Sarah Jessica Parker’s hands traumatized me: “I Don’t Know How She Does It”

There are so many things wrong with I Don’t Know How She Does It, the filmed adaptation of Allison Pearson’s novel, it tough to know precisely where to begin. But then I had an experience at breakfast that made it all clear. See, I was having breakfast/brunch at my favorite Irish Pub—the place where I can get a decent eggs-and-bacon breakfast while pretty Thai waitresses endlessly refill my coffee and generally coo and fuss over me. Only there was some kind of a rugby or soccer game on and I found myself surrounded by foul-mouthed limeys screaming at the TV. Now ill-behaved Brits and Aussies aren’t a big shock around these parts—they’re as common as hypertension is in Midwest—but what really pushed me to the brink were their screaming, wailing children who ran around the floor while mom and dad cheered dudes on TV with silly names. It occurred to me that if I suddenly beat everyone senseless with my chair I’d be considered the bad guy. Because no matter how horrific your children are, the mere fact you have them makes you something akin to Mother Theresa in the eyes of society. And IDKHSDI not-so-quietly reinforces that idea.

(Re-repost): Valentine’s Day Sux!

This installment of The Flickering Screen blog actually has its origins in a little Valentine’s Day activity I used to do as a brief respite from the Promethean misery of the soul-devouring workplace where I spent three years in purgatory. I’d burn CDs of love songs then hand them out to my co-workers. Those in happy relationships would get Songs for the Happy Couple and those who were single would receive Songs for the Lonely and Bitter. Since I have fallen squarely in the latter camp for virtually every Valentine’s Day of my life, naturally I attacked that project with a bit more zeal.

So now, on this Valentine’s Day, as I gorge myself on Valentine’s Day M&Ms and Jack Daniels, I present to you my list of movies for the lonely and bitter. Because movies about solitude and broken hearts are more dramatic than silly, frothy fare in which the happy, photogenic couple fall into each others’ arms just before the credits role. Because happy couples are boring and annoying anyway. And because the only Valentine’s Day I spent with a girlfriend entailed me giving her Tiffany bracelet and taking her out to a high-end steakhouse and her drinking too much wine, spewing racial epithets, and then passing out. I hate this fucking holiday.

Who let the dogs out? “New Moon” (for Barry)

Because if you read my review of Twilight you know it sure as hell wasn’t for me. As a matter of fact, until Barry requested it, reviewing this movie ranked just below “being waterboarded and/or sexually-humiliated at Gitmo” on my list of things to do. But Barry is a dedicated reader—occasionally using this blog to procrastinate from his law school studies, and that sort of dedicated readership needs to be rewarded. So it was that I snuck into a showing of New Moon alone (the work-wife, at whose pad I’m currently flopping while I’m in the States, was busy attacking her neighbor’s car with a hooligan tool she apparently keeps for just such a purpose), and, once the shame, discomfort, and overall creepy sexual-predator vibe was erased by the comforting darkness of the theater, I settled in for another journey to Forks, WA. And then the pain began.

Admin Notes: I’m a big slacker, and a historic day!

Howdy,

So, first off an apology for my tardiness on continuing “Schlocktastic ’80s” week. The work-wife came out here to hunt giant monitor lizards for a week and she needed someone to act as a lure. So anyway, between trips to Lumpini Park and Bumrungrad Hospital, I got a little behind. Sorry about that. I’m working on the rest of it now.

Secondly, September 14th was a historic day here at The Flickering Screen. It was the first time any other post racked up more hits than “Let Us Pause and Appreciate Chicks Wearing Glasses.” Ever since “Glasses” was posted on 20 June 2008, it has been a juggernaut, easily outranking all other posts by about 300% And why not? Chicks in glasses are hot. The post that unseated it? My review of “Aztec Rex.”

So, basically this:

 

Was more popular than this:

Make of that what you will…

Michael Mann Week(end): “Public Enemies”

A Michael Mann film often times feels as if you’re watching a story unfold through a gunsight. His latest film, Public Enemies, based on the non-fiction book by Bryan Burrough is no exception. Public Enemies tells the story of 1934, the year John Dillinger stormed the Midwest, knocking over banks, romancing a coat-check girl, and evading the ever-tightening net of FBI. It’s a true story that offers itself up to the treatment of cinema so readily, that Dillinger himself seemed to understand that he was, in fact, the star of his own movie. Dillinger’s tale was Heat fifty years before Heat was made, so it seems almost a foregone conclusion that Mann would make a movie of his life story. If Public Enemies—which is a great film, make no mistake—suffers in comparison to Heat, it’s only because the true story was too vast and sprawling to be captured in the ACOG of Mann’s camera viewfinder.

