I was reading the other day on Wikipedia about the crappy box office reception of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory back in 1971. Curious, I checked out the trailer that was unleashed on an Oompa-Loompaless public in the Nixon era and found this.
Oh, dear. Apart from having the decade-old phenomenon BonziBUDDY read the dry voice over script, I can see no worse way of advertising this movie. It’s like having a combination of Ben Stein and all of my old college professors advertise a film that that they in no way can relate to.
Maybe this is just the way movies were promoted then. Man, if that’s the case I am sure glad to live in the new millennium.comment (0)
Tonight, Ian and I went on a man-date to the movies to see Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist. And, following an hour of a lifestyle I cannot possibly relate to, I have come to a conclusion. I think it’s funny how Michael Cera plays the exact same character in everything he has ever done.
Arrested Development? Awkwardly charming teenager.
Superbad? Awkwardly charming teenager.
Juno? Awkwardly charming teenager.
Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist? Awkwardly charming teenager.
This is by no means a complaint. I find his films to be quite heartwarming. Plus, he is obviously doing something correctly. I mean, if it works for him, dude should rock the weirdness until his penis falls off from boning the legions of tiny girls who adore the feeling of “AWWWWW” that overcomes them every time they see him avoid eye contact and stutter strangely when making a point.
I just wish I could pull it off, too.comment (0)
In my search throughout the Internet to find a new wallpaper for my machine, I have decided that my newest wallpaper should pay homage to the best movie ever made: Airplane! Unfortunately, the only one I could find (including a fruitless search at /wg/) was this, from one of my least favorite scenes of Ted Striker’s past life.
You know, the plot for any given movie in the horror genre can be essentially boiled down to an intensely silly game of mad libs. The Child’s play movies are prime examples of this.
A (spooky human figure) transforms into a (inanimate object not generally associated with blood and gore) and attacks (defenseless thing) to regain his life. The (defenseless thing) cleverly attacks the (inanimate object not generally associated with blood and gore) with (silly object) and the (inanimate object not generally associated with blood and gore) appears to be defeated. However, the (part of inanimate object not generally associated with blood and gore) moves in the closing shot of the film, leaving the story wide open for a sequel.
With this simple formula, let’s write our own movie idea, shall we?
A man who has had plastic surgery to look exactly like Liza Minelli transforms into a talking wooden spoon and attacks the adorable residents of Meerkat Manor to regain his life. The adorable residents of Meerkat Manor cleverly attack the talking wooden spoon with a colony of mutated termites and the talking wooden spoon appears to be defeated. However, the handle of the talking wooden spoon moves in the closing shot of the film, leaving the story wide open for a sequel.
Now that, my friends, is spooky stuff.comment (1)
Hey, everyone over at Rotten Tomatoes. Yeah, you. And heck, everyone else on the Internet that seems to hate The Brothers Solomon: Screw you guys, it was a funny film.
Granted, not as genius as Superbad, but I doubt we will see many movies that compare in our lifetimes.
It’s a funny movie with a funny plot and, yes, good acting. In fact, I would say that the acting trumps all other aspects in this film in the humor category. It’s a far-fetched, fun movie. Will Arnett and Will forte paint a beautifully absurd picture of life as the Brothers Solomon, and if people are too stupid to see that, it’s their loss.
Funny enough though: when Ian and I saw the movie at 9:55 last night, we were the only ones in the theater. I would rather have it that way than to have the house packed with people who don’t appreciate the genius that we were able to see last night.comment (1)
As if it hasn’t been apparent for some time now to those that know me well, I have decided recently that my life lacks any direction. This became clear to me when I watched John Candy in Uncle Buck yesterday afternoon and realized that it is quite possible that I would end up like his character – irresponsible, poor, and reckless.
So, what do I do now? Part of me says that I should ignore this inevitability, embracing it as a beautiful alternative way of life. But then, the other 99 percent of me says that I need to buckle down and decide what I want to do with my life. Sure, it’s quite normal for people my age to not know what they are going to do for the rest of their lives, but it has become increasingly apparent to me that a lot of my friends at least know what they want to do with their lives.
All right, that has been established. I should decide what I like to do and build my career around that. Hm, are there any high-paying professions that involve sleeping until 11, sitting around my house watching television, and eating meals high in fat and calories?
Uh oh, I don’t think my political science major will be useful after all.comments (2)
Summer is very boring in Clearwater. While I’d like to say that I love being home to the point of not wanting to return to Gainesville in the fall, I can’t do that. However, here are some of the highlights of my recent life:
I don’t aspire to much in this life. The way I see it, if you don’t really have goals, you’ll never be disappointed by what the cosmos throw your way. Life is an adventure, really; as long as you get out of that adventure happier than you were when you began, it was a success.
I mention this because tonight, I’ve done something pretty unusual for me: I’ve come up with a goal in this life.
I was watching Jaws. Usually, such a film would bring fear and terror of the ocean into a man. However, seeing the characters in the movie on the high seas, talking about old adventures and lost loves really makes me want to have a part of that world. Now, I am no sailor. I squirm at the thought of having to touch a live fish. I have no idea how to tie a rope. If my boat were to run out of gas in the middle of the Southern Caribbean, I would probably sit there and wait to die. Point is, I’m a pansy.
However, I’m a young Turk. I’m anticipating having about sixty more years on this big blue ball. In that time, I figure I can grasp the concept of sailing somehow. Which leads me to my life goal: when I retire, I want to live on a houseboat.
Judge me now or judge me later, loyal readers. But that, my friends, is the beauty of ambition.comment (0)