I admit that the intro to my article made fun of Bush’s inarticulation, but my article focused on his policies. But you gotta admit, its pretty embarrasing having a president who builds up our nuclear program, but can’t pronounce “nuclear.”

To begin with, all that crap on the Bush website about saving the environment is just talk, sure he “supports those proposals,” that doesn’t mean he’s gonna make it happen. That’s a token gesture if there ever was one, and only lip service to placate the environmentalists, most of which see right through it. Why is Bush drilling all over the god damn place if he’s such a fan of renewable energy and conservation? He talks a lot of game, but his actions reveal his real allegiances — to the companies that financed his campaign: big oil and multinational corporations.

Your response to my referring to the average American as politically stupid and easily misled completely missed the point. Clearly, Americans have proven that they can be manipulated by their leaders since the public has just backed a completely unjustified war. How can you in good conscience vote to send more people our age to die in a country that (a) has never attacked us, (b) has never threatened to attack us, (c) is one of at least a half dozen hot spots around the world in which there are human rights abuses, and yet we are ignoring those because they are of no strategic interest, and (d) had no physical evidence of WMD’s, before OR after our invasion. The whole pre-emptive strike is the most ludicrous concept ever. If our inspectors had found evidence of nuclear weapons, MAYBE we could then send in troops, but when they didn’t find shit, we’re like “Too bad, we’re still gonna come kick your ass. Fuck the rest of the world’s protests.” That’s the basic message we sent — if you disagree with us, tough shit, cause we can bomb whoever we want, with our without global consensus. The president even sabotaged the whole inspection thing — he sent in a few CIA agents DISGUISED as weapons inspectors to spy on the Iraqis. Way to make a sham of the whole peace process, chief.

The old line about how Saddam is evil and had to removed is a bullshit argument. Of course Saddam’s evil, but it is documented and commonly known that we tolerated his massacres of the Kurds as long as he continued to facilitate our access to oil in the region. It was ONLY once he decided to invade Kuwait that we said “enough already.” But it wasn’t to protect the Kuwaiti people, oh no, we just used that as the perfect excuse to get into Kuwait and set up air bases there to further extend our imperial stretch into the Middle East and our leverage over oil prices. Bush senior clearly didn’t give a shit about the people there, because he promised the Iraqi people military support if they rose up and fought Saddam, then once Saddam retreated out of Kuwait, he REFUSED to go after him and left Saddam to murder all the Iraqi people we encouraged to resist. That’s the kind of people we’ve got leading us. Liars who seize any opportunity to further ensure “American” interests.

Here’s another fun fact. Did you know that immediately after Saddam heard that the US was pissed off about his invading Kuwait, he offered to settle the dispute with the US through peaceful negotiations, and made MULTIPLE peace offerings, even offering to retreat back into Iraq? And what did Bush Sr. do? He rejected them all flat out, saying “we won’t negotiate.” Why would he do this? Because he used the invasion, like I said, as an excuse to get his greedy little hands further into the Middle East. Then, to top it off he lied to the American people and said “I went to war as a last resort, only after all chances at diplomatic resolution repeatedly failed.” Sounds familiar. What a fucking liar. And the average American bought it completely, despite the fact that, if they bother to get their info from something other than the Bush-worshipping Fox network, they could learn the truth for themselves, from plenty of published sources. Hence, THE AVERAGE AMERICAN IS STUPID. Or, they just don’t care unless it directly affects them. Probably a combination.

9/11 was Bush Jr’s excuse to go back to the Middle East under the bullshit allegations that Saddam was somehow connected to Bin Laden. Are you beginning to see a family pattern here? This intelligence claim came from ONE IRAQI INFORMANT, as the 9/11 commission discovered. That is clearly not enough evidence to send a country to war. And yet we did. And I cannot understand how you think it was a good idea for Bush to ignore the U.N.’s protests. What the fuck good is a global peace organization when we can just circumvent it anytime we damn well please? Explain that to me, please. We act like we’re the God of this planet.

Here’s another idea — hypothetically, even if Iraq did have nukes, who the fuck are we to say they can’t? They didn’t threaten us, we shouldn’t get in their affairs. What, we can have nukes but no one else can? Why? And if we are deciding to play global police, then we should LISTEN TO THE REST OF THE WORLD when they disagree. But our administration is too self-righteous to back down or admit they’re wrong. I’m not saying previous presidents were much better, I’m saying the whole system is corrupt. Consider that India and Pakistan have nukes, and we’re not trying to take those away. They’re unstable too. Why all the double-standards? If you can offer some insight, Shannon, by all means, enlighten me.

You ended stating “And finally, you said that ‘there are intelligent responses to provocative material, and then there is Shannon’s response.’ If you are going to say that, at least get it right. There was only one response besides mine, so there was ‘an intelligent response’ not ‘responses.’ ”

Wow. I didn’t say there are intelligent responses to “my article,” I said “there are intelligent response to provocative material,” meaning not just mine, ALL material out there. I would think that was obvious. Read carefully first so your quips at least make sense.

I’ve been at the highest emotional intensity in these months leading up to what could prove to be the most important election of our lifetime. I know I’m not alone in my utter amazement at the fact that our country seems poised to prolong the term of an administration who’s policies are some of the most regressive and dangerous to our future as is imaginable. My anger is divided equally among the people who are voting based solely on the extremely limited information presented by the mainstream media, and among the group of neoconservatives who have misled the public in order to further their political, imperial and religious agenda.

My disbelief in the average person’s knowledge of world affairs began with the largely ignorant response to September 11th, which was then easily manipulated through patriotic public statements from our jingoistic president into a war in Iraq that, with the publication of the 9/11 Report, has proven to be not even slightly connected to the Twin Towers attack. That alone, even among hardcore Republicans, should deter his reelection, and yet Bush is currently neck and neck with Kerry, an admittedly weak but far less dangerous opponent, in the polls. Apparently lying about a blowjob gets everyone talking about impeachment, but lying about weapons of mass destruction gets you re-elected by indifferent voters. Since Bush has been in power, he’s inadvertently done more to destabilize national security than strengthen it. People rarely mention that the U.S. is the world’s leading arms dealer, and Bush has single-handedly done more to further the proliferation of the nuclear threat and provoke a new arms race than his several predecessors by violating the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty with his “mini-nukes” proposal, rejecting treaties that would have banned germ warfare, and funding and coercing the Japanese to co-invest in the as-of-yet failed Theater Missile Defense system, which could cause a war between Taiwan and China, for starters.

