An Open Letter to Hollywood: Part 2

Dear Hollywood,

I know, it's weird that I would write you a letter in two parts. I thought I could retain your attention better by breaking them up. It also makes me look like a more prodigious letter-writer.

Resident Evil: Afterlife

Actual Tagline: “She's back...And she's bringing a few of her friends.”
Implied Tagline: “Milla Jovovich would star in your home birthing video if you paid her enough.”
To be fair, the main reason I passed on reviewing this was because I’d promised to see it with my friend Dani who’s a big fan of all of the Resident Evil movies. That said, if Dani didn’t love Resident Evil so much, I would have never even considered seeing this movie at all. Because I saw Resident Evil: Extinction.

Working title Resident Evil: The Sarah Connor Chronicles.

For some reason, the Resident Evil movie series aged really poorly. The first movie was a passable adaptation of the first game, but if it hadn’t had a video game license attached to it, it would have just been another competent but common zombie/haunted house movie. Milla Jovovich, Michelle Rodriguez and James Purefoy all turned in good perfomances, but two out of three of their characters were dead by the credits. Luckily, Michelle Rodriguez would return to play the same character…in every movie she’s ever been in.

ACTING!

Resident Evil: Apocalypse began the tradition of adding ": Hyperbolic Subtitle” to each sequel. It also replaced the first movie’s useless imposter cop/environmentalist with a useless creepy ginger girl and Michelle Rodriguez’s wise-cracking security commando with Mike Epps’ wise-cracking pimp.

Shouldn’t Foxy Brown be interrogating you somewhere right now?

Then came Resident Evil: Extinction. In the time since the last movie zombies had overrun the Earth…somehow. If you were hoping for explanations to major plot points you’re several movies too late. Also, everything is covered in dust for reasons that are unclear.

Apparently an active gambling economy was the only thing keeping Vegas from turning into the Sahara.

Extinction dropped all pretense of an overall narrative and just barely strung together various action scenes and set pieces. It was relieving when the film ground to an end by just killing all the characters with less and less explanation, until I realized that the screenwriters were just cleaning up loose ends in preparation for yet another sequel, this time starring nothing but Milla Jovovich and a thousand Milla Jovovich clones. It’ll be just like that scene in The Matrix Reloaded where all the Agent Smith Clones fought Neo! You remember how totally awesome and not at all a tedious mess of CGI-abuse that was?

Oh…right.

The real question is why does Milla Jovovich continue to appear in these films? Sure, she isn’t exactly an art house actress, but she has enough name and face recognition that she can turn down roles that are beneath her. It’s almost as if she’s…I don’t know… married to the franchise somehow…

Ah. Well then…

Easy A

Actual Tagline: “Let's not and say we did.”
Implied Tagline: “It’s Juno meets The Scarlet Letter! No, wait, come back!”

This is a tough one. I’ve since heard from friends that this is actually a pretty good movie, and it features Thomas Hayden Church and Malcolm McDowell.

As the world’s most terrifying high school principal.

So I can’t really say that this is a definitively bad movie, but I can absolutely say that everything else seems to indicate this is a bad movie. Just to refresh, here’s the imdb.com synopsis of the film:

“A clean-cut high school student relies on the school's rumor mill to advance her social and financial standing.”

Remember to read “clean-cut“ as “nerdy girl who you know is nerdy because the other characters say she is, but she actually looks like a model.”

A nerdy girl according to Hollywood.

Also, I’m not sure how having sex is supposed to improve a girl’s “financial standing,” and considering the character in question is supposed to be in high school, I think the less time spent considering the possible answers to that question, the better.

Which brings up my second reason for not reviewing this movie: the entire plot is about the sex lives of high school students. There’s no way for an adult male to talk about this movie without coming off as creepy. Roger Ebert valiantly tried, but was shot in the foot by whoever chose this picture to accompany his review:

Oh, Roger, your words may say “underrated actress” but your picture choice says “MMM, TITTIES!”

Oh, and just in case the concept of an out-of-touch portrayal of a hot nerd participating in implied prostitution wasn’t enough to entice you, don’t forget, according to Wikipedia Easy A was “partially inspired the novel The Scarlet Letter.”

“Finally, someone got what I was going for!”

Exactly how “partially”? Well, The Scarlet Letter was about a woman living in Puritan New England who was institutionally ostracized and forced to wear a red letter “A” for the rest of her life because she fell in love and had sex with the local Reverend years after her husband had disappeared and was presumed dead. This social stigma psychologically tortures her, mentally warps her bastard child, and drives her lover to such depths of guilt that it eventually kills him.

