Save the Planet, Screw the Humans.

The Day the Earth Stood Still- Keanu Reeves, Jennifer Connelly, Jaden Smith




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Toward the end of The Day the Earth Stood Still, Kathy Bates (gloriously miscast as the Secretary of Defense) looks down at her watch only to discover that it has stopped ticking. In fact, we all looked at our watches hoping that time had actually stopped which would explain the loss of two precious hours of our lives-unrecoverable hours. We watched our kindred humans try to convince newly arrived alien, Klaatu (Keanu Reeves), to give humankind another chance instead of wiping out people to save the planet. Frankly, about 25 minutes in (I'm being generous here. It could've been five minutes.), my friend and I wanted to pitch in and help Klaatu and his buddy, Gort (who looks like a prop from the original movie), accomplish their mission. Frankly, if humankind is still willing to spend millions of dollars producing this drivel instead of actually cleaning up the planet, we deserve to be exterminated.



I ask you, have we not, by now, viewed enough science fiction to realize that acting like idiots only confirms our idiocy to the aliens? Generally, most people don't react well to being shot so why should an alien? Most people don't favor being held against their will so why would an alien? Just thinking out loud here. Who'd want to save us anyway? Save the fish, kill the people. People suck. And out of curiosity, are the only people worth saving the classical music-listening, granola loving intellectuals who let their bratty step-children walk all over them like they're wall-to-wall carpet? Are these the only values aliens can relate to? If Klaatu had stumbled upon Joe Six-Pack listening to Toby Keith or a single, childless female singing along to Britney Spears, well, I guess we should kiss our uncultured asses goodbye.



And, you know, I love my all-American movies a much as the next patriot but it's a worldwide crisis yo! Even "W." figured out that in a worldwide crisis it's best to involve...the world. So, given the glut of British and Australian actors currently occupying space on American television, one would think we could dig up an accent or two for this movie (and, no, Keanu doesn't count.) Surely (I mean obviously), not all of the smart people in the world live in the United States nor do they all reside in the New Jersey area (all do props to my featured alma mater, Princeton University.) If this were actually the case, I wouldn't have to keep speaking to my good friend, Bob, in India to fix my computer problems. Just one international scientist to make it appear as though the alien invasion is having an impact everywhere (though I really appreciated all the "been around the world" montages.) Even Michael Bay came up with a hot twenty year old blond Australian computer expert for Transformers. It can be done.




EAT.



McDonald's. Every alien being recognizes the golden arches-the absolute emblem of western over-consumption. This altar of obesity is where the aliens choose to meet?! Well, if it's good enough for Klaatu, then it's good enough for the planet-killing, meat-eating likes of you.



SHOP.




Don't let lower gas prices fool you. If you're forced to drive an environmental fascist around (or an alien), you'd better not pull up in an Escalade. Hybrid, baby, hybrid. Or an electric car if you can find one. Reduce your use at www.kbb.com/kbb/green-cars. Kelley Blue Book will give you the lowdown on green technology so you can impress that alien passenger your schlepping around (you'd think he could figure out how to drive) and give us a real shot at saving our sorry selves. Lord knows Jennifer Connelly couldn't get the job done on her own.

What Not to Do to Will Smith.

Seven Pounds-Will Smith, Rosario Dawson





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There should probably be some basic rules written for Will Smith movies so we don't have anymore mishaps. We, the audience (represented by me), will offer up a basic outline. We don't like to see Will Smith sad. We like to see Mr. Smith cocky, tossing that million dollar smile around like the Pope tosses holy water. Mopey? Guilt-ridden? Suicidal? No, thank you. Not our cuppa Will. We liked him in Ali. He was extraordinary in The Pursuit of Happyness. However, those movies had in their possession a coherent storyline with a beginning, middle and end that took both character and audience on a journey for two hours. (Okay, Ali may have only had a vague timeline and not all the rest of that stuff.) This movie can't even claim that much.



Secondly, we don't confuse "serious acting" with believability. We, the audience, suspect that Mr. Smith was perplexed by the idea that a wealthy, attractive, successful man who causes a tragic accident would be inclined to offer himself up (quite literally) to complete and total strangers as penance for his sins. You shouldn't have to try this hard, Mr. Smith. We don't buy the premise either. It just seems that if you caused the deaths of a bunch of people, you would try to make amends to their families or something. (Are we, the audience, over-thinking this one?)

