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(06/02/05 4:00am)
In talking with various different people it seems as though many feel summer's entertainment possibilities are limited in wake of "Star Wars: Episode III -- Revenge of the Sith" having already been unleashed upon us. While "ROTS" is certainly the best of the prequels, it's nowhere near as good as Episodes 4 and 5 and it's definitely not the best of the bunch as lots of folks are quick to suggest. Relax, "Star Wars" geeks, I'm among your numbers and can still assure you that there are still plenty of entertaining options remaining in the realms of movies, music, television and video games for the rest of summer. The following is a look at the best of the bunch.
(06/02/05 2:18am)
In talking with various different people it seems as though many feel summer's entertainment possibilities are limited in wake of "Star Wars: Episode III -- Revenge of the Sith" having already been unleashed upon us. While "ROTS" is certainly the best of the prequels, it's nowhere near as good as Episodes 4 and 5 and it's definitely not the best of the bunch as lots of folks are quick to suggest. Relax, "Star Wars" geeks, I'm among your numbers and can still assure you that there are still plenty of entertaining options remaining in the realms of movies, music, television and video games for the rest of summer. The following is a look at the best of the bunch.
(06/02/05 1:29am)
Dave Chappelle is currently the funniest man alive. He's superseded fellow black comedians such as Eddie Murphy, Chris Rock and yes, even Richard Pryor and makes most white folks (excepting Will Ferrell and Ali G a.k.a Sacha Baron Cohen) seem about as funny as "Schindler's List." Color wouldn't be an issue if not for the fact that much of Chappelle's material spurs from our cultural differences. Bravely tackling such subject matter in wake of the FCC's Janet Jackson mammary witch-hunt makes "Chappelle's Show" must-see TV. Likewise, being able to fully enjoy the series in its uncensored form makes "Chappelle's Show Season 2" a must-buy on DVD.\nIn the show's first season Chappelle exploded onto the television landscape with ingenious skits including "Clayton Bigsby: Black, Blind White Supremacist" (arguably my favorite piece of sketch comedy ever), "The Madd Real World" and "Trading Spouses." Season two was an overall improvement on what was already almost perfection. Gut busters such as "Charlie Murphy's True Hollywood Stories" featuring Rick James and Prince, "The Racial Draft," "Samuel Jackson Beer," "The Niggar Family," "When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong," "Knee-high Park," "Making da Band" and anything involving Tyrone Biggums (namely Red Balls and "Fear Factor") or Wayne Brady ("Is Wayne Brady gonna have to choke a bitch?") left me and countless others in stitches.\nThe DVDs don't quite live up to the greatness that is "Chappelle's Show," but they're still quite cool. There are two unaired Murphy stories which truly highlight what a great storyteller the man is, additional standup from Chappelle, more than an hour of deleted scenes and bloopers (with lots of Lil Jon for fans of the "King of Crunk"), a simultaneously saddening and hilarious extended interview with Rick James, Murphy's postmortem memories of James and illuminating audio commentary on four of the 13 episodes featuring Chappelle and series co-creator Neal Brennan.\nWhile I encourage everyone to purchase "Chappelle's Show Season 2" on DVD, please don't see it as an excuse to bring back the catchphrases, i.e. "I'm Rick James, bitch." The next popped collar polo-wearing fratty white boy who exclaims as much will be curbed by me. Instead use it as means to wait for Season 3 -- Chappelle's back from South Africa and hopefully it will be coming soon.
(06/02/05 1:21am)
Adam Sandler returns to gridiron glory following "The Waterboy" with a remake of Burt Reynolds' 1974 pigskin classic "The Longest Yard." While not up to snuff with its predecessor, the new "Yard" is intermittently entertaining, oftentimes humorous and certainly Sandler's best straight-up comedy since the late 1990s -- this after a string of filmic failures including "Little Nicky," "Mr. Deeds," "Anger Management" and "50 First Dates."\nSandler stars as former professional quarterback Paul "Wrecking" Crewe. Disgracefully disavowed from the NFL after shaving points in a pivotal game, Crewe spends his days sucking back suds, watching terrible television and leeching off Lena (a big-breasted Courtney Cox), his bitchy sugar mama. This all comes to a halt when after a heated fight Crewe locks Lena in a closet, steals her Bentley, goes on a drunken joyride, gets arrested and winds up in the slammer. \nEnter Warden Hazen (James Cromwell) and his team of semi-pro football-playing guards led by Captain Knauer (William Fichtner). Hazen pulled strings to place Crewe within his prison in hopes that he'd provide some professional pointers. Crewe suggests that the guards have a scrimmage game against a team whose skills are far inferior. Unrealistically, Hazen takes to the idea and appoints Crewe to gather and QB a team of prisoners. Helping him in his task are Caretaker (Chris Rock, proving once again that he's a better standup than actor), the guy who gets outside stuff to those on the inside, and Coach Nate Scarborough (Reynolds, sleepwalking his way through this for nostalgia and a paycheck), an aging Heisman Trophy-winner-turned-convict. Filling out the squads on either side of the ball are an onslaught of former footballers (Michael Irvin, Bill Romanowski and Brian Bosworth), professional wrestlers (Bill Goldberg, Stone Cold Steve Austin and Kevin Nash) and a rapper (Nelly, who while not great, is better than you'd assume).\nExcising the themes of social upheaval prevalent in the original and countless other films of the '70s, "The Longest Yard" is a mindless comedy in which punches serve as punch lines. This terrain is familiar to Sandler, whose angry man shtick is reigned in for his fairly straight-faced leading man stint. Fueling a fair share of the funny business are Tracy Morgan as transgendered prisoner Ms. Tucker, Terry Crews as Cheeseburger Eddy (seeing him pull a Quarter Pounder from his sweaty football pants is a laugh and a half) and Nash, whose anabolic steroids are replaced with estrogen pills to hilarious effect.\nNowhere near as funny as Sandler's early comedic offerings ("Billy Madison," "Happy Gilmore" and "The Wedding Singer") nor as effective as the '74 original, "The Longest Yard" makes for a mild amusement best taken in at a matinee.