Everyone has the right to his or her opinion, as long as it’s an informed one, but many of us were far too easily convinced of Bush’s good intentions when he was obviously trying to secure oil interests in the middle east, which we wouldn’t have to be so reliant on if Bush did the smart thing and invested in alternative fuel sources. Instead, he cuts research into renewable energy by 50%, cuts incentives for the production of more efficient automobiles, overturns Clinton’s 2004 auto manufacturer deadline for prototype high-mileage cars, and you even get a tax break if you drive a gas-guzzling SUV since its classified as a truck. All to please his rich big business constituents, as he continues to act as a lapdog for his campaign contributors, including more oil company donations than any other president in history. No wonder we’re so hopelessly dependent on Iraq. No one’s doing anything about North Korea, India, Pakistan or China, all of which we know for certain have gone nuclear. Of course none of them can gas up our Hummers. As if to further the side effect of environmental destruction caused by our massive pollution, Bush went on to back out of the Kyoto protocol on global warming which was signed by 178 other countries, make drilling requests for Alaska and in national parks, including on the Florida coast, cut the EPA’s budget by 500 million dollars, slacken environmental laws against corporations, and break his campaign promise to invest 100 million dollars a year in rain forest conservation.

It took the sledgehammer subtlety of filmmaker Michael Moore to even get a national dialogue on his botched 9/11 response, but even after that, few people seemed to bother seeking out the sources of “terrorist” aggression towards the U.S. for themselves. I don’t know if its xenophobia, or just that no one cares that much, but when going to war, you should always, “Know your enemy and know yourself,” as Sun Tzu said, yet few people I know attempted to either learn the truth about the foreign policies our country engages in which go unreported, or why someone like Osama bin Laden would hate us so much that he’d attack us. I recalled a conversation I had with a friend of mine immediately following September 11th that was a typical opinion on the subject:

“Man, Andy, did you see the news today? I’m so addicted to CNN now, I can’t wait until they kill that coward Bin Laden.”
-”Just out of curiosity, why do you think he’s a coward?”
“What do you mean? He killed thousands of innocent people! He’s insane!”
-”Look, he’s clearly not insane because this kind of plot obviously required meticulous planning. And America kills civilians too, although we just fire unmanned cruise missiles hundreds of miles and then apologize for the “collateral damage,” a euphemism we wouldn’t have to use if our “surgical strikes” actually were such. I think the impersonal way we kill is more cowardly than flying a plane into a building yourself and sacrificing your life. Why do you think they attacked us? Because we do things like that.”
“That’s not why they attacked us, they hate America and they hate freedom, like the president says.”
“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, no one “hates freedom.” Bush just says shit like that because it demonizes the enemy. They attacked us because we finance the murders of thousands of Muslims around the world all the time. We send 2 billion dollars a year to Israel and sell them Blackhawk helicopters so they can kill off Palestinians from their own homes. Isn’t it more than coincidental that we armed Osama bin Laden when he fought the Russians and traded with Saddam Hussein as he gassed the Kurds, but only when they turned against us did we label them the new Hitlers and tried to somehow link them together?”

Often now days, even considering the enemy’s perspective means you’re a terrorist sympathizer who’s belittling the deaths of the World Trade Center occupants. Since when has criticizing America become unpatriotic? Everyone freaks out when we’re finally attacked on our own soil, but if you ask someone about all of our insurgencies across the globe that we’ve participated in, most people couldn’t find them on a map. For fun, ask someone if they know what terrorism we participated in on September 11th, 1973 in Chile. If you call America what it is, an empire, that upsets people, or if you question why we have a mercenary army which maintains military bases in nineteen other countries. Why doesn’t, say, Japan have military bases here? Why not, we’ve got one of the biggest in the world in Okinawa? And what the hell are all these bases doing, besides making the locals feel like they’re being occupied and ensuring that prostitution becomes each country’s most lucrative source of income?

This leads to perhaps the single most destructive lie perpetuated by the Bush administration, the idea that terrorists attacked us because of what America stands for, rather than what America does around the world. All the discreet interventions by the CIA, all the covert overthrows of foreign governments to install America-friendly puppet dictators who allow corporations access to their labor force, trade and raw materials, all the dictators who then go on to run oppressive totalitarian regimes, often resulting in Muslim and many others’ suffering while we not only turn a blind eye and, more importantly, blind media coverage and then hypocritically denounce human rights abuses of other countries, this, this is why terrorists attack us. And it won’t be until Americans accept this hard fact and demand leadership change and transparent government that terrorists acts will cease.

For the mean time, we’re stuck with a president whose superior, reductive world view and disregard for foreign criticism has set up not only an us-verses-the-rest-of-the-world mentality, his constant Christian evocations equate to an “our God can beat up your God” position on foreign policy that has ushered in what is fast becoming a “Holy Cold War.”

I chose to revisit Mike Judge’s Office Space, to determine why the film, while often hilarious, always offended me for some reason with its final reel. Upon further viewings, I’ve concluded that, in many ways, it’s one of the most insidiously repressive films to emerge from the Hollywood system in recent memory.