By the way, we, the audience, know what's coming. Seven Pounds is a mystery that forgets how to be a mysterious. If we, the audience, can figure out the how the movie's gonna end within the first two minutes then something is wrong, and no amount of stylizing or gut-wrenching is going to fix it. Not even our beloved Will Smith can fix it. If the movie had started at the actual beginning of the story, it would have been nearly impossible to shock us at the end. The only way to maintain interest in this story was to make us hope for the happy ending and then drag us to the inevitable conclusion kicking and screaming. Thanks for the creative editing, but we, the audience, still know what's coming which makes it pretty hard to sit through the next hour and fifty-six minutes.

Last complaint-we never want to see Mr. Smith play an asshole (it sure didn't work well in Hancock.) When Will berates Woody Harrelson's blind customer service representative (a rant which should come naturally to anybody who has ever had cable or a cell phone), it's like he can't even fake having an asshole gene. Makes his believability in this role even more suspect. We, the audience, don't ever see how his character has transformed from someone who took life for granted into this repentant, selfless human being willing to give his life for others. As far as we can tell, he was always a nice guy. I mean he is Will Smith after all.) This oversight makes it hard to understand why he must die to make the movie work. (We bet that some poor publicity drone died trying to market this movie though.) Hear us gods of film-"He is friggin' Will Smith; therefore, he should not, by cinematic law, be allowed to die in a movie unless he comes back as a really funny ghost." We, the audience, have spoken.



EAT.





(No "we" here. This will just be me, the sarcastic one.) Vegetarian dog food. No, I didn't know there were vegetarian dogs but in this movie Rosario Dawson's dog is, indeed, not a meat eater. Now, I've seen everything. In order to insure the safe transition of your naturally carnivorous pet into a morally upright animal, visit http://www.helpinganimals.com/ and search under "meatless meals for dogs and cats." Next you'll be telling me there's doggie yoga. What?! Oh, never mind.



SHOP.



Australian box jellyfish. I would assume if you can't buy freakin' Australian Vegemite in the U.S. then these bad boys are also off limits. "Why?" you ask. Don't ask. If you really have to know, then I guess you'll have to see the movie. Good luck with that.

Rules Weren't Made to be Broken

Transporter 3-Jason Statham



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I know, I know. Just hold your horses. I did not go see this movie just to have an easy target of ridicule. As you know, I love Jason Statham and his abs. I admire his ability to fight the inevitable circle of European stunt guys armed with only his taut abs and a perfectly pressed suit. Legendary. Look, the first Transporter was a good action flick. The character was new (okay, maybe not new but still interesting.) The second movie was a little bit forced but still passable. Number 3 is, well,...let's just say the jury is still out on how long this series can survive. Here's my case for Mr. Statham moving on and leaving this series behind.


My first piece of evidence regards the blatant cradle robbing in this movie. This goes to the motive for making the movie, boys. (The first movie smacked of cradle robbing as well; but I ignored it because it was "new," and Mr. Statham was younger so it wasn't so creepy.) From where I sat, the "package" (Natalya Rudakova) didn't look old enough to drive herself to a play date never mind serve as a suitable love interest for Mr. Statham. (Or maybe my eyes are just giving out. "Bitter. Table for one.") Secondly, your Honor, I'd like to point out that the Transporter's rules, a pretty critical element of the first movie, all but go out the window in this one. Sure, there's a little pressure by the bad guy but not enough to justify Frank's (Jason Statham) willy-nilly abandonment of such basics as "seat belt on when the car is in motion." During the one long car chase of the movie, the baby (I mean "package") is not in her car seat (I mean wearing a seat belt.) DURING THE CAR CHASE?! Frank's biggest rule. Sure, maybe this is supposed to signify how frazzled the bad guy has made our Transporter but I don't buy it. The old Frank Martin was a real stickler for seat belt safety (right up there with the "fight against a circle of European stunt guys" rule.)


In Transporter 3, apparently anything goes. Maybe it's just me (it usually is) but even with a bomb strapped to his wrist (Speed on a personal level), I just never got the sense that Frank was as frustrated about his situation as his should have been. And, frankly, there didn't seem to be that much cause for concern. Yes, we have a psychotic bad guy willing to shoot his own men, but who cares if he shoots his own guys? They're the bad guys. He's no Dennis Hopper. At least in Speed, Dennis was willing to kill everybody, especially innocent civilians. This trait makes him hateable. This new generation of bad guys is so aloof that I can't muster up the energy to want to see them die at the end of the movie. Anyway, your Honor, this leads to my final exhibit. A super bad villain thinks of every contingency. He does not lose the Transporter's position because the Transporter has driven into the mountains. He should not have to send a group of European stuntmen after said Transporter because the Transporter has gone off course. When a super bad villain calls, the Transporter should pick up the phone. The Transporter should not be screwing the "package" in the backseat of his precious Audi. (Again, I could just be bitter.)