(05/19/05 3:57pm)
"In Good Company" was supposed to be released amid a great deal of buzz late last year as a candidate for awards consideration. Universal, the film's distributor, in its "infinite wisdom" waited to unleash the flick in January (i.e. cinema's dumping grounds). While "Company" couldn't have competed with Oscar powerhouses such as "Million Dollar Baby" and "The Aviator," it's a charming little movie that might've garnered Topher Grace a supporting actor nomination for his star-making turn. Now that it's out on DVD, that'll be up to you to decide.\nGrace hilariously stars as Carter Duryea, a 26-year-old hell-bent on ascending the corporate ladder. In doing so, he's ruined his young, loveless marriage to Kimberly (Selma Blair) and inadvertently stomped all over the feelings of Dan Foreman (a sterling Dennis Quaid), the 51-year-old man whose job he's just taken as head of ad sales at Sports America magazine. Further complicating matters, Dan's wife, Ann (Marg Helgenberger), is unexpectedly pregnant with their third child, and his eldest daughter, Alex (Scarlett Johansson), has just been accepted to NYU, but he'll need to take out a second mortgage on the family home to afford the costly tuition bills -- this all in the face of demotion and constant threats of downsizing. Adding insult to injury; Carter's begun dating Alex.\nWhile this sounds as if it were a Lifetime movie for the testosterone set -- and it is to some extent -- it's also so much more. Reminiscent of Cameron Crowe's "Jerry Maguire," "Company" is brimming with humor and heart. Inadequately advertised as a romantic comedy between Grace and Johansson, the film is far more centered on the relationship between Grace and Quaid and the notion of what it takes to be a good, principled man amid contemporary conglomeration.\nWhile the DVD isn't up to snuff with the quality of the movie itself, it's still quite good. Writer/director Paul Weitz (who directed "American Pie" and "About a Boy" with his brother, Chris) and Grace take part in an entertainingly illuminating commentary. There are also numerous deleted scenes that can be played with or without Weitz's commentary. Unlike most cut scenes, much of what's here is worthwhile and was only excised for the sake of a reasonable runtime. A series of featurettes which together spell "Synergy" (the film's original title) are also available. These can be played all at once for the sake of convenience, though they aren't particularly informative.\nIf you missed "In Good Company" in theaters, there's no better time than the present to encounter this charming gem of a movie on DVD.
(05/19/05 3:44pm)
Finnish director Renny Harlin's latest "opus moderandi" "Mindhunters" could have easily been the dumbest movie of the year, that is had I not seen "xXx: State of the Union" two weeks prior. \nHarlin, whose career kick-started with modestly entertaining action and horror movies such as "Die Hard 2," "Cliffhanger," "Cutthroat Island" (sure it's one of the biggest bombs of all time, but I've got a soft spot for pirate flicks ... even those starring Geena Davis), "The Long Kiss Goodnight" and "Deep Blue Sea," has since fallen on hard times. To give you an idea of how bad things have become, his last two pictures were the Sylvester Stallone Formula 1 misstep "Driven" and ill-conceived prequel "Exorcist: The Beginning," the latter of which Harlin shot while "Mindhunters" was languishing in Bob and Harvey Weinstein's vaults. I'd venture to guess that it was only released domestically as means of liquidation in wake of the recent divorce between Disney and Miramax.\n"Mindhunters" centers on a team of prospective FBI profilers (Christian Slater, Jonny Lee Miller, Kathryn Morris, Eion Bailey, Clifton Collins Jr., Patricia Velasquez and Will Kemp) and their unorthodox instructor (Val Kilmer). To conclude their course, the trainees are sent to a remote Navy-owned island with an agency observer (LL Cool J) in order to solve a simulated slaying. Lo and behold, one of the agents is off-kilter and sets about offing his or her contemporaries through a series of increasingly complicated Rube Goldberg-esque murders based around their personalities. Get it? The killer is profiling the profilers. Genius!\n"Mindhunters" reminds me of a high school basketball program with problems. Kilmer and Slater were once A-list actors (think: varsity), but their stars have since dimmed due to erratic behavior and legal troubles, as such they're now on JV. With 20 minutes of screen time between them, one could presume they'd even been suspended. Filling the gaps are a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears freshman, i.e. C-list stars, such as Miller (who'll never top his turn in "Trainspotting," and has a horrendous Southern accent here), Morris (star of CBS' contrived "Cold Case"), Bailey (the first "space monkey" in "Fight Club"), Collins Jr. (the drug dealer in "The Rules of Attraction"), "Mummy" mamacita Velasquez and Kemp (who's only other screen credit is the vapid "Van Helsing"). Along for the ride is a cocky point guard (Cool J) who talks shit more often than he scores. \nCoaching this ragtag team is Harlin, whose winning percentage of late would make even Mike Davis scoff. "Assistant coaches" screenwriters Wayne Kramer and Kevin Brodbin draw up nonsensical plays (see the film's last minute killer switcheroo) punctuated by daffy dialogue ("Iny, miny, mino, mo. Who's the next motherfucker to go?" and "Now we know his weakness: bullets."). "Boosters" such as the editing and special effects departments do no small favors either: the film looks as though it were cut with a kiddie's pair of Fiskars and CG and make-up effects are of Troma quality.\n"Mindhunters" was shot in Amsterdam and it shows. You'd have to be on drugs to make a movie this foggy.
(05/19/05 3:41pm)
French filmmaker Luc Besson's protégé Louis Leterrier has advanced by leaps and bounds between his first film "The Transporter" (Jason Statham's oiled-up altercation is the personification of homoerotic, but the opening car chase was cool) and its follow-up "Unleashed" (known everywhere but here as "Danny the Dog").\n"Unleashed" is the story of Danny (Jet Li), who as a boy was abducted and raised to think he was a dog by glowering Glasgow gangster Bart (a scene-chewing Bob Hoskins). Bart cages Danny, feeds him cold cans of spaghetti and affixes a stylized collar around the poor bastard's neck. Danny accompanies Bart on his rounds. If marks don't pay their dues, get lippy or worse, violent; Bart simply removes Danny's collar and says "sic 'em," to which Danny unleashes his fists of fury. \nOn one such collection and by complete happenstance, Danny meets a blind piano tuner named Sam (Morgan Freeman). Sam is an oddity to Danny: not only is he kind to him, he also opens his mind to the wonders of music. So when Bart is ambushed by a rival racketeer, Danny turns to Sam for help. Sam, warm-hearted guy that he is (arguably stupidly so), takes Danny into his home. There, Danny is further introduced to the wonders of humanity by Sam's music student stepdaughter, Victoria (Irish actress Kerry Condon).\nWhile Besson's script is somewhat silly (think: "Nell" with nunchakus) and lends itself to bouts of schizophrenia, "Unleashed" is elevated beyond its inherent overly sweet sentimentality by deft direction, assured acting, masterful music (courtesy of Massive Attack and The RZA) and bad-ass brawls. \nLeterrier captures the British underworld almost as stylistically as Guy Ritchie, with slick transitions, interesting angles, fluctuating film speeds and a dark, desaturated look. He also does something rare for a contemporary action moviemaker by giving the fight sequences room to breathe -- then again, he has Li in his arsenal. \nLi strikes the right balance between puppy and pit bull. Freeman lends "Unleashed" credibility, infusing not only his role but the picture as a whole with humor and heart. And Hoskins is snarling perfection.\nThe fights, while not as plentiful as some might like, are a wonder to behold. As designed by Woo-Ping Yuen ("The Matrix") and executed by Li and the countless comers he kicks the crap out of, they're the epitome of martial arts mayhem. Relatively free of wirework, they're refreshing and somewhat reminiscent of Tony Jaa's "Ong Bak: The Thai Warrior." Especially noteworthy are a pair of lucrative, to-the-death bouts brought about by the profiteering Bart and close quarters bathroom combat enacted by Li and a bald-headed, white-wearing warrior.\nIn spite of its shortcomings, "Unleashed" is action filmmaking that's off the chain.
