I'm afraid I've got good news and bad news...

Do actual people still tell jokes? Obviously, comedians and entertainers and the like do, but I'm talking about people you know. I can think of one or two guys I work with, who will actually say something like Hey [head nod], I got one for you... and then proceed to tell a joke. It usually ends one of two ways, polite laughter, or when it's extra terrible, I repeat the punchline and shake my head, indicating disbelief. Imagine if someone took that awkward exchange, and actually made a movie out of it. Then imagine, that I actually watched that movie.

I swear to you, I thought this was something else. I did. I thought this flick was The Aristocrats. Now, depending on who you ask, that movie is a steaming pile of ass, but a close friend recommended it to me (hmm) and I thought that was  what I was getting myself into late Sunday night. The movie, silly, not the...whatever.

Instead, I ended up with Dirty Movie. Goodness. The first sign of trouble should have been the National Lampoon's in front of the title, as that hasn't meant anything since 1983's Vacation.  The next red flag, is the actual cover of the flick. Now, I streamed this one from DISH (which in itself is another red flag), and you can't fully appreciate the awfulness of the poster in their setup. It's too small. That said, one of the unwritten rules of the cinema states: On movie posters, the hotter the chick (in some, less-classier circles, this reads, the bigger the breasts), the worse the movie is. Oh, and dogs in sunglasses usually don't bode well, either. Usually.

Okay, enough with the warning signs, what the Hell is this movie about? Well, nothing really. It's simply a series of jokes, presented in sketch form, delivered by a mixture of stand-up comics and shitty actors. Depending on how you feel about these jokes, will greatly influence how you feel about this flick. For example:

This is our Waterloo, baby!

I've called the police just once in my life. Last New Year's Eve, somebody drove through my neighbor's fence, and I figured I'd call it in. Turns out, the lady on the phone didn't really give a shit. Do you know who did it? Um, no. Well, then. There's nothing we can do. Imagine if this were their attitude on a larger scale, saaaaay the murder of your family. Then what? Well, if yesterday's flick taught me anything, there's only one thing you can do. Let the system take care of it. Wait, what?

Can you hear the ominous synthesizer? I can.

.

Vigilante is awesome. Sure, I have an inordinate amount of man-love for Robert Forster, but regardless, this revenge-flick is a good time. Released in 1983, this one doesn't imply anything. The bad guys look, sound and act like bad guys (actually, really bad motherf--kers, honestly). The good guys are fed up with this, and decide to do something about. Pretty simple, right? Well, yeah. Kind of.

New York City, according to this flick, is a steaming pile of human waste. They are recording forty homicides a day, and the police have lost control. Our main man Nick (played by the ever-badass, Fred Williamson), has had enough of this shit, and he and his two friends are taking matters into their own hands. Enter family man Eddie (Forster, younger but still a force), who's simply interested in making a little more scratch at work so he can take the wife and kid to Florida.

Though friends, these two guys don't see eye-to-eye on the whole vigilante justice matter. Eddie believes in the system, while Nick believes in cutting bitches and knees to the face. Well, after an incident with Nick's family, let's just say all Hell breaks loose. I'm sure you've seen a revenge flick before, but after you get a peek at what happens to Nick, you might find yourself bloodthirsty, too. Then, everything that was pretty straightforward, pretty black-and-white, well...they start to get gray. Blood gray.

Okay, that didn't make sense. But watching Forster and Williamson kick ass does. I was surprised at how quickly I was buying what director William Lustig was selling. Trust me, it won't take you long. The flick opens with a pretty lengthy speech by Williamson detailing the sad state of affairs the city has found itself in. If you roll your eyes at all, just get out now. But me? I ran to the shed to get a tire iron and some old bike chains.

Get off...my face.

