Failed Pilot

For the three people that listened to my Best Show On WFMU call from last week (see the Direct From The Humor Ghetto: A Performance For You post from 3/30), the guy from Crust returned tonight with more delusional minutiae, or, I returned with more useless comedy minutiae. However you see fit.

Listen to it….

“Wallowing: Crust Space II” (April 5, 2005 show, 1:36:50 in)

It’s not as funny as last week’s.

Death Wish 3 is the new Road House (but Charles Bronson needs no more of my words)

The must-see attribute of Death Wish 3 (1985) has nothing to do with its leading man. In life and death, Bronson garnered some irritating (1) po-mo (2) attention, some of it from me. This film could have starred anyone. The script, set, and supporting cast make this the uber-watchable heap that it is. A more unrealistic portrayal of police procedure, crime, gang activity, vigilantism, violence, weaponry, and romance DOES NOT EXIST. It ran on AMC last night.

As Tom Scharpling recently put it:

“Death Wish One, 4 people killed”

“Death Wish Two, 7 people killed”

“Death Wish Three, 561 people killed”

An elderly lady dies of a broken arm. Alex Winter does a bump of cocaine and jumps onto the hood of a moving car. Easily obtained Big Game/Military weaponry is used against gang members. Every visual aspect of the set has an indoor quality. Bronson has an ice cream cone stolen from him on the street, and he kills the sweet thief with a long-range .50-caliber, two-foot long handgun.

Here’s what I originally wrote about the movie (in Chunklet Magazine), four years ago (for those who haven’t visited the preceding link):

“This is simply a remarkable example of comic genius. You can’t beat this level of ludicrousness with a pimp stick. The acting appears almost improvised, well, improvised by drunks or lobotomy recipients. But we are dealing with actors here, the most notable being Martin Balsam (you know, the guy that you always confuse with Ernest Borgnine) and the screen debut of Alex Winter (’Bill’ from Bill and Teds……). Oh yeah, Ed Lauter is the police chief (a role that he has played in at least 20 films, you may not know the name, but the face is unmistakable) who initially gives Paul a hard time, but teams up with him in the end to blow away street scum. Never seen that one before. Basically, Paul starts to protect an apartment building from the street gang that runs the neighborhood. Sounds simple, but the demographics make no sense whatsoever. The building tenants are all very moral, old, and aside from a Hispanic couple, white. The exterior of the building looks like a housing project, but the interiors of the individual apartments are quite nice, much nicer than my apartment at least. This plot flaw is much funnier than it sounds, trust me. The street gang hoots and hollers at all hours, right outside the building, as if this is some bad stage play that lacks the room to film what they need to. Bronson invites himself to dinner with the old Jewish couple on the first floor, because they’re having boiled cabbage and it “smelled so good out in the hall” (obviously losing his sense of smell if he thinks boiled cabbage smells like anything other than hot, festering garbage), then he momentarily excuses himself from the table to shoot two hoodlums dead in the street. Albeit they were trying to steal his car, but it’s still a priceless scene. In the final, 20-minute full-on riot scene, Bronson uses a 40-caliber machine gun and an anti-tank rocket launcher against his enemies. A laugh-a-fucking-minute! Don’t miss it!!! Bronson’s dwellings: Inhabits home of recently killed, elderly “war buddy” Jill Ireland? No Bronson kills: 55!!! Acting effort: ‘2′ Notable one-liner: (silence) Hilarious movie title? Getting there Bronson’s actual age upon release of film: 64″

I swung by the Lifetime Channel tonight, if only to check on Odd Girl Out - a high school alienation drama. Here are some highlights:

“There was this guy at camp, he was a little older, and he was into indie rock, and well, we definitely did ‘1′ and ‘2′, and please promise not to tell anyone, but….”

“Oh, we were just discussing the new Orlando Bloom movie.”

Sure to age poorly with gratuitous use of cell phone cameras and messaging, blogging, cruel websites that flash depict the protagonist eating and gaining weight or shaking her big butt. A must see. The lunchroom is lit like a bar.

1. Recently, I re-read this entire thing, and five years (of something) has made a big difference in my writing. I’m not slagging it. It’s some other feeling.
2. Yep, I just wrote that.