(05/19/05 4:00am)
French filmmaker Luc Besson's protégé Louis Leterrier has advanced by leaps and bounds between his first film "The Transporter" (Jason Statham's oiled-up altercation is the personification of homoerotic, but the opening car chase was cool) and its follow-up "Unleashed" (known everywhere but here as "Danny the Dog").\n"Unleashed" is the story of Danny (Jet Li), who as a boy was abducted and raised to think he was a dog by glowering Glasgow gangster Bart (a scene-chewing Bob Hoskins). Bart cages Danny, feeds him cold cans of spaghetti and affixes a stylized collar around the poor bastard's neck. Danny accompanies Bart on his rounds. If marks don't pay their dues, get lippy or worse, violent; Bart simply removes Danny's collar and says "sic 'em," to which Danny unleashes his fists of fury. \nOn one such collection and by complete happenstance, Danny meets a blind piano tuner named Sam (Morgan Freeman). Sam is an oddity to Danny: not only is he kind to him, he also opens his mind to the wonders of music. So when Bart is ambushed by a rival racketeer, Danny turns to Sam for help. Sam, warm-hearted guy that he is (arguably stupidly so), takes Danny into his home. There, Danny is further introduced to the wonders of humanity by Sam's music student stepdaughter, Victoria (Irish actress Kerry Condon).\nWhile Besson's script is somewhat silly (think: "Nell" with nunchakus) and lends itself to bouts of schizophrenia, "Unleashed" is elevated beyond its inherent overly sweet sentimentality by deft direction, assured acting, masterful music (courtesy of Massive Attack and The RZA) and bad-ass brawls. \nLeterrier captures the British underworld almost as stylistically as Guy Ritchie, with slick transitions, interesting angles, fluctuating film speeds and a dark, desaturated look. He also does something rare for a contemporary action moviemaker by giving the fight sequences room to breathe -- then again, he has Li in his arsenal. \nLi strikes the right balance between puppy and pit bull. Freeman lends "Unleashed" credibility, infusing not only his role but the picture as a whole with humor and heart. And Hoskins is snarling perfection.\nThe fights, while not as plentiful as some might like, are a wonder to behold. As designed by Woo-Ping Yuen ("The Matrix") and executed by Li and the countless comers he kicks the crap out of, they're the epitome of martial arts mayhem. Relatively free of wirework, they're refreshing and somewhat reminiscent of Tony Jaa's "Ong Bak: The Thai Warrior." Especially noteworthy are a pair of lucrative, to-the-death bouts brought about by the profiteering Bart and close quarters bathroom combat enacted by Li and a bald-headed, white-wearing warrior.\nIn spite of its shortcomings, "Unleashed" is action filmmaking that's off the chain.
(05/19/05 4:00am)
Finnish director Renny Harlin's latest "opus moderandi" "Mindhunters" could have easily been the dumbest movie of the year, that is had I not seen "xXx: State of the Union" two weeks prior. \nHarlin, whose career kick-started with modestly entertaining action and horror movies such as "Die Hard 2," "Cliffhanger," "Cutthroat Island" (sure it's one of the biggest bombs of all time, but I've got a soft spot for pirate flicks ... even those starring Geena Davis), "The Long Kiss Goodnight" and "Deep Blue Sea," has since fallen on hard times. To give you an idea of how bad things have become, his last two pictures were the Sylvester Stallone Formula 1 misstep "Driven" and ill-conceived prequel "Exorcist: The Beginning," the latter of which Harlin shot while "Mindhunters" was languishing in Bob and Harvey Weinstein's vaults. I'd venture to guess that it was only released domestically as means of liquidation in wake of the recent divorce between Disney and Miramax.\n"Mindhunters" centers on a team of prospective FBI profilers (Christian Slater, Jonny Lee Miller, Kathryn Morris, Eion Bailey, Clifton Collins Jr., Patricia Velasquez and Will Kemp) and their unorthodox instructor (Val Kilmer). To conclude their course, the trainees are sent to a remote Navy-owned island with an agency observer (LL Cool J) in order to solve a simulated slaying. Lo and behold, one of the agents is off-kilter and sets about offing his or her contemporaries through a series of increasingly complicated Rube Goldberg-esque murders based around their personalities. Get it? The killer is profiling the profilers. Genius!\n"Mindhunters" reminds me of a high school basketball program with problems. Kilmer and Slater were once A-list actors (think: varsity), but their stars have since dimmed due to erratic behavior and legal troubles, as such they're now on JV. With 20 minutes of screen time between them, one could presume they'd even been suspended. Filling the gaps are a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears freshman, i.e. C-list stars, such as Miller (who'll never top his turn in "Trainspotting," and has a horrendous Southern accent here), Morris (star of CBS' contrived "Cold Case"), Bailey (the first "space monkey" in "Fight Club"), Collins Jr. (the drug dealer in "The Rules of Attraction"), "Mummy" mamacita Velasquez and Kemp (who's only other screen credit is the vapid "Van Helsing"). Along for the ride is a cocky point guard (Cool J) who talks shit more often than he scores. \nCoaching this ragtag team is Harlin, whose winning percentage of late would make even Mike Davis scoff. "Assistant coaches" screenwriters Wayne Kramer and Kevin Brodbin draw up nonsensical plays (see the film's last minute killer switcheroo) punctuated by daffy dialogue ("Iny, miny, mino, mo. Who's the next motherfucker to go?" and "Now we know his weakness: bullets."). "Boosters" such as the editing and special effects departments do no small favors either: the film looks as though it were cut with a kiddie's pair of Fiskars and CG and make-up effects are of Troma quality.\n"Mindhunters" was shot in Amsterdam and it shows. You'd have to be on drugs to make a movie this foggy.