REPOST: “Miami Vice”

In honor of Michael Mann week (end), I’m reposting my review of “Miami Vice,” originally posted February 13, 2008 from Baghdad, Iraq.

As a television program Miami Vice has a special place in my heart, since it defined cool in my early teen years. Yeah, the show was faddish and burned out fast, but it also holds an important place in television history as the moment when serious money and talent began being funneled into television programming to narrow the divide between movies and episodic TV. The Shield, Deadwood, The Sopranos, the Wire were all made possible to some degree by Miami Vice. Before Vice, there was CHiPs.

Now I claim your sun! “Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen”

If you’ve read my review of the first Transformers movie, then you know that I didn’t love it. I thought it was loud, stupid, obnoxious, and not all that exciting. It was as if Michael Bay thought if he bludgeoned us with enough activity onscreen, he could convince us we were seeing a fun summer movie. A lot of people thought I was being too hard on what was meant to be a silly summer action movie about giant robots fighting. Kassandra the Work Wife brought up this point on several occasions, “Big robots whaling on each other. What more do you want? I don’t want to think too hard about a movie, Mr. I’m-All-Cool-Because-I-Use-My-Higher-Brain-Functions. Just eat your damn popcorn and enjoy Optimus Prime stomping Deceptacon ass, Mr. Thinkee.” The problem I have with this argument is that the classic summer movie’s that we’ve come to love were well-made­ pieces of disposable entertainment. We still recall and love them precisely because they were so well-made. Transformers was not. Quick, tell me your favorite line or scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark, Terminator 2, Escape from New York, or Die Hard. Okay, now tell me your favorite line or scene from Transformers (and none of that “One will rise; one will fall” bullshit. That was on the poster). Right, I didn’t think so. Well, the bad news is that Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen is everything the original was and much, much  more. If the first one was a cinematic pummeling, this one is the Bataan Death March.

Steven Seagal vs. the Vampire/Zombie Monsters: “Against the Dark” (For Kassandra)

Among Kassandra the Work Wife’s more disturbing idiosyncrasies—even above her pathological fear of the Internet and bone-deep hatred of Billie Piper (“I just want to bust my knuckles on her teeth…I dunno why.”)—is her fervent, almost religious, belief in the perfection of Steven Seagal. I learned about this when we were still sharing an office in D.C. She made me take the desk by the door, so she could use me as a human shield in the event of a siege situation, but I was used to talking to her over my shoulder. For the first six months we worked together, she didn’t let me face her directly (“You have to earn it, noob!”)

Christmas Movie Round-up!

So, recently Kassandra the Work-Wife told me “You need to review something new. I’m tired of the looking at the poster for Midnight Meat Train. It’s boring.” As I was in the multi-day process of returning home from Iraq, I told her it might take awhile. “Oh, stop being such a baby about things. All of a sudden you’re so self-centered: ‘Wah! I can’t review movies because I’m traveling for the next 72 hours! Wah! I can’t keep texting you internationally because my phone bill was $500 bucks this month! Wah! I can’t talk to you right now because we’re being rocketed and I have to run to a bunker!’ Jeez, find your balls, cowboy up and review a freakin’ movie will you?” Unfortunately, I’d have to get around to seeing one worth reviewing, and that hasn’t happened yet. Instead, I thought we’d do something a bit more seasonal. I mean, it’s Christmas and all, why have some horrible B-movie’s poster plastered on my site over Christmas? So, here’s a quick holiday movie roundup. Just a quick (and easy) way to celebrate the season. So, in no particular order:

The therapeutic properties of home-cooking (and some serial murder): “Kitchen Privileges”

So, recently Kassandra the Work Wife asked me to help post an ad on CraigsList “This economic downturn’s hitting me hard. I took a bath on the market.”

“You play the market?” I asked, surprised.

“What? A hot chick with a great rack who could kill you six times before you even had a chance to ogle said rack can’t play the market? That’s pretty damn sexist, you know!”

“Um…”