My car was in the shop for a couple of days, so I had to borrow my wife's Saturn. I hate that car. Not the make or anything, just her car. The seat's always too close, the mirror's all off, and it usually looks like a family of homeless people live exclusively on the floor of the passenger side. But one good thing, is my wife loves NPR. So, Wednesday, in my desperate attempt not to adjust anything, I drove around all day listening to the varying awesomeness of public radio, namely Diane Rehm. Dear Lord, you have to hear this lady. She sounds like she's a thousand, but it's so great. Anyway, I get home, we get to talking about her, and my wife actually says this out loud: Diane Rehm? Oh, she's the bomb. First she marries me - strike one, then sincerely uses the bomb to describe anything other than an actual bomb - strike two, then she really liked Thursday's flick. Strike three?

Um, Scrat's friggin' gigantic on this poster.

I remember seeing an interview with Denis Leary saying something to the effect of they have plans to make like, fourteen of them in reference to the Ice Age flicks. Ice Age: Continental Drift may be proof that we can go ahead and scratch off those other ten. While not horrible by any means, these flicks just seem to exist. I guess the big three of Manny (Romano), Diego (Leary) and Sid (Leguizamo) are charming enough, but the secondary characters are all pretty terrible. By the fourth film, we've got a couple of animated turds, to say the least. And while this one may look the best so far, the series is so visually bland compared to its contemporary counterparts. At least it moves quickly.

Each of the three main characters has a bit of a family crisis going on here. Diego, the saber-toothed tiger, falls for a lady-tiger (can I go liger? No?), and wants her to join the herd. Sid, the weird penis-looking sloth-thing, is saddled with his ultra-annoying grandmother, who was abandoned just like him. And Manny, the giant mammoth, has been separated from his family due to the continental divide that for some reason won't stop happening at 87 million miles per hour. And if you still think that sounds okay, just wait. Each plot is complicated by the worst fad since Hyper Color clothing. What is this awfulness you ask? Pirates.

A joint venture - no pun intended.

Before the review, let's discuss before the movie. Last night, at my local Regal Cinemas (a mostly shitty theater), I noticed two things. First, a police presence. Maybe I've seen an officer at a movie when it's a huge release (and even that's a rarity), but on a Wednesday night? Not a chance. There were only three actual employees. Was this a random occurrence, or a sign of things to come? I don't mind, it's just odd how quickly things can change.

The other thing, and I think I'm only talking to people who go to the movies all the time, was the motherf--king Bourne Legacy preview. I'm pretty sure this has been in front of every movie I have seen this summer. I seriously don't even want to see the flick anymore, I'm so sick of this damn trailer. Anybody with me on this? If you want to keep showing me the same trailer, how about some more of The Great Gatsby?

Another showing where I was completely alone in the theater.

In a summer of letdowns and mediocrity, Savages feels right at home. I truly wasn't expecting much, but in a season crowded with reboots and re-imaginings, I thought that maybe Oliver Stone could deliver something unique. Nope. Outside of a solid (and attractive) cast, this one is ultimately forgettable. The search continues...

If you've seen the trailer, you're all set. But if you haven't, here goes. Two guys run a super-successful segment of the marijuana industry. One dude, Ben, is the oh-so stereotypical genius stoner, who double majored in dreadlocks and American accents. No wait, it's business and botany, if I remember correctly. The other guy, Chon, is the muscle. He's been overseas for a couple of tours and hasn't really let go of the his time in the shit. Together, these guys have crafted the best weed on the planet with THC levels that are ten times higher than your garden-variety Snicklefritz. Awesome, right?

Well, hold on. A struggling faction of the Mexican drug cartel decides they want in. They offer a fair deal to grow the business, but our two guys have different views on what to do. One says no thanks, you can just have it, bro while the other guy says f--k you, I'll kill everyone's face. I'll let you figure out who said what.

Why do they always pick on my hat?

I don't know if it's because I've now set my summer movie-loving sights on the upcoming Expendables sequel, or simply because I've spent too much time at the always awesome Comeuppance Reviews, but last night I felt compelled to fire up some (mindless) action. Though I've seen just about every Stallone and Schwarznegger flick ever, I'm not as dedicated to the second (and third?) tier guys. So, who did I turn to for a cinematic roundhouse to the face?

F--kin' Chuck Norris.