(05/19/05 4:00am)
"In Good Company" was supposed to be released amid a great deal of buzz late last year as a candidate for awards consideration. Universal, the film's distributor, in its "infinite wisdom" waited to unleash the flick in January (i.e. cinema's dumping grounds). While "Company" couldn't have competed with Oscar powerhouses such as "Million Dollar Baby" and "The Aviator," it's a charming little movie that might've garnered Topher Grace a supporting actor nomination for his star-making turn. Now that it's out on DVD, that'll be up to you to decide.\nGrace hilariously stars as Carter Duryea, a 26-year-old hell-bent on ascending the corporate ladder. In doing so, he's ruined his young, loveless marriage to Kimberly (Selma Blair) and inadvertently stomped all over the feelings of Dan Foreman (a sterling Dennis Quaid), the 51-year-old man whose job he's just taken as head of ad sales at Sports America magazine. Further complicating matters, Dan's wife, Ann (Marg Helgenberger), is unexpectedly pregnant with their third child, and his eldest daughter, Alex (Scarlett Johansson), has just been accepted to NYU, but he'll need to take out a second mortgage on the family home to afford the costly tuition bills -- this all in the face of demotion and constant threats of downsizing. Adding insult to injury; Carter's begun dating Alex.\nWhile this sounds as if it were a Lifetime movie for the testosterone set -- and it is to some extent -- it's also so much more. Reminiscent of Cameron Crowe's "Jerry Maguire," "Company" is brimming with humor and heart. Inadequately advertised as a romantic comedy between Grace and Johansson, the film is far more centered on the relationship between Grace and Quaid and the notion of what it takes to be a good, principled man amid contemporary conglomeration.\nWhile the DVD isn't up to snuff with the quality of the movie itself, it's still quite good. Writer/director Paul Weitz (who directed "American Pie" and "About a Boy" with his brother, Chris) and Grace take part in an entertainingly illuminating commentary. There are also numerous deleted scenes that can be played with or without Weitz's commentary. Unlike most cut scenes, much of what's here is worthwhile and was only excised for the sake of a reasonable runtime. A series of featurettes which together spell "Synergy" (the film's original title) are also available. These can be played all at once for the sake of convenience, though they aren't particularly informative.\nIf you missed "In Good Company" in theaters, there's no better time than the present to encounter this charming gem of a movie on DVD.
(05/12/05 4:00am)
House of Wax" marks Paris Hilton's first starring role in a feature film, and as such I'll save you folks some sense of mystery. Yes, she sucks worse as an actress than she did in her hotel room video sex romp, and yes, she dies ... brutally.\nIn spite of being a remake of Vincent Price's 1953 chiller of the same name, the two have little or nothing in common other than the title. While differentiating itself from the original, "Wax" loses originality points for being the latest in a long line of teens go on a road trip-teens tangle with hillbillies-teens get murdered horror flicks a la "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre," "Cabin Fever" and "Wrong Turn." \nElisha Cuthbert and Chad Michael Murray headline as twin siblings Carly and Nick Jones. She's the golden child of their family: considering uprooting from the South to New York City and dating upstanding nice guy Wade (Jared Padalecki of "Gilmore Girls"). Her brother Nick's the black sheep: just released from the state pen for pilfering Plymouths and looking to party. Together the trio sets out for a college football game in Louisiana with three other friends; Nick's smart-ass sidekick Dalton (Jon Abrahams) and horndog honeys Paige (Hilton) and Blake (Robert Ri'chard). As is par for the course, the sextet stops in some podunk town to camp, drink and diddle. Amid their youthful indiscretions Nick runs afoul of a redneck by the name of Bo (Brian Van Holt). Shortly thereafter things go to shit for these WB poster children as they get offed one by one.\nAs for the slayings, they're pretty damned cool here: Achilles tendons are sliced, kids get "waxed" while still alive, one dude has his dome scissored off by a pair of knives and Paris takes a pole in the head. Adventurous filmgoers might even recognize a bludgeoning reference from Gaspar Noé's "Irréversible." This comes as no real surprise as the flick's directed by fellow Frenchman Jaume Serra, a commercial director making his feature debut. Serra infuses the film with a welcomed sense of style, implementing Hitchcockian crane shots during a chase sequence and mounting cameras to the backs of cars.\nCharacterization is next to nil save for Cuthbert and Murray's turns as Carly and Nick. I came into the film as a fan of Cuthbert's work in "24" and "The Girl Next Door." She makes for a pretty decent "scream queen," though I prefer her as a blonde. I knew next to nothing of Murray other than he's adored by preteen girls, but his -meets-badass persona melds together nicely. Hilton makes for a pretty crappy "scream queen," as she doesn't so much scream as yelp like the pup that often protrudes from her purse.\nWhile it doesn't exactly reinvent the wheel, "House of Wax" makes for a fun, albeit cheesy, couple hours at a multiplex matinee or better yet the drive-in.
(05/12/05 4:00am)
Just when I thought action moviemaking couldn't get any lamer than the Vin Diesel vehicle "xXx" along comes "xXx: State of the Union." However stupid its predecessor might've been, "State of the Union" ups the ante and turns the idiocy knob up to 11.\nIce Cube stars as Darius Stone, a former Navy SEAL incarcerated for decking his commanding officer Gen. George Deckert (Willem Dafoe) during a mission gone awry. Also on said mission was Agent Augustus Gibbons (Samuel L. Jackson), the "xXx" franchise's M: only black, scarred and male as opposed to the English, wrinkled and female Judi Dench of recent "James Bond" movies. \nAs Diesel's character, Xander Cage, was "killed in Bora Bora" with no further explanation, Gibbons recruits Stone in quelling a coup on the president (Peter Strauss) by ... you guessed it, the newly enacted Secretary of Defense Deckert (Dafoe). (Oh snap! Cube's gotta score to settle and he's gonna take out the trash.) Helping to halt the assassination attempt are NSA Agent Kyle Steele (Scott Speedman of "Felicity" fame) and Zeke (Xzibit), a chop shop-operating buddy of Stone's who's busy "pimping" everyone's "ride" but his own. Also thrown into the mix are Lola Jackson (Nona M. Gaye, daughter of the late, great Marvin), Stone's car-crazed ex-girlfriend, and the conniving caucasian cupcake Charlie (Sunny Mabrey, an actress who's looks are considerably better than her filmography of "The New Guy" and "Species III").\nSo how did things get so bad? Let the laundry list begin:\nCube is woefully miscast. I could imagine Diesel doing crunches in between takes; Cube would more likely eat Krunchers. This is unfortunate as I've liked much of Cube's cinematic career, i.e. the John Singleton films "Boyz N the Hood" and "Higher Learning," "Friday" and "Three Kings." Hell, I even dug "Torque." Now, this cat is relegated to kiddie crap like "Are We There Yet?" and Diesel's sloppy seconds. \nDirector Lee Tamahori, who bungled the last "Bond" flick "Die Another Day," fumbles this fledgling franchise. Action sequences are so dependent upon CGI you might as well be watching a cartoon (see the indoor tank fight that looks as though it were a cut scene from "G.I. Joe"), they're also gauzier than a mummy and cut faster than Tyrone Biggums' crack to make up for Cube's lack of athleticism. The damned thing is also boring -- a cardinal sin in action pictures. Lastly, how a director not only wastes but embarrasses actors of Jackson and Dafoe's caliber is beyond me. Tamahori, who's admittedly done some worthwhile work -- "Once Were Warriors," "The Edge" and an episode of "The Sopranos" -- began his career in New Zealand as a boom operator -- perhaps he should return.\nHowever bad Tamahori's direction is, Simon Kinberg's script is worse. This is Kinberg's first produced screenplay. Before that he did "script doctor" duties on "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle" and "Elektra," as both those dollops of doodie arrived DOA, one has to wonder if Kinberg is performing cinematic abortions or Dr. Kevorkian-esque assisted suicides. That he's tackling three eagerly anticipated forthcoming flicks ("Mr. and Mrs. Smith," "Fantastic Four" and "X-Men 3") saddens me to no end.\nTo add insult to injury, the soundtrack sucks ass. Who really needed to hear Korn and Xzibit's cover of Public Enemy's "Fight the Power?" Forget the president, someone should assassinate this movie.
