now find immutable and it will come to the dislike of engineers, biologists, chemists, biochemists, chemical engineers, and biochemical engineers of the world. The plain and simple truth is that the arts matter. So what if great literature can't save a mother of two from breaking both arms? Who cares that Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro didn't stop that dude from having sex with a monkey and making AIDS a real thing? Would Norman Rockwell's Reading in Bed have actually cured Christopher Reeve's paralyzation? The answer to all of those questions is absolutely not (I hope so at least). And now the eyes are rolling on every reader of this blog as questions arise like "Yeah! But what the fuck does a painting have to do with a bodily function!?!?" or "How can you even compare the two, you fucking moron?!?!?" And my answer to that is EXACTLY! You can't compare the two because they have their own realms of possibility in our world. Could Robert Jarvik make The Shawshank Redemption? No, but he made the artificial heart and that is damn impressive. The Shawshank Redemption, and Norman Rockwell's paintings, and Mozart's music all have their contributions to society as well. They give some enjoyment to the boring, monotonous cycle we call life. How often do you listen to music when you study for a test? How many times do you put the TV on while you're doing homework? Suck it Charlie! This is damn good writing now!
Midnight in Paris tells the story of screenwriter Gil (Owen Wilson) who is visiting Paris with his fiance (Rachel McAdams) and her parents. Feeling unfulfilled with his style of writing, Gil decides to walk around Paris in the evening alone and without a guide. During one midnight walk, Gil is approached by an antique car where the occupants invite him in. Little does Gil know, he has stepped into a time machine and is driven back to 1920's Paris. There he runs into the artist powerhouses of the era including Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Cole Porter, and Gertrude Stein. Through his repeated interactions with The Greats, Gil becomes a more competent and impressive writer.
I was a big fan of Whatever Works because of its message: do what makes you happy. But Midnight in Paris gives an even simpler, and quite frankly much less original , moral in a far more entertaining way: be happy with what you have. Gil's mortal flaw is that he can't find happiness in his own time period and that is what drives him to the 1920s every night. But when he is transported back to the 19th century one night, he realizes that there is more to life then just pleasing yourself. I run the risk of sounding corny, but the grass does seem greener on the other side. It is Woody Allen's twisted, neurotic humor that contorts that age old adage into something that can be appreciated in our contemporary time.
Gil asks Ernest Hemingway to read his manuscript and Hemingway replies "I hate it". When Gil mentions that Hemingway never even read it, Hemingway declares "if it's bad, I'll hate it. If it's good, then I'll be envious and hate it even more. You don't want the opinion of another writer". I see this as the relationship between the humanities and the sciences and mathematics. Neither wants to admit the other sometimes makes a good point, a lot like Democrats and Republicans.  A mutual respect needs to begin to develop between the two disciplines. This is not a pro-art blog, nor is it an anti-everything else blog. I am pro-human. Now everyone hug.

Air Force One

There have been a number of films made that typify the American way of life. We will beat you at your own game, always (The Karate Kid Part 2). Our youth get shit done (Big). Our women are fearless (any porno). The United States is a country of strength and nation of purpose. From the top down, every inch of the good ole USA fights for truth, honor, and security. Our troops abroad do it without even knowing the majority of the people they are fighting for. Do you really think Obama knows every American? No way! But he still continues to run this country because he is American (I'm positive of this) and it is his duty as one. And if Obama was in the same situation as President James Marshall in Air Force One then I think he would strangle and mince up every Russian nationalist that tried touching him or Michelle or even his stupid dog. 

Air Force One is exactly that: a President aboard Air Force One trying to eliminate Kazakh terrorists and their leader, the highly renowned wizard, Sirius Black. No actually, the actor is Gary Oldman. Anyway, after terrorists board the plane in a way that makes me seriously doubt the effectiveness of the TSA, they eliminate all of the Secret Service on board in what seems like a scene ripped out of The Godfather. Shouldn't the men who are in charge of protecting the President of the United States of America always be on alert. I swear one of them got shot through the glasses just like Moe Green. Somehow, the terrorists take over the plane and manage to kill or capture everyone they were supposed to, EXCEPT THE FUCKING PRESIDENT. Luckily, America voted for a former military man and Marshall uses his skills to go after the baddies. 

