more proof is not needed

Further evidence that television is the sinkhole of our cultural enmity, a place where quality programming and matters of importance are becoming fewer and more distant:

AN ABC FAMILY ORIGINAL MOVIE

PIZZA MY HEART

An old family rivalry. A new recipe for disaster.

(Image: behind two star-crossed lovers, two old men in aprons

get ready to swing at each other with pizza paddles.)

or:

Don't believe your eyes.

CRISS ANGEL: MINDFREAK

Escape Artist. Mystifier. Surrealist. Manipulator. Provocateur. Madman.

(sigh)

That second one? It's on A&E.

this week's armload

--Why I had never heard of Manchild before astonishes me. It is a riotously funny, piercingly honest and sweetly sad look at a quartet of British men in their 50s, close friends who have established themselves and revel in the best years of their lives, all with assorted issues to keep them on their toes.

Terry (Nigel Havers) is the narrator, a divorced man who dates models, drives a different piece of image-conscious machinery in every episode, and cannot relate to the younger generation without it becoming painfully awkward. Gary (Ray Burdis) is The Married One, happily bedding only one woman, connecting faintly with a teenage son and fighting off age less successfully but more realistically than his pals. James (Anthony Head) is Terry less the suavity and self-assuredness. And then there is connoisseur and human-experience anchor Patrick (Don Warrington). Terry catches the eye of every young woman he encounters. Gary wants excitement but doesn't stray from the comfort and safety of his loving wife. James deals with investment and erectile dysfunction issues. Patrick delights in every natural, cultural and social experience life has to offer, perhaps to counter the fact that his old mum is at death's door.

Catch Manchild on DVD. It is a surprising, highly-enjoyable series.

There, I didn't reference Sex and the City once.

--Burnt Offerings is one of those old-school haunting flicks from the early seventies, when Rosemary's Baby kicked off a literary horror trend. The film is all about a ghostly presence in a house that drives a family apart, but it's much more than that, and much less. What it comes down to is this: no one was a wilder mad-Englishman than Oliver Reed, and no woman was ever as creepy/scary as Karen Black. The film is a bit kooky 30 years later, but still has some heft to it. Don't miss Bette Davis as The Cryptkeeper.

--My wife LOVES the crap. She sucks down z-grade horror films the same way a vampire doffs type O negative. In that light, I present you with the following:

The Prophecy: Uprising - Kari Wuhrer in the fourth or fifth Prophecy sequel, all about angels and devils duking it out in Romaniazakistan over a woman with a bad scratch under her eye and a big book under her arm. Not as reprehensible as you might imagine. With Jason London as an outline.

Dracula III: Legacy - As bad as you might think. Jason London, this time with the acting prowess of an outline, and Jason Scott Lee, who eventually went on to film the next Prophecy sequel with Kari Wuhrer and Jason London (and Tony Todd! My wife just hit the Z-Horror trifecta!), battle cranky, overly made-up vampire-king Rutger Hauer. Except they don't really do much at all, except get into bad situations repeatedly because stupid-king Jason London keeps wanting to get out of the car.

Hellraiser CVXIII: Deader - Holy crap! Kari Wuhrer is a tabloid reporter who gets all messed up in the name of important journalism. A really, really uncomfortable flick. Doug Bradley appears as Pinhead for about three minutes, probably because of his sterling representation ("Jimmy, I've been thinking about doing Polonius in the upcoming run of Hamlet." "Aww, Doug, I just got you your thirty-eighth Pinhead role. We haven't got time for that artsy prat!") Bradley, it should be said, also starred in Prophecy: Uprising. Wuhrer also starred in The Hitcher 2: I've Been Waiting (which did not star Rutger Hauer, though I'm sure Jake Busey was channeling his spirit) and King of the Ants, a grotesquerie disguised as a movie.

Come to think of it, the low-end horror industry seems to be a pretty in-bred little world. Kari Wuhrer, Jason London, Tony Todd, directed by Rick Bota and based on the collective works of Stephen King and Clive Barker, and produced by Wes Craven. Put a colon in the title, and that sums up the whole unholy affair.

tough guys finish

Edward Bunker died earlier this week, and it was kind of sad hearing his voice on NPR the following day after reading his bio. Bunker started off his illustrious career as a criminal in his teens. He later learned to write and started turning out crime novels. If you're younger, or watch movies more than you read books, you would probably know him better as Mr. Blue in Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs.

Bunker's voice was something else. It reminded me of the first time I'd heard Charles Bukowski on tape, and the expectation with tough guys like that is that you're going to get some growling, macho baritone or bass. But these guys had higher registers, mild-mannered voices that I might associate more with accountants or shoe salesmen, not badass drunken poets or guard-shivving reprobates.