The Cable Report 03/09/05
An expansive (and expensive) package of cable TV is a pretty amusing possession for a man without steady income. I’ve kept it around for two days, convinced that it may be the one thing that thwarts the complete and total loss of my fucking mind. Jaws III was on today, though all I caught was a giant eyeball as the stations were flipped through. I wonder if that scene was engineered to be 3-D? The Hallmark Channel has made good use of licensing M*A*S*H reruns, well, ok, that’s the only type of M*A*S*H there is, as the super fan gets treated to around 43 episodes per day. The producers/creators of M*A*S*H, if you will or will not remember, often allowed the actors/actresses/actrons to direct their very own episodes. Alan Alda’s were reliably psychedelic. Who can forget the Vaseline-on-the-lens nightmare sequences that lasted the full 23 minutes of the show, or, in the case of the stone cold classic I saw today, the one that is shot entirely from the POV of a seriously injured patient? What else? The Mythbusters are full-on mary’s, much like Henry Rollins, who is on cable somewhere, I just have yet to find him. Scattered about the channel spectrum are dangerous Law and Order K-Holes, robbing you from getting enjoying the full value of cable. An episode from this afternoon had Bo Fucking Hopkins in it! Bo Fucking Hopkins!!

The Cable Report 03/10/05
So I got sucked into a documentary on the making of Heaven’s Gate. This got me wondering what will surface as my personal Heaven’s Gate. The daily act of writing about my relationship with digital cable? It also reminded me of the sad closing scenes of Thunderbolt and Lightfoot, when Jeff Bridges gets the shit kicked out of him so severely that he basically suffers a stroke. I sat through the entire doc, even though I needed to be asleep (I had planned a long day of writing and freaking out), and I sat through the entire thing for the money shot. The Michael Cimino money shot is what followed Heaven’s Gate. Barring the serviceable Pope of Greenwich Village (Eric Roberts at his most “Eric Roberts”) and maybe Year Of The Dragon, Cimino commanded a roaring silence with The Sicilian, Desperate Hours, and get ready, The Sunchaser. He declined to be interviewed for the documentary.
MSNBC is the perfect background noise to general about-the-house-ness, but I found myself chuckling each time a reporter said “…and when he danced on top of his SUV.” That’s right; I followed the Michael Jackson debacle for about 45 minutes. Today, he showed up in his pajamas. I was embarrassingly enraptured.

The Cable Report 03/11/05
In the straight-to-video-straight-to-Sci-Fi-Channel Trucks, the killer vehicles use their mirrors to see. Being a remake of Maximum Overdrive, the film is 99.3% miss-able. The trucks just start killing, right out of the gate, there is no comedic intro; no killer soft drink machines. There is a young “punk rock” girl, a fat “mystic”, a gun-happy redneck, and an asshole skeptic. The .7% worthiness stems from scenes in which news broadcasts are viewed through prop TV’s. Funny stuff. Cedric the Entertainer was dealing with some vacation woes this morning.

The Cable Report 03/13/05
A report was skipped. In the interim, I watched an excellent documentary about the nascent crack epidemic. New Jack City features stunning footage that puts you right in the weeds. Crack is manufactured in futuristic underground labs that look like the leftover Black Hole set, tenured mafia members are shot to pieces by crotch-rocket riding assassin squads, Keith Sweat sings at a wedding, a fast-talking basehead is rehabilitated into a mole and is then erased after a bug is found hidden in his fade, a gymnastic drug lord slices the throat of a cop, an uncredited David Spade scores rock and smokes it in a rather posh drug den, and a milk crate-sittin’ old timer exacts the ultimate revenge. Quite a ride.
During the last forty-five minutes of Cabin Fever, a man swallows a harmonica and vomits blood. Stupid hootenanny ending with tired and forced cross-racial humor (old mountain man store owner + young gangstas = laffs for idiots).
The “Headbanger’s Ball” is an hour long display of just about every ass awful form of loud music, and very rare is it that one sees any actual metal bands. Expect dirt-dumb screamo bands who utilize a two percent metal factor in sonics, puddin’ headed roid rage NYC-style metalcore, old school death metal bands with haircuts and laughable goth pretensions, indie rock kids posing as “extreme” metal (Dillinger Escape Plan), and a warehouse full of 20 - 27 year olds who look like Hot Hot Heat and consider it “fresh” to wear Smiths and Cure t-shirts or, conversely, like to flex some fake metal cred with a Destruction tee (x-tra large, brand new, or tight and eBayed). Falling outside of these easy categories would be last night’s highlight, Scum Of The Earth, fronted by “Riggs” - a former Rob Zombie sideman and look-alike (complete with under-eye suitcases) who was somehow rescued out of rural Arkansas by really bad music. Their hit is titled “Get Your Dead On.”
To preempt a full examination (to be conducted later), I must touch on the insanity of The Sci-Fi Channel. This outlet must be killing the straight-to-video horror business. Or is it advantageous to the market? Last night was the premiere of Mansquito. The name alone is a sufficient review, but it goes like this (and four thousand other Sci-Fi Channel productions): Evil scientist tests viral treatment on convicted killer…virus is carried by mosquitoes…accident happens…convicted killer instantly turns into movie namesake…female protagonist is briefly exposed to accident and slowly transforms into movie namesake, a process that includes the ordering of “ultra rare” steak at posh restaurant…random maintenance workers/homeless people are a part of this venerable trick: “Hey pal, the park closes at ten, let’s get AAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYHHHAAAAAAIIIIIHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”or “Hey folks, why don’t you guys get a room or something, people might walk through here and AAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYHHHAAAAAAIIIIIHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”…main Mansquito racks up a high body count…main cop chases Mansquito and, and decides that “something isn’t right” about the killings…I went to bed.
I spend every other or so Saturday night at my mother’s; doing laundry, visiting, having dinner, decompressing, etc. Over breakfast (waffles, Morningstar fauxsage, eggs, coffee, and OJ), she refused to address me as “Mansquito.”