Easy A, meanwhile, is best surmised thusly:

Oh, wait, Juno actually had sex. Nevermind, then.

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps

Actual Tagline: Umm…”Money Never Sleeps”?
Implied Tagline: “So Help Us God, We Will Not Rest Until Shia LeBeouf Ruins Every Film and Television Show You Have Ever Loved.”

Wall Street 2: Wall Street Harder is not something I'm willing to sit through, free or not, for three reasons:

1) It's a sequel to Wall Street.
2) It is not 1989, when a sequel to Wall Street might have been a good idea.
3) Do you remember the last good movie Shia LaBeouf was in? Neither does he. Although, to be fair, he also doesn't remember the original Wall Street…because he was 18 months old when it was released.

Wall Street 2: Electric Boogaloo typifies the modern trend of appropriating successful entertainment properties of the past and revamping them for modern times. This is annoying whenever it happens, but it’s even worse when the creators of the original property are involved in the update.

Again, the inclusion of Shia LaBeouf never helps.

The original Wall Street was released in 1987 and its themes of individual and corporate ruthlessness and greed neatly encapsulated the spirit of the times. Michael Douglas was the essence of immoral financial practices in a character that became archetypal, while oily yuppie Charlie Sheen portrayed exactly who audiences imagined as the cause of the savings and loan crisis.

While Ronald Reagan portrayed the actual cause of the savings and loan crisis.

Wall Street spoke to the public’s anger and frustration over the country’s economic ruin by presenting a morality tale where the players behind that ruin were shown as amoral villains who would eventually receive punishment for their actions.

Eventually.

Once again America is facing a financial crisis, so maybe it is time for a sequel. Maybe we need a movie to address the people and practices that got us into our current mess… oh, wait, we already have that movie. It’s called Wall Street.

A film for our times.

The causes of the current financial crisis are essentially the same as the causes of the financial crisis of the 1980s. The people whose job it was to make decisions with massive amounts of money turned out to actually be pretty bad at making decisions with massive amounts of money and the government paid to cover the cost. Oliver Stone parlaying this into a sequel to Wall Street is like him making a sequel to Scarface that shows the gradual rise, massive success and eventual poetic downfall of a psychotically violent kingpin meth dealer.

Starring Shia Labeouf!

Thanks for your time, Hollywood. I hope this has helped give you some perspective on why you suck so hard. So very, very hard.
Your Friend,
Thaddeus “Handsome Paddy” McGillicuddy

An Open Letter to Hollywood: Part 1

Dear Hollywood,

Have you been getting my letters? They’re the ones written in blood. No? I didn’t think so. See, I keep writing you, trying to get you to stop sucking. So far it isn’t working. Despite my protests you continue to release films so terrible I routinely choose not to see them FOR FREE.

You see, I’m a member of a pool of unpaid movie reviewers for the local paper. Every week the paper picks a new theatrical release and sends out a mass e-mail to all the reviewers. Whoever replies to the e-mail first gets two free tickets to the show and 300 words to say what they want about the movie. There’s also a password involved. It’s pretty sweet.

Frequently I have my Gmail page open when the e-mail goes out, so usually I have the option of replying before anyone else and getting the movie. But for the past six weeks I’ve gotten the e-mail, made a mental note of “Meh,” deleted it and gone back to reloading my Facebook feed.

“Review Knight and Day? Pffft, my time is too valuable.”

Let me restate that, just in case you’re not getting the full impact of what I’m saying. I love movies so much I’ve spent countless hours writing about them on the internet, for an honest-to-God newspaper, and, on more than one occasion, for term papers in college. And I studied Criminology; I love movies enough to risk infuriating an instructor, whose day job is federal prosecutor, because my paper on judicial procedure is really just a thinly-veiled analysis of The Devil’s Advocate.

“Under these circumstances I would have filed for a writ of habeas corpus on the grounds that opposing council violated the rules of disclosure by failing to notify the court that he was Satan.”

I love movies this much, Hollywood, and for seven weeks I have intentionally not seen your films, for free, because the prospect of actually sitting through them is so distasteful.

So, as a service to you, I’m going to spend some time explaining why I’ve been passing up your most recent efforts. Hopefully, you’ll learn something and if not, at least there’ll be a written record of my motives when I one day fire Shia LaBeouf into the Sun.