It starts out more than promisingly, by presenting us with the perfect character to personify this era of white collar wage slavery. He’s a software engineer who crunches meaningless numbers from nine to five at what might as well be a factory rolling out widgets on an assembly line like Charlie Chaplin in Modern Times, his job security, company loyalty, and respect for his superiors are so fully absent. Peter Gibbons is a listless, alienated worker drone who essentially acts as a tour guide through the daily hell that is the average American job. Content to be reduced to interchangeable cogs in the very machines that are suppose to improve their quality of life, Peter and the other employees of the generic “Initech” are a sad collection of corporate casualties slowly losing their sanity to the dehumanizing effects of cubicle lifestyle in exchange for a weekly paycheck. Their company’s logo is a square peg driven through a round hole, and through countless sly details like this, the film relentlessly reveals these institutions for the models of inefficiency that they are, and the absurdity of corporate hypocrisy is savagely satirized over and again. The catalyst for Peter’s epiphany is witnessing the death of his “occupational hypnotherapist,” which reminds him of the joy and frailty of his own suppressed vitality. He then proceeds to cast off his corporate yoke through an unconventional protest – he doesn’t quit, he just stops going to work all together. Consequently, he’s promoted and given a raise, and his hard-working friends are laid off. When this happens, Peter realizes how destructive his kind of job is to people’s lives. “Human beings were not meant to stare at computer screens all day,” he tells his friends, and with a newfound conviction he sets out to strike a blow against his money-worshipping employers by electronically scamming them out of millions of dollars. His plan works almost too easily, and the audience is rooting for him all the way, sharing vicariously in his victory over the corporate oppressors.

Then, the film takes the safe way out. Peter has a sudden crisis of conscience, and attempts to give the money back, only to discover that one of his disgruntled co-workers has set fire to the offices. All evidence of their actions is neatly erased in the ensuing structure fire, but Peter decides that all he needs to be happy is a loving girlfriend, who’s played by Jennifer Aniston, and so he takes a job as a construction worker while his friends go on to work at different companies. It’s almost as if one of Peter’s countless middle managers stepped in to write this “love conquers all” bullshit. What is the director’s message here? That if you’re stuck in a demeaning, unfulfilling career, the solution is to get laid and start pouring cement? Such an ideological about-face nearly negates the entire previous hour and a half of subversive, intelligent satire by undermining it with a film that ultimately cops out and reinforces the surrender to corporate authority that it appears to have only been making pretenses at denouncing. What makes this contrived d’nouement particularly frustrating is the missed opportunity to really make a statement about the current state of business. Imagine if the film had ended with the credits rolling over the glorious images of Peter’s company as it burned to ashes, while he gets away with the money Scott-free, or an even darker, hard-hitting one, with perhaps Peter and his friends getting caught and prosecuted for embezzlement, and the last shot is a slow dolly out of their federal prison cells, which strike us as more than a little reminiscent of their cubicles, with wardens walking around like their previous bosses did, keeping them in line. Fade to black, cut and print. That would have driven home the point that Mike Judge seemed to be trying for.

Unfortunately, we are given another insulting Hollywood ending that merely upholds the status quo and placates the middle-class masses. With this in mind, one could even argue that Mike Judge wasn’t just careless in his decision to dissipate the rebelliousness that the film inspires with a conformist conclusion, he downright sold out by opting not to leave the film on a note that might actually encourage taking action beyond making the best of your situation. I’m not accusing Mike Judge of intentionally trying to disenfranchise his audience exactly. Odds are he didn’t sit down one day and say to himself, “You know, how can I make a film that will provide a nice escape from the monotonous life of your average American, then once the fantasy is over, show them they should get back to work?” Rather, I hold such obviously talented artists to a higher standard, one in which the power of movies and the intelligence of those who watch them are not underestimated. I can only hope the film itself is a victim of corporate censorship and studio meddling, and hoping for something like that is itself a sad commentary on the times.

You’re not alone if you’ve never heard of THE WIZARD OF SPEED AND TIME. This low-budget independent effects opus was in jeopardy of even seeing the end of its problem-plagued shoot. After barely surviving the kind of four and a half year production nightmare usually reserved for Terry Gilliam pictures, it was salvaged virtually single-handedly by its first time director, who then could only watch helplessly as it was doomed to obscurity by Universal’s THE WIZARD, also released in 1989. That unfortunately-titled (and far inferior) feature-length Nintendo commercial overshadowed what would have been the world’s formal introduction to fx wunderkind and eccentric iconoclast, Mike Jittlov.

The plot is a fairly routine portrayal of a little-guy-verses-the-corrupt-system, but what makes this movie really stand out is its relentless celebration of the creative spirit. The film’s frames are overflowing with inventive tributes to the joy of self-expression, and must have been a labor of love for director, star, and cult hero Mike “The Wizard” Jittlov. It’s easy to see why Sam Raimi and the Brothers Coen worshipped him as a god in the Church of Cinematology, this guy’s seemingly inexhaustible energy and resourcefulness are evident throughout, and his do-it-yourself-mentality is indy filmmaking personified. Making Robert Rodriguez look like a slacker, Jittlov not only acted as writer, director, star, co-producer, composer, and editor, he claims to have set a record for most jobs worked by a single man on a feature production, which approached (according to him) over two hundred positions, including casting, doing his own stunts (of which there are quite a few dangerous ones), and personally creating every special effect in the movie, which was made prior to the advent of computer generated imagery. Ever the renegade innovator, his hyperkinetic stylistic flourishes make today’s MTV’s editing look downright glacial at times: he meticulously packs each scene with superimpositions, rear projection, motion control, robotics, subliminal messages, claymation, time lapse, life-size stop motion, lip-sync pixilation, hand-drawn animation, rotoscope, kinestasis, and practically every other conceivable violence that can be committed to film stock. Aside from these blink-and-you-miss-it optical effects, a few of which he demonstrates how to do, he even pulls off a Houdini-worthy act in a swimming pool that will have you wondering to yourself “How the hell did he do that?” yet again.