My friend, who is also a fan of the series, asked me if two simple criteria were met. A) Did Jason Statham drive really fast? Check. B) Did Jason Statham take his shirt off? Check. But in closing, your Honor, I submit that there is more to our Transporter than those fine abs and manly handling of an Audi. The Transporter has a code without which he is just another driver for hire. (Note here all who think I picked an easy target that I do not criticize the acting.) I simply believe that in the rush to get another one week wonder quickly into the international DVD market, everybody forgot who the Transporter is supposed to be. And if they can't be bothered, well then, why should you be?



EAT.



The "package" is constantly spouting off fabulous European dishes from the hundreds of restaurants from Marseilles to Odessa that she apparently frequents. Sadly, our Transporter and his "package" only get to stop for sex not dinner (soooo bitter.) Who needs to eat? Well, not a lot of actors in movies these days I guess. Should you find yourself with a bomb strapped to your wrist set to go off the moment you wander to far from your luxury car, you might want to consider a drive-thru restaurant. I'm not sure how I did it 'cause I don't really speak or read French; but you can go to the McDonald's website (http://www.mcdonalds.com/), pick a country, and type in your destination (assuming the bad guy gives you a destination) then, voila, every McDonald's drive-thru on that route will be provided. Just be sure to pack your defibrillator.



SHOP.



Waterproof Audis? No. Worldwide cell phone coverage? Nope. Stunt Driving Lessons! I mean who doesn't want to maneuver a car onto the sides of the wheels whilst speeding in between two semi trucks going 200 mp...er...kph? Or perhaps you'd like to jump your Audi off a bridge onto a moving train when you're late for your daily commute? Stunt driving-so practical for everyday use. Even Frank Martin can't disapprove of Bobby Ore's Stunt Driving School. On the website, they strongly urge students not to use the skills they learn in class out on the street. Of course not. Who in their right mind would do that? Well, take a class and find out for yourself at http://www.bobbyoresports.com/.

Don't Call It A Comeback.

The Wrestler- Mickey Rourke, Marisa Tomei


Director- Darren Aronofsky





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Just for the record, Mickey Rourke was never gone. He's been making movies for a very long time. Angel Heart. Barfly. The Pledge. The Rainmaker. Sin City. Man on Fire. (Not all of them were as entertaining as Angel Heart but, hey, we all have our skeletons. Something tells me the closet where Mickey's are stored is deeper and darker than Dracula's crypt.) My problem (and, I suspect, the reason so many people are referring to The Wrestler as a comeback of sorts) stems from the fact that Mickey Rourke is virtually unrecognizable from film to film. And not in a "Wow! He really inhabits that character"-kind of way although he certainly does in The Wrestler. It's more like a "Wow! Reconstructive surgery, boxing, and substance abuse provide a better disguise than Carlos the Jackal could muster up" -kind of way. (Hell, he could be Carlos the Jackal for all I know or maybe Michael Jackson.) Glancing back at photos of Mickey from the early '80s (oh, who am I kidding? I was straight-up, mouth agape staring for at least an hour), I posited that, by all rights, this man should be as handsome today as say George Clooney. The thing is George Clooney (and I love the man) could never play this role.



I don't care how makeup, hair, wardrobe, a good script and good direction transform you, only a man who has been beautiful and then, literally, had the beauty beaten out of him could become "The Ram." There is no vanity in this role not when you're wearing a hearing aid and puking on yourself. That's not a dig at other actors. A lot of actors have gained weight, worn scars, and forgone glamorous hair and makeup in order to play more "serious" roles. Mickey Rourke simply was "The Ram" long before he lifted weights and learned about wrestling. He comes with the scars. He's not too pretty to play the part anymore. Actually, he's never been a pretty boy. That's just not his persona. This guy has always been about the acting. I dare you to name anybody else his age who would appear on screen looking like a worn out tire in this the age of the ageless and, simultaneously, deliver a character who is tragic and likable. Never happen. Darren Aronofsky is one lucky S.O.B.




The Wrestler is one of the saddest movies I've seen in a long time primarily because it demonstrates, unflinchingly, how lonely and fleeting success can be all while delving into the violent underbelly of the post pro-wrestling world (I mean barbed wire and staple guns? Yikes.). Despite the gloomy cloud which hangs over many a film based in New Jersey, this film is also a story of heartening courage. It does, after all, take courage to go out and do what you love even when what you love doesn't love you back. Maybe that's why Mickey Rourke fits this role so well.





EAT.



Whatever the hell you "eat" to pump up to wrestler size. I don't know-a village of plump, flavorful Italians (for the carbs.) Whatever it is, it plus the steroids will probably kill you before you get your spandex on.





SHOP.