The Cable Report 03/14/05
“What’s the best way to talk to gang members?” Five minutes ago, Court TV’s I Detective asked me that very question. Turns out, you interview the members individually. In yesterday’s post, I neglected to mention that the premiere of the Sci-Fi Channel original Mansquito was preceded by repeated showings of Mosquito, the 1995 straight-to-vid, not-as-entertaining-you-might-imagine feature length display of Ron Ashton’s over-(non)acting as “Hendricks the Park Ranger.” Unsurprisingly, Stooges reunions are the extent to which Ashton should be performing for the public. In addition, one percent of Mosquito’s body count is proudly taken by Margaret Gomoll, known to some as “Margaret Doll Rod,” “drummer” for The Demolition Doll Rods. Really, really, nice people…really, really, bad band. She is erased from the script when a giant mosquito punctures her bare ass cheek. Watched Man On Fire ALL THE WAY THROUGH. Not bad. Not great. Run ‘o the mill “second chance for the stoic alcoholic” storyline. Subtitles are “artfully” (heavy-handed) placed near the mouths of the actors/actresses, or fly around the screen following the hot Tony Scott action. Spoiler: The girl lives. Irritating MTV-style editing…scenes skitter and jump around to crackly laptop IDM…similar to the worthless and preachy Traffic (Latin American scenes). Of course, Tony Scott was a onetime proverbial licker of producer Don Simpson’s shriveled, “high concept” coke dick (read this NOW) with Days of Thunder, Beverly Hills Cop II, and Top Gun. Jon Stewart just said the word “bullshit” approximately 20 times. Is that a new development with basic cable? Remember, I’m just now coming back into the loving arms.

The Cable Report 03/16/05
I’ve had deadlines, thus the skipped reports. Will I age as poorly as Hurlyburly? In 1998, sitting in a theater, I decided that this would be one of my favorite two-hour arguments. No longer is it an easy movie to endure. The two-hour argument will always soar in the hands of the master, David Mamet. If you have NOT seen Homicide, Glengarry Glenn Ross, or The Heist, go rent them or go away. The Discovery Channel’s It Takes A Thief teaches me more about breaking into a house than the act of protecting one. VH1 Classic is running Ricky Lee Jones’ “Chucky’s In Love” RIGHT NOW, and in this video, Jones looks positively blasted on dope. An Allman Brothers video from 1990 that’s NOT live, and a live Foghat special on Saturday night, and by “live” I mean that it is being performed…this Saturday night. Porky’s II: The Next Day is airing on a channel in which I do not subscribe. After going to see Sideways, alone (1), on a recent Saturday night, I was struck by how certain scenes recalled the raunchiness of classic 80’s “teen” sex comedies. That needs to be a channel, as does horror; there needs to be a horror channel. Not entirely for my benefit, but for the people. The people would approve. Wow, I skip a day and this is all I can come up with? Worthless.

1. This is normally my preferred method. Attention is paid. This is, however, not my normal method for a Saturday night. A packed Saturday night. I had honestly forgotten what day it was.