The movie is based on a short film of the same name that Jittlov made while taking his first animation class at UCLA. His teachers were so impressed that they entered it into the 1969 Academy Awards, where it was a finalist. The story picks up with a starving visual effects artist as he tries unsuccessfully to peddle his demo reel around to various disinterested Hollywood moguls, so he can help chip in with mom’s rent money (Mom: “Did you find a job today?” Mike: “Almost, I sold my car.”). He gets what could be his big break when a dream job comes his way via fraudulent producer Lucky Straeker (in a surprisingly effective turn by Steve Brodie, probably because he was a fraudulent producer in real life — in fact, in the movie a real-life actress plays an actress, and a low-budget director plays a low-budget director). Predictably, the gig turns out too good to be true when Mike discovers that he was hired only to win a bet, but he delivers a movie anyway. The plot’s curious parallels to PEE-WEE’S BIG ADVENTURE extend a bit further — both Tim Burton and Mike Jittlov were former Disney animators who split the Mouse House to finance their own directorial debuts. However, PEE-WEE’S BIG ADVENTURE enjoyed more than a three print-distribution in the North American market, which was all that was afforded THE WIZARD OF SPEED AND TIME, further cementing the underground status of this lost gem.

The film is by no means perfect – the redundant satire of the hypocrisy and absurdity of Hollywood unions, which is obviously cathartic and born out of personal experience – becomes a bit heavy handed (but then if Hollywood could make this happy-go-lucky guy a cynic, then damn.) The characters are also generally broad and two-dimensional, which may or may not be a side-effect of studio rewrites. And the whole thing is more than a bit self-indulgent (but then again so was ADAPTATION, which turned out to be an advantage). Ultimately, though, it might seem that given its limited release, which was evidently sabotaged by Brodie, the producer-playing-a-producer (sweet irony!), THE WIZARD OF SPEED AND TIME failed to live up to its own idealism. Yet despite Jittlov’s valiant efforts to fight off the studio’s attempts to abort his baby, only to have it yanked from his hands and thrown out the hospital window after birth, THE WIZARD OF SPEED AND TIME is a survivor. It transcends its low budget and wins the moral victory by remaining a technical and emotional triumph, each of its hundreds of throw-away slapstick gags and infectiously silly songs an ode to the underappreciated effects guys who give Hollywood its sparkle. So say what you will about his film, but it’s hard to deny that would-be auteur Jittlov is an inspiration to the struggling artist in each of us.

Ok, so Justin’s last article about Pop Culture got me inspired to write about something that bothers me about “PC”. Reality TV is the devil. To those of you who enjoy it, enjoy yourself. Please continue your downfall into a pit of miserable lamedom (not a word but I am just so upset). I, however, feel the need to rant.

I was flipping through the channels this evening and saw a disturbing site. About 10-12 children of ages of 7-14 were performing a medley of sorts on the “American Idol for Kids Show.” I don’t know the real name and I don’t care too either. These kids looked like soulless little shells prancing about the stage. I can just see their mother, who in first appearance is a wonderful gal, while back stage and off camera she is forcefully cramming Vaseline into her kid’s mouth so they are smiling while on stage. Something says in my head, “When you need a mouth full of Vaseline to make you look like your having a good time, you’re probably not having a good time.” And all while this Vaseline feast is going on, she is giving some inspirational advice such as, “If you fail you will regret it for the rest of your life,” or “Do good. Mommy needs a new car.” You know what mom, get a job that involves you working and not making your child look like some circus freak and buy your own. These kids should be singing Jingle Bells with the raunchy Batman and Robin Lyrics, not some song written in the 1970’s at Motown.

Another Reality TV trend that bugs the crap out of me is these dating shows. Especially the ones with multiple people on a date or the ones where people are offered millions to date. Let’s tackle the first of the two evils. The part about these shows is the nasty competition that develops. I don’t know about you men out there, but the last thing I want is some bitchy girl that is rude to another human being the first time they meet each other. I mean some of these girls are so disgusting to each other while on these dates. It’s like Soft Core Jerry Springer. And who is to say that when the guy introduces his new girlfriend to his mother that the girlfriend treats the guy’s mother like she is some hooker at some brothel.

Now to the million dollar dating–or crap as I like to call it. That’s just sick and twisted to do to people. That whole Joe Millionaire thing was horrible. I get sad thinking about how some construction worker and former wrestler like Joe can lie to these women about being rich. But then I see how the women act and how shallow and fake they are on the show and I think to myself, “They deserve it.” If this is what love is all about send me to Tibet and call me celibate.

And for the piece de r’sistance, The Anna Nicole Show: “How a Fallen Porn Star Spends the Rest of Her Sick, Sad, and Pathetic Life.” I wish to God someone would pay money to film me eating and drinking all day long and being a complete and total moron. Seriously, do not watch this show if you care anything about your mental capacity. I felt like I needed to go back to the first grade after watching 2 minutes of it. How is some glutton who moans and whines all day that hangs with her lawyer and butch assistant entertaining? Saddest part of the show is that she has a son. Some boy has to claim that as his mother. It’s heart breaking. Oh why E! Why?!?

You know I don’t what makes me sadder about the whole Reality TV thing. The fact that people exist in the world that are like the people on these shows, or that people exist that actually sit and spend an evening watching this stuff. I know it’s hard coming up with something funny every week for a sitcom episode or a drama. But we have been doing it since the dawn of Television. People were writing shows on typewriters. Not huge PC with Microsoft Word. TYPEWRITERS!! Has the TV writing profession become a joke or is there just no talent anymore? Will no one create a new sitcom or drama? You know I could deal with the Real World. I could deal with Survivor. You know I even find myself taking a gander at The Osbournes now and again. But once the door was kicked open and the flood of American Idol, Joe Millionaire, The Mole, Fear Factor, and all the rest of the mindless, senseless, visions of warped society that Hollywood has deemed “entertainment” came a’ pouring out that door, that’s when I just decided to put the remote down and throw my TV off a cliff.