Sorry, I know this is obvious but ever since Jack Black's Nacho Libre I've wondered what possesses people to buy wrestling masks. By "people" I mean non-wrestlers. Do you wear it around the house or when you're mowing your lawn? Anyway, I can't imagine anyone but an actual pro-wrestler or an S&M fetishist needing one, but just in case, you can body slam your way to http://www.mywrestlingshop.com/ and peruse their collection. Just remember, Mickey didn't need a mask to play "The Ram." Make of that what you will.

Australia: The Musical

Australia-Nicole Kidman, Hugh Jackman

Director-Baz Luhrmann






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Let me preface this entry with a statement and a query. First, men and women alike weep at the sight of Hugh Jackman sans shirt. Thank you, Mr. Luhrmann. Second, what in the name of all that is holy would possess a country to send its military to any kind of war, except a tug-of-war, wearing shorts? Please don't talk to me about heat. I'm from Texas. Oh, and I don't see any Middle Eastern armies going to war in shorts, do you? We'll come back to this later.


Frankly, I'm not a fan of musicals. There. I've said it. I don't grasp the concept of any sane person breaking into song and/or dance as a means of expressing his or her predicament to an audience on film or in theater. (I realize I have qualified that statement with the term "sane." And, yes, I know "Australia" is technically not a musical. Wait for it.) I mean I don't explain my schedule for the week to my friends via a little ditty punctuated with some tap dance. Nonetheless, Baz Luhrmann won me over to the dark side of melodic exposition with "Moulin Rouge." I even bought the soundtracks. Both of them. Who knew? Unfortunately, the same desire to burst forth into song that made "Moulin Rouge" soar seems to permeate the atmosphere of "Australia." Don't ask me how it happened. It just did. I swear every actor in the movie looks as though they have a song dancing on the tip of their tongue just waiting for the orchestra to cue the right key. Of course, such a situation presents a major problem unless you came expecting a musical in which case you have other more serious problems.



I, however, came to theater expecting a big sweeping World War II-Australian outback-white man done us wrong-big bad rancher vs. cowboy-English rose loves roughneck epic movie! Give me a plucky but obstinate heroine, a ruggedly handsome and conservatively liberal cowboy(what white man marries an aboriginal woman and still remains misogynistic), an oddly mystical big-eyed kid, completely unlikable bad guys and an extraordinary landscape and, well, I'd say you have a sweeping epic movie. However, Baz says that you have a semi-epic movie dotted with over-the-top comedy (Australian humor-what do I know), forced dramatic situations, an even more forced love story and, of course, requisite shots of running livestock topped off with requisite Australian actors Bryan Brown and Jack Thompson. (Both actors are a bit wasted in my humble opinion since this story covers more physical space than actual character development.) In a smaller country I might have found the time and a reason to care about these people, but they had so far to travel and only three hours to get there.

EAT.

When in Rome.... Let's talk about Vegemite, shall we? I have tasted Marmite. Apparently, both Marmite and Vegemite are yeast spreads made from the by-product of beer production. Waste not, want not. I understand Vegemite to be a slightly less harshly flavored version of Marmite; therefore, I feel qualified to comment thusly-"blech, ewww, yuck." I understand that in the olden days when food was scarce we might have considered saving our yeast by-product and turning it into a bread spread resourceful but COME ON! If you insist on celebrating the sweeping "epic" from Down Under with toast and dubious yeast spread, well, I just can't help you.

SHOP?

Admit it. We all love that outback look. Those funny pants with all the pockets. Dashing hats. Ugg boots. (What?) But what about the World War II Australian military uniform? (See?! You thought I forgot about that query.) In this "epic" film, we see Australia's army loading up in their jeeps wearing, well, shorts and jaunty hats like they're heading out to play tennis at the club. "What fresh hell is this?" I thought. Sadly, I'm low on Australian military uniform experts in my stable of friends, and my initial research left me confused and a little concerned for the boys down under. What I gleaned from my first foray into the world of combat shorts is that the soldiers or "diggers" were issued what might be termed a "tropical" uniform consisting of short-sleeved shirts, shorts, boots and "puttees" (or strange woolen bandages wrapped over the lower leg.) I then stumbled across something of an experiment in "adjustable" length pants which I can't even bring myself to discuss.

Finally, I went to the source-the Australian Department of Defence (yes, that's with a "c") website for the Australian Army. I surveyed an astonishing array of uniform configurations and found none (save physical training and protective dress) that currently require donning shorts. Praise the Lord. No, I don't really mean for you to shop for an army uniform so much as to realize that what you wear to war is as important as the weapon you carry. As long as they don't send these guys to face bullets and shrapnel in safari shorts anymore then I'm A-OK. I'll just have to assume they don't break into song and dance in battle.