I hope you like being burned alive as much as you seem to enjoy making shitty movies, fucker.

Marmaduke

Actual Tagline: “Live Large.”
Implied Tagline: “Yeah, We’re Not Even Trying.”

I generally refuse to review children’s movies since I lie so far outside of their target demographic, but calling Marmaduke a children’s movie is an insult to children everywhere. Hell, calling Marmaduke a “CGI Great Dane movie” is an insult to the comparatively subtle and nuanced oeuvre of Scooby-Doo.

The only film to ever have its artistic integrity actually strengthened from a cameo by Mark McGrath.

I refused to see Marmaduke for far better reasons than just that its target audience is primarily impressed by bright colors and fart noises. I chose not to see it because there is absolutely no reason for a Marmaduke movie to exist. For one thing, there’s nothing intentionally funny about the comic strip “Marmaduke“. It’s been in circulation since the transistor radio was invented and kidney transplants were considered novel. That’s not a joke, I looked it up.

Equally cutting-edge.

Most of the actual humor of “Marmaduke” lies in the strip’s creator and still writer/artist, 84-year old Brad Anderson, being completely out of touch with the modern world. Beside the fact that Anderson can’t actually draw, he also regularly screws up common words or phrases when he uses them in captions, and frequently repeats jokes mere days apart. None of these are things to look for when finding material for your next $50 million feature film.

Another Hallmark of the “Marmaduke” strip is its existence in a nostalgically idealized, perpetual Eisenhower-era, where rotary phones abound and there’s nary an immigrant or person of color in sight. And while an accurate film translation of this 1950s twilight zone could be self-deprecating and funny in a way The Brady Bunch Movie could only have hoped to be, the Marmaduke film is set in modern day. Why? Half of “Marmaduke’s” jokes are about evading the dog catchers and stealing gigantic chains of sausage links from the neighborhood butcher. Exactly what part of that is going to translate to 2010? For God’s sake, Hollywood, you didn’t even make his owner look like Hitler! Instead you made him look like this guy:

He’s a dog, but get this, he’s wearing sunglasses! HILARIOUS!

Let me put this in perspective for you. One of the only likable features of your comic strip is that one of the characters vaguely resembles are war criminal and you still managed to screw that up. Instead you gave Marmaduke the ability to talk? Let me assure you, if there’s one thing people wish when reading “Marmaduke” it is not that Marmaduke talk.

Their far more likely wish: Brad Anderson’s home address and a list of his deepest fears.

Grown Ups

Actual Tagline: “Boys will be boys... some longer than others”
Implied Tagline: “Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if the cast from Saturday Night Live circa-1994 got back together to make a film about getting older, having a family, and dealing with the slow march towards inevitable death? Turns out, no. No it isn‘t funny at all.”

Pop quiz time, Hollywood:

1) In the last ten years Adam Sandler has been in how many funny movies?
A) Omigod, dude, like, so many.
B) Three or four.
C) I’m not sure, I’m sure there were a couple in there somewhere, though.
C) I’m just happy to see a mentally retarded man doing so well for himself.

Good on you, big guy.

2) Chris Rock would best be described as:
A) A controversial entertainer.
B) The living embodiment of low acting standards and poor career choices.
C) A poor man’s Dave Chappelle.
D) A rich man’s Tyler Perry.

I will hound you until the day I die, Perry!

3) David Spade is best known for:
A) Being funny.
B) Being talented.
C) Looking like an old lesbian.
D) Wishing the best parts of his career weren’t sealed in a tomb marked “Chris Farley.”

“Too soon.”

4) Rob Schneider is:
A) A comedy genius.
B) Inexplicably popular.
C) Composed of equal parts creepy and unpleasant.
D) Probably paying for a hooker somewhere as you read this.

And if the she has any taste, she’s charging him double.

5) Pick the best choice: “It’s too bad Chris Farley’s dead. Let’s replace him with…”
A) “…Kevin James.”
B) “…That fat guy who does those impressions of John Madden.”
C) “…A clone created from the combined DNA of Chris Farley and John Candy, to be known as Chrohn Farndy.”
D) “…Comedy that doesn’t require a fat man to embarrass himself into an early grave.”

“Still too soon.”

Don’t bother checking your scores, Hollywood. You already got every answer wrong.

Piranha 3D


Actual Tagline: “This Summer 3D Shows Its Teeth.”
Implied Tagline: “As Soon As The Syfy Channel Comes In 3D We’ll Be Out of Work.”