I admit I was not looking forward to X-Men 2, or X-Men United, or X2, or whatever the shit this movie is called. I never read the comics, bought the action figures, collected the cards, or watched the cartoons, and let’s be honest, the first X-Men movie sucked a nut. In retrospect, however, it was pretty much destined to suck, being as it had the unenviable and laborious task of introducing the myriad of characters and all their powers, background history, etc. You can’t very well expect it to have much room for a story after all that, hell halfway through I was convinced the “X” stood for “exposition.” Which is why I was surprised to find myself enjoying the sequel, for the most part. Sure, the story is ludicrous (again), but it’s funnier, cooler, smarter, and leaves your breath minty fresh. The addition of the always awesome Brian Cox and the equally cool Alan Cumming ups the star power even more, as if they needed it, and none of the actors take themselves so seriously this time, so the result is less pretentiousness and more fun. You also gotta respect that the filmmakers had the sack to kill off a major character. If you haven’t seen it yet, I won’t ruin it by telling you who it is. Then again, it might slip out somewhere. You know what, you better just stop reading right now if you don’t want me to spoil it. Dr. Jean Grey. There, I said it. Can’t say I didn’t warn you. She gets fucked up though, word is bond. Too bad, too, cause she was a fox. I would’ve rather seen, say, Iceman catch a bat to the skull, but what’re ya gonna do. Which brings me to another point: This is perhaps the gayest mainstream movie I’ve ever seen. And I don’t mean that in a bad way, let me explain. You see, the director, Brian Singer (The Usual Suspects) is openly homosexual (he gayified Nazis in Apt Pupil, for Christ sake), actor Ian McKellen (Lord of the Rings, Apt Pupil as well) came out of the closet long ago, and the whole story could be read as a thinly veiled gay tolerance lesson. Think about it, a bunch of misunderstood social outcasts band together to fight legalized discrimination by a public that either fears or hates them. The tagline is even “The time has come for those who are different to stand united.” The mutants are practically a gay pride parade. Consider the scene where Iceman goes home and comes out to his family that he’s, gasp, a mutant, much to his parents’ horror. Before calling the donut patrol on her son’s ass, the hopelessly regressive mother’s first reaction is, “Have you tried not being a mutant?” You could easily substitute, “Have you tried not being gay?”, which would not be an uncommon response in our society. And at the risk of sounding stereotypical, the actor who plays Iceman looks pretty damn gay, am I right? I think Singer’s take on the series is pretty cool though. Ok, and is it just me, or would Wolverine be a pussy if he were played by any other actor besides the decidedly badass Hugh Jackman. Think about it, he’s got arguably the lamest power, knives that protrude from his hands. Sure, they look cool, but come on, even the Pyro kid with the lighter could toast Edward Scissorhands in a second. Ice Boy could freeze him in his tracks, Storm could toss a lightning bolt up his ass. Hell, fucking Aquaman could summon his animal friends to fuck up Wolverine’s shit. Just about all he has going for him is his sexy stare, but he amazingly pulls it off. And was I the only one having Star Trek flashbacks seeing Patrick Stewart sitting on that Holodeck thing? Still, none of these really detract from the overall package. For the killer opening in the White House alone, this move kicks 3 out of a possible 5 asses.

The Tenacious D Connection:

Brian Cox was in Manhunter with Joan Allen, who appeared alongside Jeff Bridges in The Contender, who starred in a little flick called the Big Lebowski with Steve Buscemi, who slummed it in Things To Do in Denver When You’re Dead with Christopher Walken, who played in Pulp Fiction which also starred Samuel L. Jackson, who appeared in Jackie Brown starring Pam Grier, who had a cameo in Mars Attacks! with my man Jack Black. Not the shortest route, but I got there.

Sweet. Merciful. Christ. I don’t even know where to start. On the third day of April, in the Nineteen Hundred and Nintieth Year of our Lord, God created Troll 2. Let there be shit. On every level, and I mean absolutely every level, this movie fails with flying colors. As a film in the horror genre, or any other genre, it is quite possibly the most poorly executed story to ever grace the silver screen. To begin with, I would ordinarily discuss the acting, but in this case, there fucking isn’t any. Michael Stephenson, the protagonist if you can call him that, is not only a talentless, instantly forgettable, completely unconvincing main character, he is without a doubt one of the ugliest little shits I have ever seen. I’m sorry, but Michael wasn’t just beaten with an ugly stick, nor did he fall out of an ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. This little bitch was beaten with the whole fucking tree. Perhaps the title refers to him and his equally ugly friends, I don’t know. Which brings me to another point. GOBLINS terrorize the little kid’s family, while the Troll 2 tagline proudly proclaims “The original boogeyman is back!” Yeah, except for the minor fact that THERE ARE NO FUCKING TROLLS IN THIS ENTIRE FUCKING MOVIE!!! In fact, the word “troll” is uttered a grand total of zero times, and the movie has actually nothing in common with the original Troll beyond its title, in what was clearly a pathetic attempt to cash in on the name recognition. Actually, there are two movies named Troll, but I haven’t the slightest idea which one this purports to be the sequel of, which should tell you something. Maybe you can help. One starred Sonny Bono, curiously, and the other was about a kid named Harry Potter who lived in a mystical world of magic and trolls (Seriously. Who knew J.K. Rowling was a plagiarizing little bitchwad?) Regardless as to which was the “prequel,” the funny thing is that they were both steaming piles of crap, yet they look like a couple of Citizen fuckin’ Kane’s next to Troll 2. On to the plot, which is largely incoherent, probably because English isn’t Italian director Joe D’amato’s first language. It looks like he bought the Cliff’s Notes version of Hooked on Phonics, because he hasn’t quite mastered it if his dialogue is any indication. Every other line is laughably retarded, aggravated by the fact that you can practically read the cue cards reflected in the glazed eyes of the “actors,” who appear heavily medicated. It’s hard to blame them given the ludicrous story, which I am struggling to articulate. From what little I understood, a boy’s family becomes the victim of evil goblin plots as they vacation in the town of Nilbog. This comes to the boy’s attention about thirty minutes after the dumbest audience member figures it out, when the town’s name is reflected in a mirror and he breathlessly exclaims, “Nilbog is G-O-B-L-I-N spelled backwards!” No joke, shit-for-brains. Now go back to what you’re good at, being ugly. Soon after, the kid finds out that the goblins have poisoned his family’s dinner, but they don’t believe him. Luckily, his dead grandfather appears to him in spirit form and gives him an idea (I’m not making this up). He then proceeds to unzip his Osh Kosh B’Gosh and piss all over the tainted food. No one’s gonna eat it now! Brilliant! Someone get this kid a medal. I wonder if he solves all problems by drenching them in urine. When the goblin attack fails, their leader, an obnoxious witch, orders them to eat the family. Oh, but wait, in what is surely a movie first, these goblins are vegetarians! Thus, they must turn the family into plants first, then eat them. The family takes refuge in their living room, and the movie becomes the worst, weirdest George A. Romero knockoff in the history of time. The trolls are obviously midgets with pillows stuck in their shirts. A witch seduces a dude with a corn on the cob, which begins popping, presumably due to her ‘hotness.’ The ghost grandfather comes back to life for absolutely no reason and is never mentioned again. Attention, Mystery Science Theater 3000, this director is about two seconds away from donning an Angora sweater and trying to make Plan 9 From Outer Space 2. In any event, after sitting through this shitstorm with a group of friends, I happened to glance at the cover of the copy we had, where a suitably scared-looking kid stands against the ominous logo. The thing is, this was not the kid in the movie I just watched. That’s right, the actor on the cover ISN’T EVEN IN THE GOD DAMN MOVIE. This kid must be counting his lucky stars, moons, clovers and all his Lucky Charms for sparing him from eternal ridicule by his peers. As the credits for Troll 2 roll, you can’t help but admire the courage of the people who contributed to the making of this movie for equally sharing in the blame. As an Unintentional Comedy, I recommend everyone watch it.