The Cable Report 03/17/05
Please allow me to reenact Robert Blake’s performance upon his acquittal: “Dees, dees people that the police questioned, some of dem are worthless, and some of dem are no better than commode scum!!!”

or…

“I’m going ‘Cowboyin'’, and for anyone that don’t know what that means, I’m gonna drive around the country, eat in diners, help someone fix their car….”

or…

“Anyone want to know how to spend ten million dollars in five years, gimme a call, I NEED A JOB!!!”

Thanks, MSNBC, thanks for being there at 7:15 this morning…right where I needed you.

I’d like to extend an open invitation to Robert Blake: You can stay at my place if your “cowboyin’” takes you through Memphis. Besides, Bonnie Lee had ties here.

The Cable Report 03/21/05
Network tube counts as cable, as cable allows you to watch network tube. A decent pair of rabbit ears is going to run you at least $20.00. On network tube last night was Spring Break Shark Attack. It had everything. Date rape subplot, evil business/tourism intentions, moral conflicts (”I feel like I’d be happier just sitting on the beach, reading a good book, instead of partying all the time,” says one interchangeable 9th rate O.C. outcast), Marine Biologist nerd that saves the day, red water, soft science, and confusing camera jerk-around to insinuate and/or mask violence and gore. The all-knowing Time Warner rating system and info-spouting intelligent floating ball lightening gave Spring Break Shark Attack one and a half stars. I give it four.

The Cable Report 03/23/05
“I’d invite you in for some Eggs Benedict, but I’m all out of Benedict.” This memorable line can be found about 33 minutes into Fletch Lives, now running ad infinitum on Spike TV. Cleavon Little, the old and out-of-work version of Dave Chappelle(1), plays a “yessir nossir,” Geoffrey Lewis (Juliette “skin-toned bag of rakes” Lewis’ father) plays a grand wizard of the KKK, professional yeller and current host of the History Channel’s Mail Call (a show for young boys), R. Lee Ermey, Randall “Tex” Cobb (as “Ben Dover”), Richard Belzer, and Phil Hartman. A miss-able movie at best. I did not miss it.

Upon recommendation, I watched a full hour (two episodes) of Dog The Bounty Hunter. I watched a man materialize out of a flaming ball and “go get the bad guys.” I watched a large, black SUV (a Chevy Tahoe, I believe) fly through the air. I witnessed some bad tribal tats.

1. Especially seeing as how Little died of colon cancer in 1992.

The Cable Report 03/29/05

Being Elmore Leonard, and being 79 years old, and being the author of some great books, it matters little when one of your innumerable adaptations doesn’t cut it, as more than a few don’t. The Big Bounce is one Elmore Leonard adaptation (the second for this book) that just spent 50 minutes turning my stomach. It just wrapped up its campaign of crap on HBO W. It tried real hard, tried real hard not to suck. Ok, not that hard. Harry Dean Stanton and Willie Nelson in bit parts is at best co-piloted half-assery, not that they warrent goodness…those two are nothing more than screen garnish at this point. Poor Harry Dean Stanton’s face resembles a wrinkled, inverted, congealed bowl clam chowder with whiskers (dill) sprinkled all around, similar to the look currently flaunted by Rodney Bingenheimer(minus stupid wig). Don’t let the photo magic fool you, Bingenheimer looks like talking bedsore, and is afflicted with that highly grating outsider-in-the-corner mumble-mouth elderly naivety that persists as so endearing to most people.

Cable TV…

Eddie Murphy Raw is on HBO CM. More than I had suspected has held up. The Bill Cosby impersonation…laughed out loud, and my back is turned to the tube.

Forensic Files marathon on Court TV…

Perhaps the creepiest 30 minutes available to me. Peter Thomas’ narration, the show’s flow, the music, then cramming a who-done-this-usually-horrific-act into the time frame…it’s a craft.

The Cable Report 03/31/05
I let Mad Max run in the background tonight. Part of AMC’s “Boom, Bang…” something or other evening (now showing Nighthawks). Mad Max is a film that I may have seen over 60 times. It was the first movie that made me think “I’m not supposed to be watching this,”(1) and the attack scene against the fleeing couple has remained a little disturbing (for its time, def.). So, right after showing an obviously violated woman being controlled by a dog chain (2), they cut to a commercial. The voiceover said, “Tonight’s ‘Boom Bang yadayada’ Movie has been brought to you by AARP.”

1. An uncle that assisted in raising me; it was one of his favorites. The poorly-edited afternoon/late-night TV version became familiar.
2. AMC only edits bad language, not violence (unless it’s very, very graphic).