Two things strike me about this movie: the spirit of America and the soul of America. What is the difference you might ask? Well, shit if I know. So let me rephrase this. Ford gives a knockout performance as a working class man who just wants to protect his family. Strip him of his title as leader of the free world, strip him of his Secret Service protection, strip him of his damn plane...he is just a man looking to protect his property (Air Force One) and his family (his family). As Americans, we work hard for what we have today. Our parents worked hard and their parents worked hard. If that means strutting around with an MP5 and putting rounds in men from a country that used to hold the most nuclear missiles in the world, well then so be it. And I think that each of our parents would do the same thing for us if we were kidnapped by Soviet nationalists. I can name at least one man who would decimate an entire nation in order to save his boy...John Rambo. 

Who would have thought? Air Force One is just a metaphor for the American Dream. Hey, Glenn Close is in the movie and she is the Vice President. Wow! What'll they think of next? In closing, I want to leave you readers with one last bit. The next time the world has got you down or if you are in the Middle East combatting threats to our security just stick your fist to the air and give a big, loud, American.....(click here)

Hard to Kill

Steven Seagal is easily the hardest working person in show business. When he's not busy keeping New Orleans safe or developing energy drinks, he's kicking kicking some serious ass in his movies. In all honesty, the man just exhumes douchbaggery. He's a martial arts master, a musician, a PETA humanitarian, and a Buddhist. Wow, he really wanted to cover all the bases. Well a man as well versed in such a cluster fuck of arts must be a great actor, right? Totally right! I have never viewed an actor who takes his job so seriously despite the film's level of absurdity. In Hard to Kill, Seagal was hard to turn away from.

As one of the most nonsensically named characters of all time, Seagal plays Mason Storm. Storm is a cop who uncovers corruption at the highest levels of state government and at the lowest levels of the police force. In retaliation, some corrupt cops kill Storm's hot, supple breasted wife and put Storm into a seven year coma. When he finally wakes up looking like the man who kidnapped Elizabeth Smart, Storm embarks on a mission of revenge with his nurse (Kelly Lebrock) to massacre those who wronged him. Think Tuesdays with Morrie meets Kill Bill.

This movie casted two actors who dominated two decades. Lebrock murdered the 80s with Weird Science and The Woman in Red and Seagal would go on to destroy the 90s with Under Siege and a whole arsenal of straight to VHS movies. Their on screen chemistry is reminiscent of the Hippo and the Oxpecker bird. Seagal kills as many people in this movie as hippos do per year (the total is 2,900 deaths) and Lebrock chills on the side trying to clean him up with her tongue. I know, hot right? Even though Lebrock's character essentially kept Storm alive for seven years, he still acts pissed off whenever she says something stupid, much like a brother-sister relationship. A brother whose wife died and now kisses his sister....um. Yeah.

We can applaude Seagal and Lebrock all we want in this film, but the real credit goes to the ballsy Mr. Steven McKay. Who the fuck is Steven McKay you ask? He is the genius behind the one liners and dialogue of Hard to Kill. It takes a lot of guts to put on a stupid costume, but it takes even more guts to risk your career writing gems like these. What I was really impressed with was the level of maturity that Seagal delivered these lines. He proclaimed them like they were legitimate statements.

Hard to Kill shows us that films do not need to abide by genre standards. Film can poke fun at itself, it can accentuate the irreverent and exploit the unrealistic. At the end of the day, you will still be rooting for Seagal to break arms and legs and stick pool cues in bad guys necks no matter how stupid his monotone voice sounds. Because if you can't cheer for a man who bodyguards the Dalai Lama, well you just aren't living.

Safe House

Have you ever felt like you're working in a dead end job? No room for advancement? No opportunity to really make a difference? Well you are either a telemarketer or you work for the CIA as a safe house operator. But as soon as Denzel Washington appears at your front door, you've become the most important person in the country (literally, if Denzel Washington showed up to your telemarketing job then you would become very popular). Well Denzel does show up to a CIA safe house in non other then the film Safe House. His presence there makes lowly operative Ryan Reynolds a valued target of the CIA and other parties involved.

As a rogue CIA operative, Denzel Washington portrays his character with a grizzled sense of authority. He knows he is the best, but he shows this more in action than words. Attached to co-star Reynolds at most times in the movie, Washington's bold dictation of the rules conflicts heavily with Reynold's frustrated timidity.