Forced Vengeance hit theaters in 1982. I don't know what audiences made of it then, but now it's pretty ridiculous. Chuck Norris has morphed into a bit of a sideshow in recent years (I put the blame on that Walker, Texas Ranger lever that Conan O'Brien had, though I don't know if that predates the 'facts' craze), but in his day he was pretty legit. Sure, he lacks any semblance of range but makes up for it with his no-nonsense style of ass kicking. Maybe other roles allow him to actually change expression, but in Forced Vengeance, Chuck's stuck on slightly disappointed. He'd prefer it if everybody would just be cool, but if bitches step out of line, Chuck's going to do something about it. He's all business, even when it gets personal.

The story is pretty standard. Norris plays Josh Randall, the muscle at a casino owned by his old friend/father figure, Sam. Sam's son, David, runs the day-to-day operations now that the old man has basically retired to a life of desk collecting and pool installations. Guess what? David's not the best at this job, and has got himself (and therefore, everyone) in some deep shit. He can get out if he sells the casino to some unsavory types, but guess what? His old man's not interested. Guess what else? Those unsavory types? Who knows why they ever ask in the first place, because those dudes are going to do whatever they want. And that's when Chuck gets pissed involved. Oh, you done f--ked up now.

Before my silhouette gets spin-kicked to the face, I'm going to unleash my special move. On my knuckles, some spiked Yays. In my boot, I keep a couple of razor-sharp Boos. But I don't want any trouble. I just want to play cards. Or something.

So that's what that feels like.

I went to the movies at 9 in the morning. Pretty sure that's the earliest screening I've ever been to. Anyway, when I came home, my son immediately punched me in the balls. Honestly. I think he was trying to give me a hug, but was looking away, and he slugged me right in the junk. Likely, he meant well, but his grand gesture of adoration went awry and ended up a painful moment of shock and disappointment.

If you haven't gotten it by now, I was crushed with disappointment after seeing The Dark Knight Rises. Oh, that was obvious? Well, if you've seen this movie, you know that everything must be explained and shown fully to occur. I'm just following suit.

I went into full-on internet lockdown when it came to reviews (or even images) concerning the third film in Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy. This was going to be hands down the movie of the summer, if not of all time. You can laugh at the absurdity of that all you want, but I was f--king hyped. And when I left the damn-near three-hour epic, I was in shock not only because the movie wasn't even close to being that good. Honestly, for a minute there, I thought it wasn't good...at all.

In the hours that have passed, I've come down a bit from that movie sucked, to more of a blaming myself. I scrolled through Rotten Tomatoes and saw one glowing review after another. One guy even was calling for Best Picture. Best. F--king. Picture. Did I miss something? Did I see a workprint by accident? Because the version I saw was one of the most illogical and hollow great movies I've seen in a long time. Just thinking about the final third of the film baffles me. Completely.

Look, I'm no professional here. Not by a long shot. And I know that if I truly love a movie, it doesn't matter what you say about it. You won't change my mind. But while I'm always open for a discussion, I don't think you'll ever convince me that this flick isn't insanely ridiculous (polite way of saying stupid). Yes, we're talking about a comic book movie, got it, but Nolan had elevated Batman to a level of legitimacy and awesomeness that both surprised and floored me. Shit, judging by box-office numbers, us. I know my own impossibly high hopes are responsible here, but so too is Nolan for creating two excellent films prior.

This must be the nicest family in the world, I think.

Last Thursday night, in movie-going terms, was a much more innocent time. It's rather fitting then, that my wife decided that we should watch a movie as a family. When it comes to watching a movie with a very young child, there are only two options: 1) Go with something the little one knows and loves or 2) Don't. Option 1, can be mind-numbing for the adults, but crowd control is easier. Option 2? Oh, that's a gamble. One that's almost a guaranteed disaster. If you wonder which option we usually choose, let me start reciting Cars verbatim for you. That said, apparently my wife was feeling saucey that night...

Before I begin, let me say that  Stuart Little has a very surprising pedigree. Director Rob Minkoff was one of two directors for The Lion King. Decent, right? Well, this is when sh-t gets real. This movie is co-written by M. Night Shyamalan of all people. Maybe this is common knowledge by now, but I did a spit-take when his name appeared on the screen. Goodness. I guess 1999 was his peak, because both Stuart Little and a little flick called The Sixth Sense were released. Nuts.