As a stand-alone film, out of a possible 5, Troll 2 sucks 5 asses.

The Tenacious D Connection:

I had to break out the IMDB on this one. Deborah Reed, who played Creedence here, was a makeup artist on Dumb and Dumber, which co-starred Jim Carrey, who played the title role in The Cable Guy with Jack Black. It’s a stretch, but hey, get off my nuts.

Reviewed by popular demand, this 80’s time capsule is a bona-fide bargain bin exploitation classic, albeit for reasons the filmmakers never intended. You see, despite the warm fuzzy place many children of the ’80’s have in their heart for nostalgia like this, people seem to have forgotten that this movie sucks ass. In fact, if sucking ass were an Olympic event, Breakin’ 2 would get the gold with 10’s across the friggin’ board. By combining all of the worst aspects of the decade we’re trying to forget, it manages to nearly drain breakdancing of every ounce of its coolness in the process. Almost. Now I have not seen the original Breakin’ , but if the sequel really is better as I’ve heard, Breakin’ is quite possibly the only film in history that Breakin’ 2 is superior to. Shamelessly stealing the entire plot of Roller Boogie and substituting dancing for skating, the movie also follows the Hollywood tradition of making a white actor the main character in an otherwise ethnic film. Meet Kelly, the rich whitebread kid who never breakdances during the movie and exists merely to ensure crossover appeal by “introducing” the white members of the audience to the new dance phenomenon sweeping the nation. The real dancing is left to Adolfo “Shabba Doo” Quinones and Michael “Boogaloo Shrimp” Chambers, who co-star as “Ozone” and “Turbo,” leaders of the TKO, a dance youth group whose members have similar American Gladiator names. Kelly befriends them to the dismay of her square parents, who insist she goes to Princeton (ha!). “It’s my life, dad!” She defiantly yells in a fiery depiction of repressed suburban adolescence, and soon she’s got the hots for rebel-without-a-brain Ozone. He’s reluctant to commit, however, as evident by his searing observation “Girls are whack!” The remainder of the film consists of her watching Turbo and Ozone try to out-gay each other. The jury is still out as to who won that one, but let me just say that when the “unhip, boring parents” of the protagonist come across as far more normal than the supposedly cool main characters, you know something’s fucked up in Denmark. You haven’t seen hair this bad since, well, Hair, and even The Wedding Singer’s supposedly exaggerated 80s style pales in comparison to the shit these people wear in Breakin’ 2. Calling this movie “dated” is the understatement of the century. Prunes are dated. This shit is re-God-damn-diculous. The characters deliver dialogue like “Don’t lay the jive on me, man!” and “I can’t hang baby, you dig?” with straight faces, and periodically music will begin playing from no discernable source as the characters break into song and dance. A typical example is an early scene straight out of West Side Story, where the TKO confronts rival dance gang the Electrodes. Just when it looks like there’s gonna be a rumble, the gangs bust into a ‘break off’ to resolve their differences and begin poppin’ and lockin’ in sync with the off-screen techno-rap. This may be the only film in history to incorporate nunchucks into dancing as well. Apparently, TKO out-dances the Electrodes, who admit defeat and leave their turf, which just goes to show, kids, that dancing around in pastel puffy pants can prevent a violent altercation. When Ozone and Kelly finally get together, the obligatory meet-the-rich-parents/fish-out-of-water scene appears as the unrefined street kid enters the white people’s mansion. Let the hijinks ensue. He uses phrases that white writers think black people say like “Sup” and “Word” and puts his elbows on the dinner table and shit like that. AHHH HA HA! HE DOESN’T KNOW FORMALITIES! HE’S POOR! THAT’S SOME FUNNY FUCKING SHIT! Sorry, the whole culture clash joke just gets me every time. Anyway, of course Kelly thinks he’s cute, her parents hate him, blah fucking blah they all have to breakdance for another ten minutes. Then the writers had to go and toss in a throwaway plot: enter the Evil Old Rich White Men, who want to build a mall where the group’s beloved community center is located for reasons to stupid to explain. Turbo elegantly expresses the concerns of his peers in possibly the longest single line in the film, where he warns a whitey, “Look here, hot shot, you can forget your plans, man, ’cause we’re gonna stop you, stop you cold!” You see, the community center keeps kids off the street, and apparently if it was torn down all the dancer kids would begin shooting smack and nine millimeters into each other. Clearly, there is but one thing to do: breakdance to save the neighborhood! They raise money in a music montage of events that is yet another excuse to showcase many more dance numbers. The kids eventually come up short on the cash, so when peaceful means of protest fail, the dancers resort to harassing the white guys. The ever-mischevious Turbo steals a measuring tape from some honky’s surveying the community center for demolition and breakdances around, until he accidentally breakdances headfirst down three flights of stairs and ends up in the emergency room. His buddies all show up to support him, however, and in what is arguably the film’s most ludicrous bit, they start breakin’ down the halls of the hospital as nurses and wheelchair-bound patients leap up to join in. This sequence must be seen to believed, especially when four surgeons have their patient die on them, look sad for a moment, then start breakin’. And what do you know, the patient’s heart starts beating again and he jumps up and works a few supa-dope-wack-fly moves of his own. Yes, not only can breakdancing bring the dead back to life, in this movie it prevents turf wars, pays the bills, makes the injured walk and even stops bulldozers in their tracks when the community center is about to be leveled but the bulldozers are danced into submission. Ice-T even shows up as the MC to make an ass of himself, and surprise, surprise, the little bitches save their clubhouse and stick it to the man at the same time, role credits. A couple decent dance sequences stand out from this otherwise unremarkable waste of celluloid. Turbo does an ‘ill’ dance on the ceiling, although the film contains surprisingly little actual breakdancing overall. What little there is, however, is pretty badass, but its hard to be cool when you’re decked out in puffy socks, a headband, one dangly earring and a tanktop. And you’re a guy.