(05/12/05 4:00am)
Let's get something straight right out of the gate: I love Ben Folds' music and have ever since I discovered Whatever and Ever Amen and its hit single "Brick" back in 1997. I dug it so much in fact I ventured backward to discover Ben Folds Five's self-titled debut. From there I marched forward through the compilation Naked Baby Photos; the weird side projects with William Shatner; the Five's final record The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner; their eventual break-up; Folds' follow-up solo album Rockin' the Suburbs; the concert recording Ben Folds Live and numerous shows and EPs since. That is why Folds' latest Songs for Silverman is such a disappointment. That's not to say it's a bad record, far from it in fact, it's just not up to snuff with Folds' other, older stuff.\nThe leadoff track "Bastard," while witty, doesn't really grab this listener's attention musically: things pick up considerably with "You to Thank" and "Trusted," both of which return to the piano pyrotechnics of Messner and are chock-a-block with cool chord progressions. This leads into "Jesusland," a wiseass companion to Suburbs' title track and "All U Can Eat" off the Sunny 16 EP, which further extends an upturned middle finger at yuppies living in McMansions. That "Jesusland" also boasts Beach Boys-esque harmonies doesn't hurt matters. Silverman's first single "Landed," which will ring true to anyone who's ever found themselves in a relationship rut, sounds as if it could've come from Amen with sped up "Sweet Baby James"-like piano plinking. "Gracie," Folds' ode to his young daughter, doesn't have the weight of "Still Fighting It," the beatific ballad he penned for his son. Though, in the song's defense, it's much better live. "Give Judy My Notice," the only transfer from the recent trio of EPs (the other two being Speed Graphic and Super D), is actually improved with the implementation of Bucky Baxter's twangy pedal steel and background vocals from Folds' wife, Frally. "Late," a tribute to Folds' late friend Elliott Smith, is undeniably the record's best cut. The blue-collar rumination on camaraderie lost eschews sappy sentimentality and calls things as they really were: "Elliott, man you played a fine guitar / And some dirty basketball." "Sentimental Guy" is the rarest of things for Folds: an out-and-out miss. While the lyrics are rueful, the accompanying instrumentation and intonation are inappropriately gleeful, jettisoning the tune in sitcom theme music land. "Time" is pretty in spite of being repetitious and incorporating guest vocalist "Weird Al" Yankovic. Silverman closes on "Prison Food" and ends like it opened: with a thud. Imagine Folds doing something halfway prog rock-ish and you get the idea.\nAs a 38-year-old family man, Folds has undoubtedly changed -- some for better, some for worse. It's saddening that Songs for Silverman doesn't even stack up with the aforementioned EPs. Then again, as his priorities change, so will the music. Maybe 10 to 15 years from now I'll understand. Right now I'm missing the guy who was once looking for his money and black T-shirt.
(05/12/05 12:55am)
House of Wax" marks Paris Hilton's first starring role in a feature film, and as such I'll save you folks some sense of mystery. Yes, she sucks worse as an actress than she did in her hotel room video sex romp, and yes, she dies ... brutally.\nIn spite of being a remake of Vincent Price's 1953 chiller of the same name, the two have little or nothing in common other than the title. While differentiating itself from the original, "Wax" loses originality points for being the latest in a long line of teens go on a road trip-teens tangle with hillbillies-teens get murdered horror flicks a la "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre," "Cabin Fever" and "Wrong Turn." \nElisha Cuthbert and Chad Michael Murray headline as twin siblings Carly and Nick Jones. She's the golden child of their family: considering uprooting from the South to New York City and dating upstanding nice guy Wade (Jared Padalecki of "Gilmore Girls"). Her brother Nick's the black sheep: just released from the state pen for pilfering Plymouths and looking to party. Together the trio sets out for a college football game in Louisiana with three other friends; Nick's smart-ass sidekick Dalton (Jon Abrahams) and horndog honeys Paige (Hilton) and Blake (Robert Ri'chard). As is par for the course, the sextet stops in some podunk town to camp, drink and diddle. Amid their youthful indiscretions Nick runs afoul of a redneck by the name of Bo (Brian Van Holt). Shortly thereafter things go to shit for these WB poster children as they get offed one by one.\nAs for the slayings, they're pretty damned cool here: Achilles tendons are sliced, kids get "waxed" while still alive, one dude has his dome scissored off by a pair of knives and Paris takes a pole in the head. Adventurous filmgoers might even recognize a bludgeoning reference from Gaspar Noé's "Irréversible." This comes as no real surprise as the flick's directed by fellow Frenchman Jaume Serra, a commercial director making his feature debut. Serra infuses the film with a welcomed sense of style, implementing Hitchcockian crane shots during a chase sequence and mounting cameras to the backs of cars.\nCharacterization is next to nil save for Cuthbert and Murray's turns as Carly and Nick. I came into the film as a fan of Cuthbert's work in "24" and "The Girl Next Door." She makes for a pretty decent "scream queen," though I prefer her as a blonde. I knew next to nothing of Murray other than he's adored by preteen girls, but his -meets-badass persona melds together nicely. Hilton makes for a pretty crappy "scream queen," as she doesn't so much scream as yelp like the pup that often protrudes from her purse.\nWhile it doesn't exactly reinvent the wheel, "House of Wax" makes for a fun, albeit cheesy, couple hours at a multiplex matinee or better yet the drive-in.
