Edwards of Fox-TV
how's the whoring?
Sweet November is "A movie that sizzles
with charm. You'll have a renewed passion for life."
In Down to Earth
"The funniest man in America will have you laughing until
Barry Gifford - Out
of the Past: Adventures in Noir
Stephen Malkmus - Stephen
of the Year, This
is a pretty hokey Tracy-Hepburn drama about a driven professional
woman and the man she loves yet ignores in pursuit of her career.
Of course, it ends by celebrating traditional values, like her
staying home and quitting her job. Pretty corny shit.
Randy Shandis Enterprises. All rights fucking reserved.
"Who cares about Brendan Fraser's boners?"
What a shitty week. On Tuesday I got demoted at work. Yes,
demoted, from the shittiest job at First American Video to an
even shittier one created just for me. Call me "Associate
Sidewalk Sweeper and Tape Rewinder." And why? Because I
lied to the woman who calls every day and asks for us to hold
Roadhouse for her. I told her at first that it was checked
out, then I said there was a waiting list.
Maybe there is a Jesuit priest or theology student reading
this who can tell me what is ethically wrong with telling a lie
as harmless as this. Is it wrong to save an idiot from her own
bad taste? Is it wrong to keep her from creaming her juices all
over her sofa while jerking off to images of Patrick Swayze protecting
southern trash? Is there something wrong with telling her a lie
that is so obviously untrue? I mean, doesn't she have some responsibility
not to be so fucking stupid? Who in their right mind believes
Roadhouse would be checked out every fucking day?
My boss, Dipshit Suzanne, thinks she is a moral authority
because she listens to that bonehag Dr. Laura on her transistor
radio. She gave me a fifteen-minute lecture about right and wrong
and respecting our customers. Fuck that. If our customers want
to be respected, they can check out The Maltese Falcon
or Hans Christian Anal Man. So long as customers want
Roadhouse and Lost and Found, they are fair game.
Oh yeah, I might also have been demoted for accidentally crapping
in the Deuce Bigalow clamshell case and then putting it
back on the shelf, but that's a story I tell better when I'm
To top off my shitty week, I saw Monkeybone, an experience
very much like being cornered by an insecure frat boy at happy
hour: very loud, confused and stupid. It's a big production,
and probably very expensive, but it ultimately looks cheap and
sounds even cheaper. Even worse, that fat fuck Harry Knowles
is in the movie. God, I thought I was going to vomit.
Brendan Fraser is a repressed cartoonist afraid of the huge
success of his latest creation "Monkeybone," a kerrrraaazzzzyyy
monkey. On the verge of overwhelming success, and about to propose
to his fiancé, dream analyst Bridget Fonda, Fraser gets
in an accident and falls into a coma.
In his coma, Fraser is sent to Downtown, a netherworld of
nightmares where he, literally, encounters his own worst fears,
including Monkeybone, which is his id come to life. This is a
pretty nice mix of nightmare visuals in stop motion and animation,
including a Cyclops, a literal sex kitten and a Mark Ryden painting
come to life. But, we leave this world too quickly. Due to one
of the clumsiest plot devices of the decade, Fraser has three
months to come out of the coma or his sister will pull the plug.
He loves Fonda so much, he tries to escape from Downtown,
but Monkeybone outwits him and returns to earth in his body.
Fraser must get another body, return to earth and stop Monkeybone
before his pure id overwhelms Fonda.
Monkeybone is a colossal waste of good ideas. It could
be about the struggle of an artist between commercialism and
art. It's a struggle I would love to have, but I don't ever get
offered jack for my work. It could be about how an artist uses
his medium to exorcise his demons. If I did that, the reviews
would be 20-30 pages long every week. It could be a fantasy about
a man thrown into his own nightmares. But it's none of these.
It's a stupid fucking love story between two extremely dull people,
with an annoying supporting cast acting "wacky."
Fonda's character is yet another of Hollywood's perfect women.
She has no personality, but a doctorate degree and she's as sweet
as a lollipop. I am so fucking tired of these women. Once again,
I invite Hollywood's unimaginative elite to come down to the
Arvada Tavern with me to see that a drunken harelip who bites
can be attractive too. We don't always need perfect woman on
screen. In fact, imperfect ones (who bite) are a hell of a lot
more fun. Fraser' character is as boring as a Christian stand-up
comedy tape. The movie defines him as a schmuck who lets out
his wild side through Monkeybone, so once Monkeybone's gone,
we're left with a guy who looks like he'd be happier powerwalking
at the mall. To make up for the two leads' lack of personality,
the story amps up the antics of Monkeybone, David Foley and the
other men in the cast. Even the women sidekicks are duller than
"As-Seen-on-TV" steak knives. The men provide the only
humorous moments, but they also provide all of the desperate
shrieking, screaming and running around.
We're told at the beginning that Monkeybone is what Fraser
calls his boner. The joke's on you, Fraser, because even my dick
is bigger than a monkey's. Maybe I should call mine dik-dikbone.
Monkeybone does what Fraser can't because he's too decent. Well,
Monkeybone sucks ass until it bleeds purple. See, the movie relies
heavily on the idea that we'll love this monkey. Problem is,
the fucking monkey is not cute, not charming, and certainly not
as funny a device as he could be. He's just a shrill sideshow
barker spitting out lame double entendres. How many variations
of "choke my monkey" does the average person need to
Downtown looks pretty good. It's by far the most entertaining
piece of the movie. The freaks are like out of Star Wars
cantina scene, and a dog's dream of cats operating on him is
amusing. Of course, Downtown is watered down, so you don't see
any real nightmarish images. You know, the dreams we all have,
like having our genitals shaved off with a butcher's lathe, or
our mothers pouring hydrochloric acid all over us while screaming
"You're a big disappointment! There will be no soap for
you!" But, while Fraser is in Downtown, struggling with
Monkeybone, the movie is at its best. This is partially true
because Rose McGowan's tits are there (but they're always covered).
Unfortunately, we're quickly whisked out of the presumably
expensive Downtown, and put back on a cheaper earth, where the
story plays out with boring earth-bound and unimaginative high-jinks.
The movie forgets half the premises it set up and focuses on
reuniting Fraser and Fonda.
Fat fucking hippie Harry Knowles has a disturbing but short
cameo as a fat fucking hippie watering some overgrown plants.
I can't, for the life of me, imagine why anyone would want this
unpleasant, hairy, overgrown troll in his movie. I suppose it's
because filmmakers know his socially-retarded, comic-book-geek
fans are so fucked in the head that they'll pay just to see his
bloated carcass. That and the usually correct assumption that
you can buy Harry's "thumbs up" on your project by
flattering him. No matter, when he was onscreen, I thought we
had descended back into the nightmare world again and they were
really trying to scare us.
Two Fingers for this mess. Nice visuals, stupid story
and even stupider characters. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need
to take a dump and there's a Waterboy box calling my name.
to tell Filthy something?