I always say that Denzel Washington could walk into the toughest of bars and walk out with a roomful of admirers. How can you not like a man who puts up with this shit? He is quite literally one of the greatest actors of our time. But Brendan Gleeson, another genuine actor, makes an appearance in the film quite memorably. As the mentor of Reynolds' character, Gleeson conveys a sense of protectionism and patriarchal skills. He keeps you believing that he has Reynolds' best interests in mind and that everything will be fine. Most importantly, he wins over the support of the rest of the cast of characters.

As important the acting is in Safe House, its plot tells an even greater tale. Safe House is a film about corruption on the highest level of government. It is a tale of morality in a time when security trumps what should be the right thing to do. It is about going against your breeding and always questioning the status quo.

Safe House got my adrenaline going. It wasn't necessarily the most complex of plots, but the answers to some of the movie's toughest questions were answered at the end. There is no telling what else may be in store for Washington or Reynolds, but the future can only look brighter and brighter for them.

Movies I would force Hitler to sit through V

In 1986, Geraldo Rivera hosted a television special in which he would open up a mysterious vault belonging to none other than Chicago's infamous gangster, Al Capone. Nobody had any clue what would be hidden in the depths of this Italian man's secured room, but people just assumed it was something big anyway. Maybe this vault was where Scarface had stowed away classic cars or disposed of mutilated bodies? Analysts even concluded that millions of dollars could be stored inside. Well, Geraldo and his mustache dynamited the doors in front of millions of Americans that night in April and this was their reaction. Well, obviously there was no commercial and for fans of A Christmas Story, you understand what just happened. All of this hype had been built up around the Al Capone vault, and yet nothing was found except empty bottle and a license plate. So why and how does this relate to a movie review? I saw The Artist recently, easily one of the most sought after films of this years award season. I didn't understand how people could become so enamored with a movie that wasn't The Shawshank Redemption. I thought I would see it and hopefully join The Artist fanboy wagon. I got to the theater, paid a ridiculous $9.50 for a ticket, and proceeded to sleep through the next two and a half hours of my life. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present you with French cinema.

Set in 1920s Hollywood, The Artist tells the story of silent film superstar George Valentine (Jean Dujardin) and his fall from fame as movies begin being made with sound. Oh, I forgot. The entire film is silent.

Before I begin bashing the country of France for producing what can only be described as a means of taunting America, I will mention something I liked. I give director Michel Hazanavicius credit for making me feel like I lived in the 1920s, before Facebook, before the car was as plentiful as bowler hats. Michel essentially brought The Depression to the viewer. To initiate that kind of emotion in me is quite simply, a daunting task, but that French bastard did it. Probably thinking this way the whole time.

Now back to the bashing. I fell asleep within fifteen minutes of the opening credits. I don't know how people of the Roaring 20's did it. There was always intensity on the screen, all actors present brought 110% of their abilities because they had to. Without any sound to accompany them, the actors needed to over exaggerate their mannerisms which, in a sense, took away from the realism. I guess not being able to speak takes away from realism as well. Without sound or hearing vocals, it is also difficult to sympathize with characters. There is a piece missing from the puzzle.

I guess the film couldn't have been that bad, it did win Best Film at the Oscars. I'm mad because The Descendants didn't win and it turned out to be my favorite film of the year. So maybe I wouldn't force Hitler to sit through this one. Maybe I'd put Eichmann or Goebbels in the front row instead. Everyone who sees this movie, however, will grow personally. You will never take your ears for granted again.

Anonymous

Since birth, we've been groomed to believe in certain fallacies. For instance, we believe that every December a fat bearded man repels down a chimney to deliver presents under a tree. We think that a midget lady with wings runs a black market of our teeth for cash. We also think that a rabbit, a rabid animal by most standards, can logically hide eggs during Easter from children. We have been raised to believe such things with a grain of salt. But what happens when we are tricked into believing something that seems fairly sturdy. What if Pearl Harbor was no sneak attack by the Japanese, but just the beginning of Sony? How would we react if we found out the Watergate scandal was just the Chinese trying to embarrass Nixon? Or what if Monica Lewinsky was actually Hillary in a wig and she just had some image to uphold? Everything would be thrown into a total mind fuck. Well, the credibility of Shakespeare as the actual author of the plays and sonnets by the aforementioned has come into question. Anonymous deals with the very real possibility that Shakespeare didn't write anything and our entire grammar school English career was spent reading some alcoholic's blackmail.