(05/12/05 12:44am)
Let's get something straight right out of the gate: I love Ben Folds' music and have ever since I discovered Whatever and Ever Amen and its hit single "Brick" back in 1997. I dug it so much in fact I ventured backward to discover Ben Folds Five's self-titled debut. From there I marched forward through the compilation Naked Baby Photos; the weird side projects with William Shatner; the Five's final record The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner; their eventual break-up; Folds' follow-up solo album Rockin' the Suburbs; the concert recording Ben Folds Live and numerous shows and EPs since. That is why Folds' latest Songs for Silverman is such a disappointment. That's not to say it's a bad record, far from it in fact, it's just not up to snuff with Folds' other, older stuff.\nThe leadoff track "Bastard," while witty, doesn't really grab this listener's attention musically: things pick up considerably with "You to Thank" and "Trusted," both of which return to the piano pyrotechnics of Messner and are chock-a-block with cool chord progressions. This leads into "Jesusland," a wiseass companion to Suburbs' title track and "All U Can Eat" off the Sunny 16 EP, which further extends an upturned middle finger at yuppies living in McMansions. That "Jesusland" also boasts Beach Boys-esque harmonies doesn't hurt matters. Silverman's first single "Landed," which will ring true to anyone who's ever found themselves in a relationship rut, sounds as if it could've come from Amen with sped up "Sweet Baby James"-like piano plinking. "Gracie," Folds' ode to his young daughter, doesn't have the weight of "Still Fighting It," the beatific ballad he penned for his son. Though, in the song's defense, it's much better live. "Give Judy My Notice," the only transfer from the recent trio of EPs (the other two being Speed Graphic and Super D), is actually improved with the implementation of Bucky Baxter's twangy pedal steel and background vocals from Folds' wife, Frally. "Late," a tribute to Folds' late friend Elliott Smith, is undeniably the record's best cut. The blue-collar rumination on camaraderie lost eschews sappy sentimentality and calls things as they really were: "Elliott, man you played a fine guitar / And some dirty basketball." "Sentimental Guy" is the rarest of things for Folds: an out-and-out miss. While the lyrics are rueful, the accompanying instrumentation and intonation are inappropriately gleeful, jettisoning the tune in sitcom theme music land. "Time" is pretty in spite of being repetitious and incorporating guest vocalist "Weird Al" Yankovic. Silverman closes on "Prison Food" and ends like it opened: with a thud. Imagine Folds doing something halfway prog rock-ish and you get the idea.\nAs a 38-year-old family man, Folds has undoubtedly changed -- some for better, some for worse. It's saddening that Songs for Silverman doesn't even stack up with the aforementioned EPs. Then again, as his priorities change, so will the music. Maybe 10 to 15 years from now I'll understand. Right now I'm missing the guy who was once looking for his money and black T-shirt.
(05/12/05 12:26am)
Just when I thought action moviemaking couldn't get any lamer than the Vin Diesel vehicle "xXx" along comes "xXx: State of the Union." However stupid its predecessor might've been, "State of the Union" ups the ante and turns the idiocy knob up to 11.\nIce Cube stars as Darius Stone, a former Navy SEAL incarcerated for decking his commanding officer Gen. George Deckert (Willem Dafoe) during a mission gone awry. Also on said mission was Agent Augustus Gibbons (Samuel L. Jackson), the "xXx" franchise's M: only black, scarred and male as opposed to the English, wrinkled and female Judi Dench of recent "James Bond" movies. \nAs Diesel's character, Xander Cage, was "killed in Bora Bora" with no further explanation, Gibbons recruits Stone in quelling a coup on the president (Peter Strauss) by ... you guessed it, the newly enacted Secretary of Defense Deckert (Dafoe). (Oh snap! Cube's gotta score to settle and he's gonna take out the trash.) Helping to halt the assassination attempt are NSA Agent Kyle Steele (Scott Speedman of "Felicity" fame) and Zeke (Xzibit), a chop shop-operating buddy of Stone's who's busy "pimping" everyone's "ride" but his own. Also thrown into the mix are Lola Jackson (Nona M. Gaye, daughter of the late, great Marvin), Stone's car-crazed ex-girlfriend, and the conniving caucasian cupcake Charlie (Sunny Mabrey, an actress who's looks are considerably better than her filmography of "The New Guy" and "Species III").\nSo how did things get so bad? Let the laundry list begin:\nCube is woefully miscast. I could imagine Diesel doing crunches in between takes; Cube would more likely eat Krunchers. This is unfortunate as I've liked much of Cube's cinematic career, i.e. the John Singleton films "Boyz N the Hood" and "Higher Learning," "Friday" and "Three Kings." Hell, I even dug "Torque." Now, this cat is relegated to kiddie crap like "Are We There Yet?" and Diesel's sloppy seconds. \nDirector Lee Tamahori, who bungled the last "Bond" flick "Die Another Day," fumbles this fledgling franchise. Action sequences are so dependent upon CGI you might as well be watching a cartoon (see the indoor tank fight that looks as though it were a cut scene from "G.I. Joe"), they're also gauzier than a mummy and cut faster than Tyrone Biggums' crack to make up for Cube's lack of athleticism. The damned thing is also boring -- a cardinal sin in action pictures. Lastly, how a director not only wastes but embarrasses actors of Jackson and Dafoe's caliber is beyond me. Tamahori, who's admittedly done some worthwhile work -- "Once Were Warriors," "The Edge" and an episode of "The Sopranos" -- began his career in New Zealand as a boom operator -- perhaps he should return.\nHowever bad Tamahori's direction is, Simon Kinberg's script is worse. This is Kinberg's first produced screenplay. Before that he did "script doctor" duties on "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle" and "Elektra," as both those dollops of doodie arrived DOA, one has to wonder if Kinberg is performing cinematic abortions or Dr. Kevorkian-esque assisted suicides. That he's tackling three eagerly anticipated forthcoming flicks ("Mr. and Mrs. Smith," "Fantastic Four" and "X-Men 3") saddens me to no end.\nTo add insult to injury, the soundtrack sucks ass. Who really needed to hear Korn and Xzibit's cover of Public Enemy's "Fight the Power?" Forget the president, someone should assassinate this movie.
