Movie Poster A Go-Go

Bedtime Stories



Gotta love movie marketing departments without a clear vision. "What should we put on the poster? What image best represents the movie we're trying to sell?" "Well... how about everything in the world in a big busy jumble-fuck of colors and visual noise so from twenty feet it looks like a candy barf AIDS quilt designed by drunk marsupials that know Photoshop?" "Hmm... can we get Adam Sandler in there?" "He'll be the carrot chunks in the vomit metaphor!" "Fantastic, yes, we're extremely good at our jobs. Now, let's all blow some rails off each other's stomachs then call it a day!" "Making movies!!!"

I would also like to point out that one of the 4,287,935 images on this poster is Adam Sandler riding a Roman chariot. There is no reason for any movie to exist that features such an event. Adam Sandler, as much as I love Happy Gilmore, has about as much business participating in Gladiator-style events as I do wearing tight leather pants for the benefit of all the lovely ladies. Both are inexplicable, uncomfortable, and have a high probability of making everyone in the vicinity nauseous times a billion to the power of gross-toasties.

Twilight



Ah, so Anne Rice is moonlighting as a Glamour Shots photographer. Good for her; it's smart to have a second job for when the world finally gets sick of your gothic-fetishized bullcrap and puts you out of work by collectively not buying a single copy of your latest vampires-are-all-totally-romantic-and-deep-and-mysterious-and-sold-exclusively-at-Wal-Mart novel.

Anyhoo, this movie... Twilight... is not an Anne Rice joint. No, it's written by a Mormon (who by the way is a TOTAL babe) and it currently has the sixteen-and-under set all in a tizzy because... well... I don't know, to tell you the truth. I haven't read the book because I'm pretty much done with the whole puberty thing (finished up in early 2005), not to mention the fact that I have exactly zero interest in any and all teenage vampires not speaking words written by Joss Whedon. However, I *did* catch the trailer for Twilight and... yeah, no thanks. It looks like a very special episode of Dawson's Creek where Pacey and Joey meet Nosferatu at an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue shoot and everyone kung-fu fights to a Hot Topic in-store playlist. I'll pass, but if any of you lovable scamps want to write and tell me how it is/how I'm a big meanie for ragging on the one novel/film/tweener phenomenon that's touched your life more than Jesus, feel absolutely free. A good laugh is always needed in these troubled times.

Dying Breed



Haha... gross! You don't see enough movie posters these days that look like rejected Cannibal Corpse album covers and I think that's a shame. We, as Americans, love our splattery, teeth-n'-eyeballs gore! It's practically written into the Constitution that everything is better with a little arterial spray and disemboweled guts thrown into the mix. I mean, it doesn't say it explicitly or anything, but it's there in the subtext if you bother to take the time to actually read the damn thing, you terrorist-fellating freedom haters. God bless the USA!

What's that? This movie is from Australia? Ah... well, never mind then about the jingoistic accusations up there. C-dog hasn't had his coffee yet and tends to come off as a bit of a warhawk crazypants without the aide of caffeine.

So not the point, though. What's important is that someone... Australian or not... had the huevos mas grande to put out a lurid movie poster featuring a pie made of people parts and don't we all just love 'em for it? Sure, it kind of makes us collectively want to hurl, but can it not be argued that having any reaction to a film at all is better than feeling nothing, even if said reaction forces one of our friends to hold back our hair so it doesn't get caught in the firehose blast of semi-digested Olive Garden salad and breadsticks? Good cinema should hit us on a gut level, even if that blow is quite literal (and nasty). So I say "Good show, you magnificent Aussie bastards!" You've made the lot of us long for some dry Saltines, a damp, cool rag, and a glass of ginger ale. You are a success.

Gran Torino



I was going to make a joke here about Old Man Eastwood yelling at kids to "get off [his] lawn," but then I watched the trailer for Gran Torino and HE ACTUALLY SAYS THAT!!! How crazy is it when the makers of a movie actually write the unintentional comedy for you? SO crazy. And it makes my job easier because I can just kick back with a glass of generic cola and a package of Pop-Tarts and let them bust hilarious moves on my behalf.

Beyond that, though, this movie actually looks pretty good. I grew up with a mother who was an unabashed Dirty Harry fan and thus I was imparted with a devotion to same. So it's nice to see Clint Eastwood back in ass-kicking, do-you-feel-lucky-punk mode, even if he is technically old enough to qualify for inclusion in a Smithsonian exhibit on early man's ability to work with crude, hand-fashioned tools.

Whatever, though. Gotta love the Eastwood. He rules as an actor, he ruled as a director (seriously, if you haven't seen Mystic River or Play Misty For Me, do yourself a favor), and from what I understand, he's just generally a nifty person with which to drink many beers. I will be as sad when he dies as I was when Paul Newman died. And that's pretty sad, considering they're men I don't technically know and who would both more than likely find me unpleasant and frightening were I to run up on them all watery-eyed and spouting quotes from their movies like a broken Speak N' Spell.

The Intervention

Um... are... you... implying that drinking is bad, movie poster for a shitty movie no one's heard of? Are you really going THERE with this? Because, bitch, I will stab you with a broken Jack Daniels bottle. I have many broken Jack Daniels bottles at my disposal and I am NOT afraid to stick one of them in your sternum and twist until you make sounds like an eighteen-wheeler constructed from bone crashing into a carnival's Hall of Mirrors during a tropical storm consisting entirely of your blood. That's right, motherfucker... don't you mess with the concept of drinking. Trying to turn it all evil like cellphones in a Japanese horror movie. Fuck YOU!!! We drunks get surly when you knock our hobbies.

That being said, I would also like to point out that, should any of you feel the need to kill me, drowning me in a large bottle of whiskey would be my preferred method of murder. Sure it'd be terrifying and I'd die and all that but, hey, at least I'd get to have a little drink to take the edge off before my horrible, horrible death by drowning. And, if Hell ends up actually existing, I'd like to show up there sloshed because that would probably make dealing with Satan and all his little demons a shitload easier to deal with. They'd be all "Blah, blah, welcome ot Hell, we're red and have pitchforks and look at all that fire!!!" and I'd just stare at them all eyes-half-closed, "yeah, that's great... fire... neat... looks, can I lay down for a few minutes because I'm gettin' the spins pretty bad up in this piece."

They wouldn't let me because obviously it's Hell and they're not into treating you like a visiting dignitary staying at the Waldorf Astoria but that's fine. I'll just puke on their cloven hooves.