Out of a possible 5, Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo sucks 3.5 asses.

The Tenacious D Connection:

Ice-T went on to act in Leprechaun in the Hood under Warwick Davis, who appeared in Labyrinth alongside a young Jennifer Connelly, who got naked in Requiem for a Dream with Jared Leto, who was in Fight Club with the very sexy Brad Pitt, who acted in Se7en with Gwyneth Paltrow, who co-starred in Shallow Hal with Jack Black.

It’s 1974. Bruce Lee is dead. Jackie Chan is a stunt double struggling to be discovered in the cutthroat Chinese film industry. Enter: well, not the Dragon, but the next best thing – Jimmy Wang Fuckin’ Yu. His real name does not contain the word “fuckin’,” but I thought it would sound cool. It did. This versatile martial artist wrote, directed and starred in this overlooked kung fu masterpeice following the breakup of his collaboration with the legendary Shaw Brothers. After the insane box office success of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, old Hong Kong classics like TOABVTFG and Iron Monkey are enjoying renewed interest and American releases. The story in any martial arts film, just like any porno, is always secondary to the action. But trust me, the action is so killer, you’ll be drunken shadow punching your dog in the face in no time. Set during the collapse of the Ming Dynasty in China, a group of revolutionaries oppose the new ruling Chings and their deadly henchmen, led by the mysterious, blind monk assassin named Fung Shemg Wu Chi. He has not only sworn vengeance on the one-armed man who killed his brethren, he has mastered the obscenely cool weapon known to the ancients as the Flying Guillotine to boot. Imagine a spiked beanie hat with a pull string that the operator hurls at people’s heads, weilding it like a devastatingly lethal Yoyo of Justice, and you’ll begin to appreciate the sweetness of this portable decapitator. All the fun of a full size guillotine, in a travel size package; it even has a carry case. In one of the movie’s highlights, the Master demonstrates its power on a chicken who is in the wrong place at the very wrong time. Its also funny to watch the Master, who’s played by 20 year-or-so-old actor King Kong (yes, that’s his actual name), portray a man of maybe 80 or 90 years, with the help of about 2 pounds of makeup. But the One-Armed Boxer is no woman, either. Don’t let his handicap fool you, just cause he can’t clap doesn’t mean he can’t tear off your leg and beat you with it. And Jimmy Wang Yu’s good arm is really strong. (Although the actor clearly has both arms in real life; watch as he tries to keep his other arm tucked into his shirt). Much of the best action takes place in the extended tournament sequence midway through the film, where an amazing variety of global fighting styles are showcased. This fighting championship formula would be copied countless times in many inferior American movies (often starring Jean-Claude “Double the Van-Dammage!” Van Damme) and video games like Mortal Kombat and Street Fighter, which blatantly steal characters from this film. Determined to kill the One-Armed Boxer, Fung Shemg Wu Chi makes his way to the tournament and decapitates every one armed man he meets on the way (they are surprisingly common, and all inexplicably lack the same arm). Most of the main characters have awesome theme music that announces when they arrive, warm-up, fight, exit, take a shit, etc., and depending on which version you’re watching, the audio will occasionally change from subtitles to dubbed dialogue, which is great fun as well. The fight choreography is outstanding for the most part, with swordfighting, knife fighting, polefighting, monkey Fu, Eagle Claw, wrestling, tonfas, Thai boxing, and just about any other form of hand-to-hand combat imaginable. Hell, they even invent a few, like yoga fighting and hair whipping. Combine this with the incredible foot-torture scene and the final epic showdown, and you’ve got one badass chopsocky flick that should tide you over until Kill Bill comes out. If this movie doesn’t have you practicing your karate takedowns on your roommate, you deserve a flying dropkick to the kidney.

Out of a possible 5, One-Armed Boxer Vs. The Flying Guillotine kicks 3.5 asses.

The Tenacious D Connection:

Jimmy Wang Yu was featured in Kung Pow: Enter the Fist starring Steve Oedekerk, who had a cameo in Nothing to Lose (which he also directed) with Tim Robbins, who appeared in High Fidelity along with, that’s right, Jack Black.