It is the 16th or 17th century (I can never figure the difference between the two) and there is turmoil in England. Protestants are beating the shit out of Catholics and everyone wants a shot at the Crown. Elizabeth (Vanessa Redgrave) is in power and is searching for an heir apparent. The Cecils (David Thewlis and Edward Hogg), Elizabeth's advisors, try desperately to get a successor that is not Robert, Earl of Essex (Sam Reid). During this political intrigue, one courtier, Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford (Rhys Ifans), makes a secret deal with playwright Ben Jonson (Sebastian Armesto). He will give Jonson his collected works to produce as long as they are performed under total anonymity of the author-de Vere. Turns out these works are Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet, Twelfth Night, and every other play that we have associated with Shakespeare. This shows that it is not Shakespeare who is the true playwright, but actually de Vere. de Vere is only halted from producing them himself because it is out of place for a courtier to do this. Shakespeare (Rafe Spall), an alcoholic, illiterate, and perverted actor, ends up attaching his name to the works after Jonson declines the author.

Edward de Vere is one of the alternative author candidates because of the numerous similarities between his real life and the works that Shakespeare supposedly created. For more information follow this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oxfordian_theory_of_Shakespeare_authorship

I was speechless during this movie. Not only is it motivated by historic events, but it actually manages to consider the question of Shakespeare's legitimacy. Actually, Shakespeare takes a backseat in this film and de Vere heads the cast. Ifans displays de Vere as a tortured artist, a man chained up by the standards of his society. He cares deeply for those around him and those who are loyal, and in this sense he is very altruistic. he only cares for art and keeping the world entertained despite the world's attempts to block him. As a history lesson, Anonymous does a great job depicting the tensions between religious factions and social classes in old London. And in a swoop of remediation, Anonymous brings back to life the magic the old fashioned stageplay. Performances inspired and rallied the audience to action. This was truly a time of awe.

Think back to ninth grade English class and reading The Merchant of Venice. Shylock is being verbally berated cause he is Jewish. Antonio is getting sympathy he doesn't deserve. Your classmate is poking holes in his paper out of boredom. You begin imagining a scenario in which Shylock comes back to Venice and machine guns all the assholes who screwed him over. And then you might think, "Wow, this jerk Shakespeare was a fraud. I'm reading a play whose author isn't even clarified!" It's just like finding out that Ipads and Ipod touches are the same thing, there's nothing special about either of them at all. Sorry.

Beginners

Few movies make me eat up my pre-conceived notions in a whirlwind of emotion. Recently, I made the accusation that the Oscars only give out awards to people who are going to die soon (if they are nominated in a category). I was referring of course to Jonah Hill's performance in Moneyball being overlooked because Christopher Plummer was nominated as well for Beginners. Well, I just watched Mr. Plummer's performance and I reject the day I ever made the assumption that he won his Oscar because he was knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door. Wow! Not only was Beginners a great film, it was also acted out tremendously well. This was a film about exploration, acceptance, loss, and remembrance. It's a film about the little things in life that pile up to make great, big things.

Oliver (Ewan McGregor) is mourning the loss of his father, Hal (Christopher Plummer) who announced he was gay a few years before his death. Oliver meets Anna (Melanie Laurent) and begins a romantic relationship with her. Documentation of their relationship is interlaced with Oliver's memories of his childhood as well as his final years with his father. The childhood sequences are sprinkled with few signs of Hal's homosexuality, but heavily illustrate his wife's slowly decaying sanity. The final years sequence shows a now adult Oliver helping his father with medical bills, parties, depression, memory loss, and the name of a certain music genre from a gay dance club. By reflecting on his past, Oliver is able to make decisions regarding his future without his father and with Anna.