(04/28/05 4:00am)
This past Saturday a few friends and I hit up the Star Wars Celebration III at the Indiana Convention Center in Indy. Well, sort of ...\nWe arrived Saturday afternoon around 3 -- this way we'd be there in time for the panel featuring Warwick "Willow" Davis. Damn, I love little people, and after having seen his turn in "Ray" I figured scavenger smoking might've been in order. Lo and behold, the damned thing was sold-out. "Luckily," we ran into a cigarette-smoking "Star Wars" fanatic outside the convention center. He told us he had a few "guest passes" that he'd bought for his kids and that they couldn't make it. Obviously, my bullshit detector was tripped. After looking the passes over, I came to the conclusion that they were kosher. Me, being the smooth operator that I am, told the dude I wouldn't pay him until we got into the con. We did (admittance was granted by a chick dressed as the female assassin from the beginning of "Episode II") and I did ($20, which was half the price of entry -- he wouldn't accept credits). Strangely, after paying the "Star Wars" wuss with our hard-earned green, he busted out faster than Anakin "Wee!" Skywalker in a pod race. Suddenly the scent of bantha fodder filled air.\nSo me and my buds are moseying through a sea of spazzes -- ladies both hot and not don Princess Leia's slave outfit (one broad's butt cheeks popped out the sides of her getup), onslaughts of the unlaid sport Stormtrooper suits and one tool had a taun-taun mockup wrapped around his waist. So far so good. My pals and I are fans of "Star Wars," but nowhere near the extent of the creeps at the con, and as such we're having a good laugh at the legions of losers surrounding us. \nThe laughing ceases when we realize we'd been hoodwinked. Our guest passes were good enough to get us into the convention center's lobby, i.e. we can gawk at goons, buy overpriced nachos at the food court, peek our heads into the doors of panels/displays and do little else. When attempting to enter the LucasFilm Archive we were sternly told by a dorky duo in matching Emperial guard garb that we couldn't enter unless we were accompanied by a member of the "Star Wars" fan club. Well, our hook-up had long since hoofed it, and the other oafs (most of whom had Steven Seagal-esque ponytails and faux lightsabers in hand) I wouldn't cross the street to piss on were they engulfed in flames let alone latch onto.\nFeeling lost, dejected, taken advantage of and damned angry we sought a remedy to our current conundrum. I toyed with thoughts of using the Jedi Mind Trick to gain admittance to the galleries being denied us. Or perhaps we could jump a couple Stormtroopers a la Luke Skywalker and Han Solo circa "Episode IV," take their costumes and go wherever the hell we wanted. The notion of saying "screw it," buying a Jar Jar Binks cardboard cutout from the gift shop (which we didn't have access to), taking it to Don's Guns, renting a machine gun and decimating the damned thing also crossed our minds. Instead, I approached a booth being manned by a gentleman bearing a striking resemblance to Ron Jeremy, told him I'd received the pass from my uncle and asked what I could get into with it. Looking at me like I was handicapped, he said I shouldn't even be there unless I possessed the much-coveted "badge."\nLong story short, we said "screw it" (minus the machine gun), had dinner served to us at Perkins by a nine-fingered waitress, played a butt-ton of "Halo" and "Halo 2," watched "Pulp Fiction" and "Wonder Showzen" and I went on an overnight drunk killing the better portion of a fifth of Seagram's whiskey by downing innumerable 7 and 7's. Cut to the next morning: I'm hung-over, still pissed about the previous day's transgressions and have to drive an hour-plus back to Bloomington for work. As such, I do what any responsible soon-to-be college graduate would: I lay on my buddy's couch watching Nick GaS (it's Nickelodeon's game and sports network chock full of "Double Dare" and "Guts" reruns) in HDTV, making explicit comments about Robin Marrella (you remember her, she was Marc Summers' clean-up wench) and her "mom jeans," noting the irony that Summers hosted television's sloppiest series while suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder, catching a pal catching Jeromy Burnitz's game-winning three-run homer during the Chicago Cubs' Sunday victory over the Pittsburgh Pirates on "SportsCenter" and showing up to work something like five hours late.\nI've always thought of myself as somewhat of a "tough guy." After having been ripped-off by a "Star Wars" fan, I'll have to reexamine this notion, try to live down the humiliation and begrudgingly yet eagerly anticipate "Star Wars: Episode III -- Revenge of the Sith." Just don't expect me to buy scalped tickets to any sold-out pre-release screenings. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on George Lucas.
(04/28/05 4:00am)
Picking up where the sidesplitting "Shaolin Soccer" left off, Stephen Chow returns to his roles as writer, director, producer and star of the kooky "Kung Fu Hustle." Roger Ebert's review of the film refers to it as "Jackie Chan and Buster Keaton meet Quentin Tarantino and Bugs Bunny" -- strange as this sounds, no statement could be more fitting.\nChow stars as Sing (the same character name he adopted in "Soccer"), a wannabe gangster who desperately desires membership into the dreaded Axe Gang. Coming off as a 1940s Shanghai surrogate to the Crazy 88 ("Kill Bill Vol. 1"), the Axe Gang terrorizes moneyed communities. Since the gang is discriminating, citizens of the poverty-stricken Pig Sty Alley have immunity. That is until Sing, masquerading as a Mafioso, tries to bilk a butt-showing barber out of a haircut for his portly pal (Chi Chung Lam, also of "Soccer"). One thing leads to another and a fight breaks out. The Axe Gang is suckered into scrapping on Sing's behalf only to have their asses handed to them by the triumphant trio of Donut (Dong Zhi Hua), a nice-guy baker; Tailor (Chiu Chi Ling), a gay garment-maker and Brother Sum (Kwok Kuen Chan -- Jackie Chan's last-minute nemesis in "The Legend of Drunken Master"), a rice-bag-lugging "lout" -- normal dudes with abnormal martial arts abilities. Also drawn into the melee mix are Pig Sty Alley's lusty Landlord (Wah Yuen -- Bruce Lee's stand-in for "The Chinese Connection) and his chain-smoking, skull-slapping, rapid-running wife the Landlady (Qiu Yuen, one-time Bond girl of "The Man with the the Golden Gun" who gained a whopping 40 lbs. for the flick). \nThings get crazier from here as Chow infuses the movie with references to "The Shining," "Forrest Gump," "The Matrix," "Spider-Man" and "Gangs of New York" among many others. Computer-generated imagery becomes the norm as bodies are catapulted through the air via roundhouse punches (choreographed by Yuen Wo Ping of "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" fame) to the face and characters kick up dirt and leave motion streaks during a foot chase that'd be right at home in a Chuck Jones "Road Runner/Wile E. Coyote" cartoon. If this weren't enough, gangsters break into dance after hatcheting a rival to death and a young boy receives a golden shower ... twice. All in all, it's some pretty heady stuff. Logic lapses abound (intended, mind you) and things occasionally grow tedious and repetitive, but when stupidity is presented as smartly as it is here all you can really do is sit back, relax and laugh.