I really debated seeing Piranha 3D. I mean, it’s not particularly substantive, but it could be fun. It’s piranhas attacking people… in 3D! It’s even got somewhat well-known actors in it! Richard Dreyfuss, Elizabeth Shue, Ving Rames, Christopher Loyd, all of your favorite supporting cast members from movies that came out over a decade ago are here! According to imdb.com there’s a wet t-shirt contest in there somewhere and Steve McQueen too! Well, Steve McQueen’s grandson, Steven R. McQueen, who kind of looks like Ashton Kutcher if he had a mild allergy to shellfish.

“Demi, have you seen my EpiPen?”

Ultimately, I passed on this one because I realized there is nothing I could write about it in a legitimate review. Anything I criticized would be beside the point because no one is going to see this with the expectation that it be anything beyond piranhas in 3D. As long as that’s all there, there isn’t really much left to say. What am I supposed to do, summarize the plot? “Well, see, there are these piranhas, ok? And they’re in 3D.”

“Are you with me so far?”

While we‘re on the topic, what are you doing with Jerry O’Connell, Hollywood? He was the fat kid in Stand By Me, then he was on Sliders years later, then years after that he did Kangaroo Jack, then this, and now he’s on CBS with a Primetime show. What kind of career path is that? At this rate next I expect him to form a shitty band, attempt to get some artistic cred by performing on Broadway, fail spectacularly and be brainwashed by a CGI-kangaroo focused cult, only to be rescued and deprogrammed by Will Wheaton, Corey Feldman and (replacing the late River Phoenix) John Rhys-Davies.

And that, CBS, is how you pitch a hit new fall drama.

Come back soon for Part 2, when I'll be criticizing Resident Evil: Afterlife, Easy A, and other movies I haven't seen. Because I can and you can't stop me, so nyeh.

Dear Abby, My Life Is A God Damn Mess

The people who write in to Dear Abby are a mixed bag. Reading through the archives you see a variety of ages and problems, but they all boil down to a few recurring themes:

Dear Abby, I’m A Terrible Person

These people have done awful things, or have awful opinions, and are flabbergasted that they’re being called on their ridiculous bullshit. They write in ostensibly to ask if they’re in the wrong, but they’re really just hoping that Abby will absolve them of their sins. They are always disappointed.

Dear Abby, I Know A Terrible Person

These are otherwise fine people who know someone who’s done something awful to them and, boy, they cannot wait to tell you all about it. The Dear Abby equivalent of Munchausen’s Syndrome, these folks write in mainly to garner some pity and end with a weak attempt at a question like “What should I do?” Abby’s advice usually consists of “Stop talking to them” or “Call the police immediately” depending on the situation.

Dear Abby, Here’s An Urban Legend For You To Print As Fact

Dear Abby is notorious for reprinting “true” cautionary tales that turn out to be easily disproved urban legends. A simple search of Snopes.com shows just how often this occurs. To her credit Abby voluntarily prints retractions every time someone notifies her that the stories are false…then prints the exact same story when someone changes the names and dates and sends it in next year.

Dear Abby, Here’s Some Advice No One Has Ever Asked For

Oh, how the tables have turned! These people write in without even the pretense of a question, instead with a list of their own advice, sometimes numbered, sometimes in bullet points, sometimes simply sprawling aimlessly into oblivion. Usually the advice is somewhat topical, or relates to the writer’s occupation. The insights are rarely what you might call groundbreaking. Abby always responds to these writings with gratitude, but you just know she’s muttering “fucker” every other word as she types.

Dear Abby, I’m Far Too Young To Be Writing You

This category is comprised of college students, teenagers, and unmarried twenty-somethings who should really know better than to write to a 54 year-old legacy newspaper column currently written by a 60+ year old woman for advice on anything related to their lives. Abby tries to help, but you can tell even she realizes she’s in a little over her head and usually pawns them off by suggesting they talk to a parent/teacher/counselor/clergy member.

Dear Abby, I’m So Fucking Old

This is by far my favorite category and the one we’ll be examining closer in just a minute. These people write in with the exact same topics Andy Rooney covers on 60 Minutes, and just like Andy Rooney they have no idea that their advanced age has completely robbed them of their ability to comprehend how incredibly asinine their petty problems and concerns really are.

"Don't make fun of me, this is important shit!"

Now, I normally spend as much time not thinking about Dear Abby as I possibly can. So I didn’t come upon these realizations until recently when I was flipping through the local paper and came across this column wherein a chorus of readers write in to inform Abby and America about just how horribly loud wedding music is these days.