I'm going to talk about the relationships of the film. There are Oliver, Hal, Anna, Andy (Goran Visnjic), and Arthur the dog. First there is Oliver and his father Hal. Oliver relationship with his father comes in two parts: one where he is living with his father who has come out of the closet after years of marriage and one where he is coping with the lose of him. Plummer plays so well off of McGregor's all-knowing personality. And like any other child trying to help an aging parent, Mr. McGregor displays frustration and love all at once. But it is clear that Oliver is very close to his father which leads to our next relationship: Oliver and Arthur. Arthur is essentially all that remains of Hal. Oliver adopts him after Hal dies and goes everywhere with Oliver. Everyone understands, as well, that Arthur is Hal which is why everyone who knew Hal is drawn so close to the dog. This is evident in Andy's relationship with Oliver and Hal and Arthur. Andy is the young, foreign boyfriend of Hal. He is deeply and truly in love with Hal. In one scene, Hal admits to Oliver that young straight men have it easy, that nobody will ever fall for an old man. This makes Hal and Andy's relationship even more admirable. And this is why in one of the last scenes, Andy has such an emotional reunion with Arthur because he reminds him so much of Hal. Finally, Oliver and Anna's relationship reflects around the unknown. The film does not dive so deep into their affairs as it does the affairs of Oliver and his home life. Fortunately, Oliver applies the same unspoken relationship of his parents to himself and Anna. There they find the true meaning of their love.

Beginners is a must see film because it has all the elements of a modern day comedy-drama. Fifty years ago, you wouldn't see films about fathers coming out or uncomfortable relationships. This film latches onto something in your stomach and makes you feel differently about life and the way we should live it. It speaks out to a number of audiences with a number of experiences. And Mr. Plummer, sorry for the Oscar comment, you've got at least another six years on Earth.

Oscar Picks 2012

What a glorious time of the year! It is Sunday, February 26th and tonight is the movie lover's Super Bowl. It is the soccer fan's UEFA Cup and it is the porn addicts AVN Awards. Tonight is the Oscars. If I must be terribly honest, I've only seen a handful of the movies that are nominated in the various categories (and yes, that includes sound mixing and art direction). But I can say that I have seen the trailers for ALL of the films nominated and read a substantial number of reviews so I can pass a mildly accurate judgement of who should and who should not win. And as I type this, that guy with the girly voice on E is talking about shoes.

Best Picture: As much as I would like to see Warhorse take home honors for this category, the buzz has been all around The Artist. Warhorse redefined the animal-human friendship genre of film, but The Artist revived the era of silent film. Plus, the French deserve to win something.

Best Actor in a Leading Role: George Clooney. It's tough to make this call when I have only seen one actor in the category (Brad Pitt for Moneyball), but Mr. Clooney has been filling movie-goers' eyes with tears since the release of The Descendants and his last win was for Syriana awhile back. Once again, Jean Dujardin from The Artist has a fighting chance because of his film's notoriety, but I hope George brings home gold for America.

Best Actress in a Leading Role: Rooney Mara. Don't fuck with this girl, just saying. I saw The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and sat for 3 hours with my mouth wide open. There wasn't a single moment of Mara's performance that left me bored. She did everything! She banged girls, she banged guys, she killed guys, she branded guys, she raped guys. Hey, Meryl Streep. Talk to me when you get bum raped on camera for four whole minutes and then, maybe, I will give you my pick for Best Actress.

Best Supporting Actor: It's sad that the Academy takes age and experience into consideration more then actual performance. It's a toss up between Christopher Plummer and Max Von Sydow because they only have about 5 more years before they kick the bucket. Jonah Hill is the most awkward, uncomfortable person to watch play serious and I loved his performance in Moneyball because of it. But he won't win cause he still has his life ahead of him.

Best Supporting Actress: Melissa McCarthy was hilarious in Bridesmaids. My reasoning for picking a comedic role to win is because of the memorable Sacha Baron Cohen win at the 2006 Golden Globes. If he can win a Globe, McCarthy can win an Oscar. Let's diversify people!

Animated Film: Quite frankly, Rango. Since Pixar couldn't come out with anything too substantial we must settle for Johnny Depp as a chameleon.

Director: Michel Hazanavicius. It takes a lot to get your point across in front of the camera. It takes even more work when you have to do it without words. Hazanavicius, at the helm, did that and he will be rewarded.

Cinematography: Hands down Warhorse. As I sat in the theater sobbing, I couldn't believe that the location being shot were actual places. Every transition was a swooping landscape of war and chaos or sunshine and rolling hills. If it doesn't win, there is no God.

Art Direction: Let's give it to Harry Potter as a parting gift of sorts. I think it's time to give up on this ailing child already.

Documentary Feature: Hell and Back Again. It's a war film and coupled with the withdrawal of troops from Iraq, should hold a special place in the hearts of the Academy.

