While waiting to see Step Up the other night (I positively adore films about people overcoming life obstacles through the power of dance), I saw a preview for Zach Braff’s new movie The Last Kiss, which unexpectedly made me so physically angry that I literally wanted to get up and punch the screen. It’s not that it looked like one of those ridiculous movies with cross-dressing Wayans you always wonder who watches. On the surface, The Last Kiss actually seems like the kind of character-driven dark comedy I tend to enjoy. So why did I want to punch it? Three reasons:
(a) It’s a completely shameless attempt to exploit the few suckers who are so enamored by Braff’s highly over-rated brand of psuedo-indie pretentiousness that they’d actually shell out another ten bucks to see a cynically-produced carbon copy of Garden State, leading me to wonder:
(b) How many movies do we need in which Braff plays a charmingly conflicted twenty-something trying to figure out “what it all means” by staring sullenly at us from artful camera shots until he meets a girl who’s vaguely “different” because she does wacky spontaneous stuff like yelling into canyons in the rain, all set to a soundtrack of last year’s mainstream indie rock, which Braff clearly thinks is “edgy” despite the fact this life-changing music can probably also be found in a Toyota commercial?
(c) Based on this trailer, The Last Kiss appears to be the cinematic equivalent of a sensitive high school kid’s overwrought poetry about loneliness, which falls somewhere between footage of a loved one’s death and ‘Wayans Brothers Film Festival’ on the list of things I’d enjoy doing.
A lot of you probably love Braff and will say I’m being a harsh jerkface for expressing these sentiments, but watch the trailer after the jump and honestly ask yourself whether I’m totally off-base. But whatever you do, don’t help this movie make money by paying to see it, lest we be forced to endure an entire trilogy of Braff’s ‘Emo McHipster’ saga, which would undoubtedly result in an innocent movie screen getting the ever-living sh*t beaten out of it.
Paul Reubens, aka Pee Wee Herman, must be loving life right now. First, his kids show from the 1980′s (and, full disclosure, our favorite show as a kid), Pee-Wee’s Playhouse, gets picked up and aired in the post-Y2K era on the Cartoon Network. (And while we’re disclosing things, we always though Pterri, aka “But… Pee-Wee!”, should’ve had his own spin-off show. I mean, if Frasier got one…)
And things are looking better and better for the guy. Now, Nike has commissioned a sneaker after the character! Called the Nike SB â€œPee Wee Hermanâ€ Dunk Highs, they follow the very color scheme of Pee-Wee’s trademarked grey suit and red bow-tie. And sense of humor not forgotten, the sole of the shoes depicts the event that originally led to Reubens’ downfall: A row of empty theater seats, and at the end, a white guy jackin’ it. Fans of the man and the kicks can pick up a pair sometime in 2007. (Link via The Apiary)
Watch this video, then go ahead and forget that it was even posted here. We’re not calling judgment on these Scientologists caught on tape… not at all. Maybe the cameraman DID look like a child molester! Maybe he DID commit tonz o’ crimez. But because we don’t need three wax museum escapees following us home tonight, we’ll just let you come to your own conclusions, which we hope you keep to yourself. We will say this: These guys are literally going to scare the rhea out of lil’ Suri.
Entertainment Weekly has taken time out of their busy list-making schedule to rank The 50 Best High School Movies of All Time. Peruse the list to relive all of your favorite high school movie memories, like the time your pal Ferris B-Yooler stole your dad’s car, or the time when you realized that that huge greasy dude you made out with on the beach in Australia all of a sudden went to your high school in America, and his name is Danny Zucko, and because of your hopeless devotion you almost pierce your ears and end up becoming a raging slut anyway? Remember? No? Fine.
We actually wholly agree with the list — although we are going to make a special point to say that we believe Can’t Hardly Wait, one of our favorite high school comedies of all-time — and ranked a measly #44 — should be in the Top 10. That’s totally Aman-duh. Thankfully, our other favorite comedy, Heathers, is number 5, so we won’t have to feign our suicide to prove any points anytime soon.
The number 1 movie? The Breakfast Club. That’s probably right… but did they miss any movies?