Okay, so enough with the trivia. Stuart Little is a decent um, little family flick. I had caught bits here and there before and knew that Stuart was an adorable bastard, but I had never seen the movie in full. Almost fifteen years later, it still entertains, though I'm sure if it were made today things would be different. Instead of picking Stuart up at an orphanage, they probably would have just ordered him online. That's how you get orphans  mice, right? I kid, I kid.

Actually, it seems like orphans have been at the heart of many of my recent watches, come to think of it. Hugo, Moonrise Kingdom and even The Dark Knight Rises have featured the unfortunate youngsters. And while all those characters end up fairly happy, Stuart probably ends up with the cushiest digs. Not only is his mom the gigantic archer/genius Geena Davis, but his dad is a very young Dr. Gregory House. Not bad.

What was that? I think I just saw something run under the fridge. Damn it. I'll come up with some Yays and Boos. You set the trap.

A few words...

This blog is completely trivial. Completely. But if you're reading this, it's because you love movies. Obviously, I do as well. Especially going to the movies. Early this morning, in a theater in Aurora, Colorado, many people just like you and me packed into a theater for a midnight showing of The Dark Knight Rises. As I'm sure you've heard by now, a gunman entered the theater and opened fire on those in the audience.

People die all over the world everyday, that's a horrible fact. And yes, I don't take the time to write about them. This is a blog where I celebrate movies, and all the nerdy goofiness that goes along with them. The feeling of excitement and anticipation that comes with seeing something you've waited forever for is silly, but it's also very fun. There's nothing wrong with that. That this alleged gunman not only took that from everyone in attendance, but potentially people all over the world, is unfair. And obviously, that's not even scratching the surface of the atrocities committed early this morning.

So today, or this weekend, or whenever you go see The Dark Knight Rises, take a second to think of those in Aurora this morning. The people in attendance, the theater employees and all the first responders who rushed into the Century Aurora 16. For many of them, what was supposed to be a fun night at the movies, unfortunately became a tragic one.

It is true. Bitches are liars.

I saw three very random things today.

When taking my son to the park, I saw a man lying on the ground. He looked as if he was carefully drinking from a puddle, but a moment later the truth was revealed. He was violently throwing up. Like, one hand on the ground supporting himself as the other was twisted-in-agony-kind-of throw up. A woman and a small girl watched him. I pretended not to. He then got up, had a sip of Powerade, and walked away. Later, many people unknowingly walked through that puddle. We did not.

On the way home from the park, I saw a woman get out of a car at a red light. She whipped open the back door and grabbed her purse. She then walked right through the intersection while flipping the bird no-look style to the befuddled driver. He lurched forward, and I thought he was going to run her down. She kept walking, shouted F--k you!, and kept her bird held high. My light changed and away I went.

And an hour later, I watched Casa de mi Padre. This, I can't describe.

Will Ferrell is a funny dude. When I saw the trailer for this Spanish-speaking feature, I thought it was going to be a kickass parody of telenovelas. Turns out, it isn't. At all. Despite dashes of goofiness here and there, this one plays it rather straight. I know, that's the joke. But aren't jokes funny?

Anyway, I was thrilled when I first picked this one up and saw that it was 84 minutes. That's beautiful, and easily finished while my son naps (wait til you have kids, you'll see). Turns out, you feel every one of those 84 minutes, as this movie isn't in a hurry to get anywhere. Drop the opening James Bond-style intro song and the weird campfire sing-a-long, and you're probably looking at 75 minutes tops. Not bad, but I'm not sure if it's good either.

Once you get past a gigantic white man playing a Mexican rancher, the story unfolds rather easily. Armando (Ferrell), is the simple son striving for his father's approval. His brother Raul (Diego Luna) shows up, and dashes any chance of that. Raul complicates things further, as he brings an incredibly hot girl with him, Sophia (newcomer Genesis Rodriguez), whom he plans to marry.