Documentary Short: The Tsunami and the Cherry Blossom. I know nothing about this. Literally nothing. It sounded like a cool name.

Film Editing: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I'm not really sure what constitutes good editing. Is it the fact that a movie's flow is smooth or that there is no awkward skips in the middle of dialogue. Either way, the opening to Dragon seemed pretty intense and I think that had something to do with editing so....yeah.

Foreign Film: A Separation. This Iranian drama has taken flak by proponents of the regime which makes it that much more interesting. With relations in Iran turning sour, there has been a lot of focus on how Iran can place itself in the spotlight as a good guy. This film might be that swaying point.

Makeup: Albert Nobbs. If you can turn Glenn Close into a dude, you have my vote.

Music (Score): Warhorse. John Williams leads the film score mafia and he will be pissed if he don't get his damn Oscar!

Music (Song): The Muppets. They're back!

Costume Design: Jane Eyre. The Academy loves that Victorian Era crap. Anything with big dresses and even bigger hats gets their panties wet.

Short Film Live and Animated: No concern to me. But I'll take a wild guess and say for Live Action Wild Life and Animated: Time Freak.

Sound Editing, Mixing, and Visual Effects: I'll group these together because I'm giving all three to Transformers. Fuck yeah!

Adapted Screenplay: The Descendants will get this because of its touching texture and composure. Sorkin won't get it for Moneyball because of The Social Network. You can't hit a homerun every time Aaron!

Original Screenplay: Midnight in Paris. Woody Allen will get this because he is a god among men when it comes to putting ideas on paper. And boy, does Woody have ideas.

Billy Crystal should be an interesting host. He's been around the block once or twice and I'm looking forward to hearing his Jewish swag. Mazel Tov and have a merry Oscar night!

Slap Shot

I went to a highschool renowned for its football and basketball teams. For a pretty lengthy period of time, these two teams produced some of the finest athletes and sent talented individuals onto successful careers in college sports. If you walked around campus, you'd know the football and basketball players. They were giants; they ate up the attention. Naturally, the teams acquired a bunch of attention from various media outlets and the student athletes always were respectful in front of the camera and on the printed page. We also had a hockey team. You'd know a hockey player was coming towards you because you could hear the scuff of his Timberlands against the ground a mile away. With broad shoulders and surprisingly short legs these hockey players strutted around campus with the feeling they were as popular as the football and basketball jocks, but never produced the same results. I watched Slap Shot tonight and thought to myself, "Wow, I used to know goons like that back in high school". So whether they're packing a lip of Captains or speaking in an indecipherable South Boston accent, hockey players will always be the bane of my existence. But Slap Shot was a fuckin hilarious movie.

Reggie (Paul Newman) is the aging player/coach of the fictional minor league hockey team, the Charlestown Chiefs. The Chiefs suck and everyone in town is losing hope and interest. There is news that they will be disbanded after the season, so Reggie goes to desperate measures to ensure the team's security, mainly by revving the fans up with vicious fights.

You know a movie makes it to the big time when the Celtics use a clip from the film during the introduction of the team. Every game, Paul Newman is up on the jumbotron telling Celts fans to "get that fuckin stick in their sides!" And who knew Butch Cassidy could skate so well? What really makes Slap Shot a cult film, however, is the introduction of the Hanson Brothers. Three ugly sons of bitches, the Hanson brothers (not to be mistaken with the Hanson brothers of HmmBop fame) are goons that love nothing more then to knock over their opponents and drip blood from their scalps. They remind me of Sloth from The Goonies, ugly as hell with a heart of gold. They listen to Reggie coach and even repent for their thuggish style of play by promising to play like Eddie Shore. Their stupidity befuddles everyone and makes the audience laugh uncontrollably. At the heart of this movie is the the theme of defiance. Nobody on this team has a damn clue about anything. Nobody knows who the owner is, nobody knows who writes the checks, nobody even knows how to converse with their French goalie. And they apparently have no clue how to change the radio station because they listen to Maxine Nightingale on every bus ride. But when Reggie finally figures out that the mysterious owner is planning on breaking up the team, he roars into a frenzy and stands up for his dimwitted players. To Reggie, his players are the special children that he is forced to have unconditional love for.