(04/27/05 5:19am)
Picking up where the sidesplitting "Shaolin Soccer" left off, Stephen Chow returns to his roles as writer, director, producer and star of the kooky "Kung Fu Hustle." Roger Ebert's review of the film refers to it as "Jackie Chan and Buster Keaton meet Quentin Tarantino and Bugs Bunny" -- strange as this sounds, no statement could be more fitting.\nChow stars as Sing (the same character name he adopted in "Soccer"), a wannabe gangster who desperately desires membership into the dreaded Axe Gang. Coming off as a 1940s Shanghai surrogate to the Crazy 88 ("Kill Bill Vol. 1"), the Axe Gang terrorizes moneyed communities. Since the gang is discriminating, citizens of the poverty-stricken Pig Sty Alley have immunity. That is until Sing, masquerading as a Mafioso, tries to bilk a butt-showing barber out of a haircut for his portly pal (Chi Chung Lam, also of "Soccer"). One thing leads to another and a fight breaks out. The Axe Gang is suckered into scrapping on Sing's behalf only to have their asses handed to them by the triumphant trio of Donut (Dong Zhi Hua), a nice-guy baker; Tailor (Chiu Chi Ling), a gay garment-maker and Brother Sum (Kwok Kuen Chan -- Jackie Chan's last-minute nemesis in "The Legend of Drunken Master"), a rice-bag-lugging "lout" -- normal dudes with abnormal martial arts abilities. Also drawn into the melee mix are Pig Sty Alley's lusty Landlord (Wah Yuen -- Bruce Lee's stand-in for "The Chinese Connection) and his chain-smoking, skull-slapping, rapid-running wife the Landlady (Qiu Yuen, one-time Bond girl of "The Man with the the Golden Gun" who gained a whopping 40 lbs. for the flick). \nThings get crazier from here as Chow infuses the movie with references to "The Shining," "Forrest Gump," "The Matrix," "Spider-Man" and "Gangs of New York" among many others. Computer-generated imagery becomes the norm as bodies are catapulted through the air via roundhouse punches (choreographed by Yuen Wo Ping of "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" fame) to the face and characters kick up dirt and leave motion streaks during a foot chase that'd be right at home in a Chuck Jones "Road Runner/Wile E. Coyote" cartoon. If this weren't enough, gangsters break into dance after hatcheting a rival to death and a young boy receives a golden shower ... twice. All in all, it's some pretty heady stuff. Logic lapses abound (intended, mind you) and things occasionally grow tedious and repetitive, but when stupidity is presented as smartly as it is here all you can really do is sit back, relax and laugh.
(04/27/05 4:49am)
This past Saturday a few friends and I hit up the Star Wars Celebration III at the Indiana Convention Center in Indy. Well, sort of ...\nWe arrived Saturday afternoon around 3 -- this way we'd be there in time for the panel featuring Warwick "Willow" Davis. Damn, I love little people, and after having seen his turn in "Ray" I figured scavenger smoking might've been in order. Lo and behold, the damned thing was sold-out. "Luckily," we ran into a cigarette-smoking "Star Wars" fanatic outside the convention center. He told us he had a few "guest passes" that he'd bought for his kids and that they couldn't make it. Obviously, my bullshit detector was tripped. After looking the passes over, I came to the conclusion that they were kosher. Me, being the smooth operator that I am, told the dude I wouldn't pay him until we got into the con. We did (admittance was granted by a chick dressed as the female assassin from the beginning of "Episode II") and I did ($20, which was half the price of entry -- he wouldn't accept credits). Strangely, after paying the "Star Wars" wuss with our hard-earned green, he busted out faster than Anakin "Wee!" Skywalker in a pod race. Suddenly the scent of bantha fodder filled air.\nSo me and my buds are moseying through a sea of spazzes -- ladies both hot and not don Princess Leia's slave outfit (one broad's butt cheeks popped out the sides of her getup), onslaughts of the unlaid sport Stormtrooper suits and one tool had a taun-taun mockup wrapped around his waist. So far so good. My pals and I are fans of "Star Wars," but nowhere near the extent of the creeps at the con, and as such we're having a good laugh at the legions of losers surrounding us. \nThe laughing ceases when we realize we'd been hoodwinked. Our guest passes were good enough to get us into the convention center's lobby, i.e. we can gawk at goons, buy overpriced nachos at the food court, peek our heads into the doors of panels/displays and do little else. When attempting to enter the LucasFilm Archive we were sternly told by a dorky duo in matching Emperial guard garb that we couldn't enter unless we were accompanied by a member of the "Star Wars" fan club. Well, our hook-up had long since hoofed it, and the other oafs (most of whom had Steven Seagal-esque ponytails and faux lightsabers in hand) I wouldn't cross the street to piss on were they engulfed in flames let alone latch onto.\nFeeling lost, dejected, taken advantage of and damned angry we sought a remedy to our current conundrum. I toyed with thoughts of using the Jedi Mind Trick to gain admittance to the galleries being denied us. Or perhaps we could jump a couple Stormtroopers a la Luke Skywalker and Han Solo circa "Episode IV," take their costumes and go wherever the hell we wanted. The notion of saying "screw it," buying a Jar Jar Binks cardboard cutout from the gift shop (which we didn't have access to), taking it to Don's Guns, renting a machine gun and decimating the damned thing also crossed our minds. Instead, I approached a booth being manned by a gentleman bearing a striking resemblance to Ron Jeremy, told him I'd received the pass from my uncle and asked what I could get into with it. Looking at me like I was handicapped, he said I shouldn't even be there unless I possessed the much-coveted "badge."\nLong story short, we said "screw it" (minus the machine gun), had dinner served to us at Perkins by a nine-fingered waitress, played a butt-ton of "Halo" and "Halo 2," watched "Pulp Fiction" and "Wonder Showzen" and I went on an overnight drunk killing the better portion of a fifth of Seagram's whiskey by downing innumerable 7 and 7's. Cut to the next morning: I'm hung-over, still pissed about the previous day's transgressions and have to drive an hour-plus back to Bloomington for work. As such, I do what any responsible soon-to-be college graduate would: I lay on my buddy's couch watching Nick GaS (it's Nickelodeon's game and sports network chock full of "Double Dare" and "Guts" reruns) in HDTV, making explicit comments about Robin Marrella (you remember her, she was Marc Summers' clean-up wench) and her "mom jeans," noting the irony that Summers hosted television's sloppiest series while suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder, catching a pal catching Jeromy Burnitz's game-winning three-run homer during the Chicago Cubs' Sunday victory over the Pittsburgh Pirates on "SportsCenter" and showing up to work something like five hours late.\nI've always thought of myself as somewhat of a "tough guy." After having been ripped-off by a "Star Wars" fan, I'll have to reexamine this notion, try to live down the humiliation and begrudgingly yet eagerly anticipate "Star Wars: Episode III -- Revenge of the Sith." Just don't expect me to buy scalped tickets to any sold-out pre-release screenings. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on George Lucas.