The column that sparked the controversy regards a man who left a wedding reception early because:

It’s not clear from the column what the chronological age of the reader in question is, but his mental age has got to be hovering past 70.

First of all, is this really the biggest problem you’re facing? There’s nothing else more deserving of your time than figuring out if leaving a wedding reception early was a faux pas? How much family drama could this possibly be causing? Don’t you have a gay cousin to absorb this kind of heat?

Second, there are multiple clues that this guy is a curmudgeon, regardless of when he was born. A “long delay” between the reception and dinner is the kind of complaint Morty Seinfeld’s nemesis Jack Klompus would have about a wedding. Describing music as “deafening” is hyperbole reserved exclusively for the tragically out of touch; it allows the rest of us to identify them in order to know to stay off their lawns.

Finally, most people today divide popular music into several sub-genres. Top 40, alt, indie, punk, metal, classic rock, what have you. As such the only people who actually use the term “rock ‘n’ roll music” to describe what kind of music they are hearing are also those who would describe Elvis Presley as “obscene” and the Three Stooges as “cutting edge.”

Ok, so the original complaint is comical, but it doesn’t come near the dispatches-from-the-nursing-home quality of the letters of support to the original complaint. To quote Paul in Chesterfield:

Really, Paul? “Intolerable conditions”? When the CIA uses music as torture they play “Enter Sandman” at full volume over loudspeakers while attack dogs nip at your exposed genitals. I think you can endure having to listen to “Tiny Dancer” before the buffet opens.

“But Handsome Paddy,” you might be saying aloud to yourself right now for some reason, “Weddings are lightening rods for family controversy and infighting, it’s not really fair to judge Dear Abby readers based solely on that discussion.” Well, that’s true. But while weddings certainly generate a lot of Dear Abby mail, the topics covered may vary, but the insanity remains a constant.

Here are some recent highlights:

Uncomfortable In San Francisco writes:

Oh, Jesus. Right off the bat I can tell you that no one under the age of 50 has ever started a letter to a complete stranger by explaining that their office recently moved. This immediately tells us two things. One, this person is crotchety enough that their office moving “a bit farther away” effects them deeply enough they feel the need to mention it.

Two, whatever this person’s problem is, it’s somehow related to this recent move, meaning in six weeks time he/she will probably have forgotten all about it. I tend to worry a lot, and something I do to help is ask myself if what I’m worrying about will matter to anyone in 100 years. It’s corny, but it gives me perspective on the situation. Abby has apparently never given this advice, because doing so would reduce her reader mail drastically.

Anyway, continuing on…

I guarantee you this person’s problem somehow relates to having to deal with everyday human interaction.

Bingo!

Ok, so far so good.

Dear Lord, isn’t that just the saddest thing you’ve ever heard?

Maybe San Francisco’s just not the place for you, dude.

Dammit, this is where we need details. We know that your daily commute requires public transportation AND a shared shuttle (the horror!) but on this you leave us in the dark? “Personal” means different things to different people. Is he telling you what he had for breakfast or is he describing his most recent perineum rash? Given your personal space boundaries I’m guessing it’s closer to the former.

I presume this is because 5:10pm is the exact time the teenagers and negroes begin loitering at the shuttle stop, with the rap music and the baggy pants and all hopped up on the goofballs.

I really, sincerely wish Abby’s advice to Uncomfortable had been that he walk faster, if only for the mental picture of this mopey commuter, barely getting through each miserable day, speed walking to and from the shuttle every morning and evening, “Phil” trailing behind, desperately reaching out in a vain attempt to grasp his coworker’s arm, shouting mildly personal information the whole way.

We’ve covered weddings and coworkers, how about relationship problems?

Shattered Heart writes:

Fair enough, seems pretty normal so far…

…Ok…

Is this what goes on in senior living nowadays? Damn you, Sex and the City!

Suddenly I miss my Grandma.

Wait a minute, since when is “no sleeping with each others’ exes” in the neighbor code of honor? Perhaps you should refer to your apartment complex charter.

Not calling your neighbor a slut in Dear Abby would probably be a good first step.

As I said earlier, Dear Abby is notorious for propagating urban legends, but this might be the first time she’s ever propagated a Mary Worth plotline.

How about an etiquette question ?

Jesus Christ, seriously?

Alright, that’s all I can handle for now, but let’s finish off with this context-free bit of advice from Ms. Van Buren herself:

Thanks, Abby!