I don't mean to rag on hockey players, especially those with no other aspirations in their lives, because I know a few that really are bright guys. Hell, I even know one going to Harvard. And I'm glad I can poke fun at them from behind a computer keypad because if I ever ran into one of them in person talking shit like this, well, I would probably get a stick to the face, groin, and kneecap. Thanks folks, night.

Wet Hot American Summer

Something tells me this review will only speak to a very small, very stingy contingent.

The summer camp genre of film is a very delicate genre. Unless you attended a summer camp, preferably one of the overnight and Maine persuasion, then you may not grasp the full context of these motion pictures. So I will try my best to give you a crash course in camp before we begin. Take 400 youths ranging from 5-15 and literally bash them together like an atomizer onto a piece of land not much bigger then the Stalag 17. Cut them off from the outside world for two months without any connection to the outside world (phones, internet, newspapers, carrier pigeons). A nuclear bomb could go off over Dallas and these kids would not hear about it unless the camp director deems a full camp meeting necessary. As the days go one, the boys and the girls can't be kept away. Well, the younger ones can be kept away from each other, but once they hit double digits, the older ones become intelligent and crafty. What some would call the predecessor to marriage, camp love blossoms and an explosion of adolescent lust showers over the population. If you aren't tubing with the Australian counselors at the waterfront, then you are behind someone's bunk making out. If you aren't making pinch pots for the 14th time at pottery, something else is getting pinched in the tech booth of the Rec Center. And anyone can get it, and I mean ANYONE. One of the most overused lines to describe camp love is "You could be a total loser at home, but at camp you are the world's greatest romancer". And then as soon as it all ends, so does your life. The one that got away, the Little Heartbreakers Club, and excruciating pain are all idioms for the destruction of camp romance..................................ok, here's the review for Wet Hot American Summer.

Set in 1981 at Camp Firewood in Waterville, ME (the ways camp should be made), Wet Hot American Summer tells the story of the last day of camp and the calamities that ensue as everyone rushes to find love in all the wrong and right places. Coop (Michael Showalter) is a lanky, pasty, pretty Jewish counselor hoping to woo the Jewish princess that is Katie (Marguerite Moreau). With half a dozen stories cutting in and out of each other at different moments in the movie, WHAS gives its audience the real belief that life at camp is never a dull moment.

I have a special place in my heart for this movie because it's director and co-writer David Wain is in fact an alumni of the very same camp I went to. And while it had been denied, I believe that I have seen similarities between Camp Firewood and my very own Camp Modin. WHAS does a great job of exploring the camp mentality, to a certain extent. While counselors do not take days off for the sole purpose of mugging old women and OD'ing on heroine, they do interact with each other in very casual ways and some very intimate ways. As a counselor, I have noticed the camaraderie and companionship that was displayed in the movie with my own co-counselors. And the campers, well don't get me started about them. Nobody can ever make an accurate depiction of Jewish youth at camp, but WHAS did a damn good job. Each camper is unique; each camper has as much to contribute to the humor and excitement of every day. One scene stands out especially, one where a portly camper named Moose lights his farts with a lighter. Everyone is cheering for him and yelling out his name. That sense of community, as stupid of an example it is, is the essence of camp. Yes you can have the copious amounts of makeout sessions and amateur handjobs (at best mediocre), but the friendships you make are the real kick in the nads.

My camp friends are some of the best friends I've got. They've seen me naked and I've seen them naked. We've taken part in things that would embarrass even the most loosely moraled of people. And why? Because we are young and impressionable and defining our sense of strong brotherhood. The memories you make today are the ones that stick. And not to creep anyone out, but after spending two months in my bunk a lot of things begin sticking to you.

Movies I would force Hitler to sit through IV

Deception pisses me off. When I walk into McDonald's, I expect a juicy, fully loaded hamburger that looks just like the ones in the commercials. Instead, I get something that resembles the droppings of Jabba the Hutt. I especially hate it when people say "tell the truth, it will make things a lot easier". Well, they fail to specify that it only makes things easier for them and really screws yourself over. So you can obviously understand my resentment towards movies that lie about their plots with their titles. Rise of the Planet of the Apes is a terrible movie and in no way, shape, or form tells of any rise of any planet or any apes. Wow, I hate that movie.

James Franco has to be the strangest actor in Hollywood these days. He has been typecast as the hot guy (Whatever It Takes, Tristan and Isolde), the Rebel (James Dean, Flyboys), the Hero (The Great Raid), and more recently...the heavily drug induced (Pineapple Express, Howl, Tar). But ROTPOTA (excuse the abbreviation) doesn't seem to fit in any of those categories. Actually, Franco seemed very stoned in a few scenes.