I learned that Bukowski's Factotum has been made into a film starring Matt Dillon, who would not have been my first guess were anyone to ask me. I'm instantly in love with anything of Bukowski's that is made into film, as I've always felt a few of his stories were made for pulpy, down-and-out celluloid transfers. Bunker's work was translated into several films, most notably Straight Time starring Dustin Hoffman (and considering the actor's voice, maybe not so far off the mark) and The Animal Factory with Edward Furlong characterizing Bunker as a first-time inmate.

Going back through old scraps I have not yet written on, I found the notice for Evan Hunter's death. Hunter (born Salvatore Lombino) was the writer who created the pseudonym Ed McBain. He died early in July of cancer. I never heard his voice, but somehow I bet it was not what I would have expected.



somewhere, norman mailer is weeping

they have terrorist bombings, too

Yesterday, U.S.-born pop star Madonna, who in recent years married film director Guy Ritchie and relocated to London, was quoted as saying:

"The last thing I thought I would do is marry some laddish, shooting, pub-going nature lover," she said. "And the last thing he thought he was going to do was marry some cheeky girl from the Midwest who doesn't take no for an answer. But now I love England and want to be here and not in America. I see England as my home."

Rue, Brittania: she's all yours.



fresh and tasty

shedoobee, shattered

--No one ever mentioned the Lukewarm Coffee mod, which showed CJ having sex with Hillary Clinton. Imagine the face of the hacker that came across that one.

--Funny that in today's paper, a few sections back from the article about the AO rating for San Andreas and the stores that hauled it off their shelves, there was a highlight in the Arts section about a CD that is almost entirely made up of sex sounds. Nice moral consistency, American Newspapers of America!

--That same paper used over half of this past Saturday's front page to highlight not the news of the world, but a book review of the new Harry Potter novel. Now there's contemporary journalistic integrity!



to live in this town, you must be tough-tough-tough-tough-tough!

better things to do

All you people seriously considering a grass-roots movement to get Oprah a Nobel Peace Prize: stop it. Just stop it.

You're only going to look silly when she storms Hermes with a Thompson rifle and a machete and cries havoc.


(this socio-cultural satire brought to you by Prada, maker of fine handbags that we aren't afraid to sell directly to people like that...you know...entertainers)

why didn't we think of that?

Apparently Ben Jones, who played Cooter on the TV series The Dukes of Hazzard, has been complaining about the upcoming film version with arbiters of culture Johnny Knoxville and Seann William Scott. Jones likened the new film's take on the TV series to "taking I Love Lucy and making her a crackhead".

Now you just know that five minutes after this came out, a few dozen movie executives smacked themselves in the forehead and said, "My God, why didn't we think of that? Daffy, accident-prone housewife of Latin band leader...and she smokes crack! Get me Akiva Goldsman!"

Yes, I went there.

the gigantism of chester a. arthur

I had a week off for my son's summer break, following the July 4th 4-day weekend. One afternoon, we went to Toussault's Wax Museum and Ripley's Believe It or Not!, which are housed in the same pseudo-palatial oasis off of I-30, in the same swamp as the Lone Star Park horse track. It's one of those old attractions that has been there for ages, but I had never gone before. I described it to My Lovely Wife as 75% cheesy, 20% interesting and 5% impressive.

Of the wax figures therein, I must say that too many wigs were askew, and the overall effect is sort of a cross between the creepy sensation of having seen similar figures in movies before, excepting that they always came to life and horribly mutilated you, and that kind of you've-got-to-be-kidding feeling that comes from going to the circus or a church bake sale and realizing these things actually do exist.

I will just say that the Anthony Hopkins of Meet Joe Black seemed to have been left in the Texas sun a bit too long, as he was sort of melting into himself. In the Hall of Presidents, everyone seemed to smile too purely, like Mr. Rogers, which seemed out of place knowing what we do about half of them. And I was previously unaware of Chester A. Arthur's case of gigantism, as his head, from brow to gullet, seemed as ripe as an overgrown casaba melon.



I have plunked down all my worldly goods (okay, $49.99) to get a copy of Half Life 2 for the Xbox when it releases in October. This brings to mind another time, when I owned a Dreamcast, and had plunked down a similar amount of cash for a copy of the port of the original Half Life...and the Dreamcast died an untimely death before it could be released. That and the sequel to Shenmue, which was supposed to be a series of about 7 games, if I recall. We never got to the second one on Dreamcast. Now I wait for the day when The Game Emporium calls me and explains half-heartedly that Half Life 2 will not be coming out on Xbox, but the new Xbox 360, and by the way, have I pre-purchased my 360 yet? I see this coming. I am girded.