With a tagline like “The Corpse Grinders turn bones and flesh into screaming, savage blood death!”, I knew I would be in for a tasty treat. This obscure little title has somehow achieved semi-cult status in recent years, but after watching it I’m hard pressed to explain why. Granted, the plot is borderline brilliant, in concept at least: The unscrupulous owner of the Lotus Cat Food Company, on the brink of bankruptcy and unable to afford the usual gourmet meat that goes into his expensive ‘Fancy-Feast’-style cat food, does what any rational businessman would do in his situation: starts canning human remains. He gets a good deal on bodies from a crazy couple who live in a graveyard and proceeds to toss the corpses, clothing and all, into a machine that mashes them up into Kibbles ‘n’ shits. Much to his surprise, the new recipe is a hit with the local cats, and the Lotus brand cans begin flying off the shelves, faster than this film at Blockbuster Video. Oh wait, I was thinking of any movie but this one. Anyway, while the new cat food has revitalized Lotus’ fledgling sales, it appears it is not without side effects: local cat owners begin to notice their beloved pets behaving oddly (if you consider your cat clawing out your larynx ‘odd.’) Yes, it seems that cats all over Southern California have developed a taste for human flesh!!! As you can guess, many, many bloody kitty maulings ensue. Now, you have to admit this movie starts off pretty promising, despite the storyline’s resemblence to your average R.L. Stein Goosebumps plot, ala “Duck, Duck DOOM,” “Hide and Seek… of the DAMNED!”, and “Simon Says DIE MOTHERFUCKER!!!!” Wait that last one might not be a children’s book. Anyway, before I get too far into this, I should mention that this movie was clearly shot on a shoestring. In fact, if I had to guess, it cost about $37.50 to make. To its credit, though, every cent of that $37.50 makes it on screen. Now, we’ve all seen films that do a decent job of concealing their miniscule budget or use the lack of funds to their advantage by replacing special effects with creativity. Blood Simple, El Mariachi, Clerks, Gravesend, Pi and Slacker come to mind. Notice The Corpse Grinders isn’t in that group. No, I didn’t forget to include it. The reason this movie wasn’t mentioned is because it FUCKING BLOWS. Any coolness or scariness this “film” (using the term loosely) exhibits early on is promptly shot to shit slices. Director Ted V. Mikels, who you may remember from the moving, understated period peice Blood Orgy of the She-Devils, makes Tobe Hooper look like M. Night freakin’ Shyamalan. But back to the ’story.’ Ordinarily, it wouldn’t take a brain surgeon to deduce a connection between a recent string of cat-attack victims and the popular new cat food that they all fed their pets, but in this movie, it does. Cue our hero, a respected local surgeon (who drinks what looks suspiciously like alcohol between operations), and his top-heavy head nurse, who he’s sluicing on the side. They are understandably disconcerted after about the fifth patient in a row to enter their hospital is conspiculously lacking a trachea, so the two junior detectives embark on some Hardy boy-worthy sleuthing to get to the bottom of the mystery. Neither of these actors went on to appear in anything of any merit, which is not at all surprising given the performances they bust out in this badboy. Of note is the nurse’s frequent costume changes, which seem to vary from shot to shot at times. One of their patient’s death scenes is particularly hysterical, as the camera follows her home and we watch her undress so she can drink a can of beer. Seems logical to me. As she puts it away, her beloved Siamese cat goes apeshit and flies at her face, where it latches onto her jugular and she dies instantly. About midway through I noticed that all the bloodthirsty cats so far had been Siamese, and then I realized that the director must not have been able to afford multiple cats and used the same one in every scene. I’ll give you a second to laugh. The filmmaker also appears to be trying to create a Herschell Gordon Lewis-style splatterfest accompanied by dark, Children Shouldn’t Play With Dead Things-style cinematography. And at this he fails in spectacular fashion. Take, for example, the exciting “climax,” which consists of the Doc and his bitch confronting the dishonest Lotus Cat Food owner. Their showdown quickly degenerates into a gory clusterfuck of rabid kittens lacing into the bad guy like hyenas on a wounded antelope, while somehow knowing to leave the good doctor and his woman alive. The evil guy gets his comeuppance at the hands of his creations. You could cut the irony with a knife. Or, if you don’t have a knife handy, a blunt spoon. Now when a horror film is mind-numbingly boring, the gore is laughably fake, the entire thing pretty much takes place in only three poorly-lit rooms, and the suspense is as nonexistent as its production values, would your first reaction be “That’s gold!”? Neither would mine, but Ted V. Mikels failed to consult either of us and amazingly, through what must have been a series of staggeringly serendiptitious events, managed to not only release this bucket of manatee shit in a triple bill (along with the infamous The Undertaker And His Pals), he also somehow succeeded in turning a profit and shitting out a sequel, the straight-to-video, creatively titled The Corpse Grinders 2 (which employs a nearly identical storyline, except the cats are aliens this go-round). After half an hour of watching this, you will want to murder yourself in your sleep. After murdering everyone involved in the making of this movie, starting with Ted V. Mikels and working your way down. And then their families. And their pets. And their pets’ families. Thankfully, this suckfest clocks in at a merciful 72 minutes, so the torture is relatively short-lived. But man, what a suck-filled 72 minutes it is. The actual corpse grinder machine looks like it was assembled out of carboard by third world sweat shop flipper babies, and it spits out what uncannily resembles raw hamburger from the other end. The Lotus owner forces a mentally challenged janitor and a deaf mute woman with a peg leg to operate this machine, the latter of which clearly does not know sign language but flails her hands around anyway in an apparent attempt to conceal this obvious fact. Although, given the average intelligence of this film’s target audience, its a safe assumption that this unintended humor is probably lost on most viewers. But I digress. In conclusion, this film blows. Run, don’t walk, to the video store and rent anything but this, unless you are under the influence of many, many psychotropic substances, or you have masochistic friends like mine who enjoy subjecting themselves to trash like this for a good laugh.

Out of a possible 5, The Corpse Grinders sucks 3 asses.

The Tenacious D Connection:

Sean Kenney (as Dr. Glass) appeared as Guard #1 in Killing Time with Craig Fairbrass (as Detective Bryant), who was also in Cliffhanger alongside Sly Stallone, who starred in Cop Land along with Janeane Garofalo, who had a cameo as the Medieval Times waitress in The Cable Guy costarring Matthew Broderick, who’s best friend in the film is played by Jack Black.