Regardless of his state of consciousness during the filming, this was a bad movie. Dr. Will Rodman (Franco) is trying to find a cure for Alzheimer's by heavily testing on apes and chimps. After creating a special dosage of medicine and finding worthy results on one chimp, Caesar, Will takes Caesar home and raises him over the years until the chimp has become smart, physically fit, and perceptive. After a violent encounter with a neighbor, Caesar must go and live with other malcontent primates where he plots his revolution. This is where the supposed "rising" begins.

Jesus, Caesar! If you're going to have a revolution, follow through with it! Don't get to the damn Redwood forest and do nothing. Conquer some territory, exert your dominance. You're a fucking Ape that can talk! Go show it. That is why animals will never conquer humans; we don't get distracted that easily. But seriously, there was no rise of any planet. Caesar and his poop eating friends, if anything at all, made it easier for authorities to track him into the woods and unleash a volley hell. The aftermath would be very similar to that escape of tigers and bears and lions in Ohio, expect there would be more dead apes and less dead tigers. I wanted to see Apes knocking down buildings and flying airplanes, not merely throwing away guns of terrified CHIP officers. Eric Estrada wouldn't have backed down.

I hate holes in the plot, and I'm assuming every other audience member in the world hates them as well. That's why I would force Hitler to watch this movie. All 105 minutes of James Franco's squinting, Draco Malfoy's animal cruelty schpeel, and the numerous unfulfilled expectations. Ummm, can you smell sequel?

Michael Collins

March 17th rolls around and everyone is thinking the same thing. Regardless of skin color, religion, total annual income, and most importantly hair color, everybody wants to be Irish. There aren't many other holidays during the year where one would wish to be another ethnicity. I definitely don't see too many people rushing to the Synagogue every time Purim rolls around. Hamantaschen just don't bring in the goy like they used to. To feel Irish on Saint Paddy's day, however, is a unifying feeling, a glorious feeling, a where-the-hell-is-the-john feeling. Well, if it isn't St. Patrick's Day and you're looking for that feeling of pure Irish company, pop in Michael Collins and let Liam Neeson do the rest. (And yes, you could very well have that where-the-hell-is-the-john feeling because it is a long ass movie)

Ireland, in my ignorant mind, is known for two things: the IRA and witty remarks that can't be deciphered under the heavy brogue of drunken Irishmen. Luckily, Michael Collins has a heavy dose of both those topics. Set during Ireland's fight for Independence from Great Britain, the movie follows the trials and tribulations of.....wait for it.....wait.....wait.....Michael Collins! What a surprise! Collins (played by the Dad we all wanted, but are totally fine with the ones we have: Liam Neeson) was a rowdy, strategic Irish revolutionary whose actions ousted the English from Ireland, but unfortunately created the division between Northern Ireland and the Free State of Ireland. To this day, I still don't understand its history.

Neeson is fantastic. I would even be so bold to say he matches wits with my boys Morgan and Tim from Shawshank. As Collins, Neeson exudes a sense of passion for his country. He bellows and pumps his fists in the air. He wants to yell and persuade; he wants to tear up at every sentence. Hell, he's a regular John Boehner. But Liam doesn't tackle this movie all by himself. Mr. Aidan Quinn plays Harry Boland, another prominent member of the Irish resistance movement. His performance is just as riveting and just as emotional as his superior. The Neeson-Quinn dynamic is strangely romantic. There is an unconditional love for each other, no matter the distance they are apart from each other or the obstacles they face. And in their ever shifting alliances and unions with characters like Kitty Kiernan (Julia Roberts) or Eamon de Valera (Alan Rickman), they still remain eternally indebted to one another. Reminds me of my boys Tim and Morgan from Shawshank.

Michael Collins is a historical movie. Anybody who watches it can learn and be entertained at the same time. I've probably seen it six or seven times and it never gets old. It's a story of liberation and freedom, but it's also a story of friendship. And there is my connection between Michael Collins and St. Patrick's Day. Everybody needs friends, especially when they are passed out with their pants down and lying in their own puddle of sick outside the Ned Devine's Irish Pub in Faneuil Hall.

I'M BACK!