Fantastic Four is good fun. If you're a comic book geek, you can probably get past how they butchered Dr. Doom's backstory, because Julian McMahon is kind of fun in an oily, melodramatic way. Very Snidely Whiplash. Michael Chiklis gets The Thing/Ben Grimm down pat, but I seriously doubt he would sign on for a sequel, given the painful, maddening process of living under so much prosthetic makeup. Chris Evans really makes the most of the film as cocky Johnny Storm, the Human Torch. And the effects, while pretty simplistic, are solid. Speaking of effects, Jessica Alba isn't so bad either, and she has about as much to do in the film as Sue Storm had to do in the comic, which means the cover art looks just fine. If the film isn't Spiderman 2 or X-Men 1 or 2, then just suffice it to say fun can be had by all. We'll wait to see if Nicholas Cage can suitably fill Ghost Rider's boots, or if Iron Man can be honorably transformed into more than just a guy flying around in a metal suit. And hopefully, one day, Iron Fist, Deathlok and Watchmen will be filmed by someone who tenderly loves their mylar-wrapped tales of adventure.




everything I know I learned from classics illustrated

well, there's always arriving on time

Dr. Sheron C. Patterson, senior pastor of Highland Hills United Methodist Church, wrote a lengthy op-ed piece in Saturday's Dallas Morning News pointing up the behavior of Hermes, a posh boutique chain for the all-too-wealthy, when they refused service to Oprah Winfrey. But it's unclear if she was making more of a statement about black people being treated badly or about Oprah being treated badly. These are two very, very different issues.

Hermes apparently turned Oprah away when she arrived after closing time, wanting to purchase a gift for a friend. Our story really should stop right there. Whether Hermes is wrong for one thing or another is kind of moot when you focus on the real problem: Oprah Winfrey needs a new watch. Better yet: some new sensibilities.

Hermes closes at 6:30 p.m. Oprah arrived at 6:45. It's reported that people were still in the store shopping, but who here in the real world hasn't been in a store when they closed, allowing you to finish shopping while not allowing more customers in? Fact is, Oprah Winfrey thought she could use her celebrity and popularity to go somewhere that no one else could, do something that isn't allowed for anyone else, and to be treated specially, which is apparently what happens when you make billions of dollars and get your head fiilled with fan adoration. That swelling of the pocketbook and the head makes you think you're better than the rest of us. Well, sorry, sweetie, but Hermes must not play along with that game.

Now, Hermes can be held responsible for some bad calls as far as the initial reports that they had turned her away because she was black, and the store had been having trouble with "North Africans". Let's assume the worst, that Hermes is a racially-biased organization and poor judges of character and is employed by mean, spiteful, nasty people, overall. Even if that were true, it doesn't change the fact that Oprah Winfrey can't tell time.

Really, let's not make this something it isn't. Racist people and organizations exist, and when we learn they exist we can shun them, we can ignore them, and we can rescind our orders for purses that cost as much as a year's rent for some folks.

But what we must not do, what we must endeavor to always remember, is that everyone has to play by the rules. And if you smile on TV and make a million dollars for every tooth in your head, or if you proclaim your love for a woman you met two months earlier who just happens to have a blockbuster movie coming out a week before your own blockbuster movie, and if you have the last name of a hotel chain and like to act stupid and get things for free even when you could buy them a thousand times over, you have to understand: you are not special. You are merely recognizable.

You still have arrive on time.




a doowron production

well, there's always charity work

Yesterday's Live 8 concerts went off without a hitch, but it appears poverty still exists this morning, so I guess the effort by Bob "One Concert, One Cause, Every Twenty Years" Geldof can be labeled a failure.

Seriously, all this "we don't want your donations, we just want your voice" stuff is a little wrong-headed. You can voice all the opinions you want but if you don't contribute, whether by action or funding, you're just a little flag waving in the wind, and sooner or later you're just going to go home. Big concerts these days just seem to be reasons to get drunk, sunburned (and in the case of the Woodstock reunion, gangbanged) and listen to some music that is much more enjoyable on CD. If I were a cause man, I'd simply be doing what I can for my local charity or developing a group to spearhead some form of grass-roots activism (two words which have taken on a dirty meaning these days, though in their basic forms they are ultimately the most honest and positive tools for progress).

But let's be clear on something: I am not a cause man. In fact, I find most causes these days to be overblown, didactic, badly-managed, poorly-directed and usually really, really annoying. At least, the ones that get all the press. If I had to fight for a cause it would be the one that would eliminate all other issues were it to be successful: for people to treat each other kindly, respectfully, and to act honorably and with some modicum of dignity. I do not care about your color, ethnicity, sexual preference, political belief, depth of faith, intelligence level or breadth of achievement. If you can step up to me and be a human being for a moment, I'll be alright with that.



you say you want a revolution?