For this week’s edition of our beloved Friday shuffle, we had a very special guest, Mr. Chuck Klosterman, submit the contents of his iPod for our scrutiny and judgement. Chuck was a senior editor at Spin magazine whose work now appears regularly in several other major publications, and is also the best-selling author of four books of whip-smart pop culture essays, the latest of which (referentially entitled IV) went onsale last week. A man whose insight managed to turn something as seemingly irrelevant as Saved By the Bell into a generation-defining cultural touchstone, Chuck has earned himself a devoted following (including The OC’s Seth Cohen, who name-checked him on the show) and critical acclaim. We strongly suggest you pick up IV, as well as Chuck’s three previous books, all of which are available here. And now without further ado, the first five resulting songs of his shuffle with Chuck’s thoughts about each one. Leave your own shuffle in the comments!
“In the Meantime”, Spacehog: The music of Spacehog reflects a very specific period of modern rock culture, which was the period when bands thought singing like David Bowie and Axl Rose at the same time was a good idea.
“Danko/Manuel”, Drive-By Truckers: This is a depressing song about dying and being sweaty.
“Hot and Nasty (live)”, Black Oak Arkansas: The intro to this track demands that the audience “hunch down” so that they can “know what it’s all about.” Perhaps Lil’ Kim listens to this shit. I suppose this qualifies as “boogie rock,” which is a stupid phrase but a very good genre.
“Chloe Dancer/Crown of Thorns”, Mother Love Bone: It’s been awhile since I’ve watched “Singles” or died from an heroin overdose. If I were a city planner in Seattle, I would ride the monorail before playing this song at my wedding.
“Free Tyson Free!”, Holy Gang: This is a 1995 industrial anthem about (a.) how Mike Tyson was wrongly convicted of rape and (b.) how he was destined to return from prison and regain his title. I guess Roadrunner Records didn’t employ a lot of futurists during this era. I love this song, though. It makes me want to punch a horse.
Let’s get hypothetical for a moment. Say there was a fame-starved young heiress who allowed a sleazy has-been film producer to videotape the sex she gave him in exchange for his idle promise to help further her lifelong quest for celebrity.
And let’s imagine the resulting footage was later “leaked” to the Internet, becoming a viral video sensation despite her confounding lack of fame (outside of Maxim readers), personal accomplishment or sexual prowess, thus turning a completely unlikable amateur porn star into a household name, on the cover of mainstream magazines, practically overnight. I know this hypothetical scenario seems like completely improbable lunacy, but just bear with me for a minute after the jump.
If you’ve ever wondered to yourself “Hmm… I wonder what it would feel like to be inappropriately man-handled by Armageddon star Ben Affleck“, your wish has been granted. Just put yourself in the position of Montreal TV host Anne-Marie Losique, who reenacts our childhood nightmare of asking Drunk Santa to stop touching us in our bathing suit place for Christmas. It’s NSFW, if you’re not allowed to feel really uncomfortable and awkward at work.
Lindsay Lohan has had better weeks. First, there was the whole pig va-hee-na spectacle of a few days ago, where a well-timed breeze and silky skirt conspired to collectively ruin the world’s appetite. Now, the poor thing’s purse was stolen at Heathrow airport. And not just any purse, but a HermÃ¨s Birkin Bag, the kind of bag that even Marie Antoinette‘s corpse is still on the waiting list for. The bag itself is worth thousands (at least we know where her college fund is going). But Lindsay also happen placed nearly a million dollars worth of jewelry inside the orange bag, which was then stolen by a clear genius off of an unattended luggage trolley.
Correct us if we’re wrong, but if you’re going to hop on a plane with a Pirates of the Caribbean-like cache of jewels, wouldn’t you put it in a less obvious vessel than a Hermes bag? Like… a horse feeder? Or something totally last sleezon — like a leather-patchwork QVC organizer? Did this bitch never see Casino? You gotta hide the diamonds in your hair! Or put them up your fuschia nethers! Really, Lindsay, for a girl with no education and an attitude prob, we’re a little surprised at your lack of sechel (Yiddish for common sense… we’re feeling Grandmotherly and judgmental.)
Reports are now saying that Lindsay has gotten her bag back, but no word yet on whether the jewels were inside. So if you see some tattered, toothless Brit walking around Heathrow in a diamond-studded thong holding money-sacks full of cocaine, call the authorities.