Movie Maven

Austin Powers in Goldmember
Starring: Mike Myers, Beyonce Knowles, Seth Green, Verne Troyer
Written by: Mike Myers
Directed by: Jay Roach
Official Website

(Photo courtesy of Projections-Movies.com)

Your beloved Movie Maven has been despondent lately. I, along with Roommate #1, are moving out and into a new apartment, while Roommate #2 will be departing our company for greener pastures (and far better housing) across campus. Roommate #2 was packing up this past weekend, taking down posters, throwing things in plastic bags- always a bittersweet endeavor. To lift our spirits, we decided to see what crappy Friday night movie was playing on the little Toshiba. To our surprise and delight we found the perfect antidote to pre-moving melancholy: Austin Powers in Goldmember.

What a fabulously ridiculous mess Myers created when he wrote this movie. Though not nearly as funny or well-executed as his first two Bond-spoofs, it has its own derivative charm. It's the same old gag, of course. Austin (Myers) is the international man of mystery, Dr. Evil (also Myers) is his nemesis, along with Evil's clone, Mini Me (Troyer.) The girl in this case in Foxxy Cleopatra (Beyonce Knowles,) a play on Pam Grier and the blaxploitation films of the 1970s. There's a host of other characters, some new and some from the previous films. It's a comforting film by not throwing you for any loops- you laugh because you laughed at the same jokes in the previous movies.

Myers one failing was actually the title character: Goldmember, a Dutch 70s playboy, who eats his own flaking skin and is named because of an unfortunate, ahem, smelting accident. "I like goooooolllld," he yells at odd moments. Like Fat Bastard before him, Goldmember is disgusting without being remotely funny- and yes, gross-out humor is funny when applied correctly (see the infamous Van Wilder eclair scene for confirmation.) For some reason when Myers is in Goldmember's character, his impeccable timing goes completely off. It's almost as if Myers himself knows how bad a creation this character was, and has basically just given up.

Though Goldmember may be a complete loss, the other characters are surprisingly funny. One of my favorites has always been Scott Evil, Dr. Evil's son (played by sharp and adorable Seth Green.) Green doesn't even really have to do or say anything: one glance of pure hatred at Mini Me, or look of disbelief at his father's idiocy has me completely in stitches. Similarly wonderful is Michael Caine as Nigel Powers, Austin's absent father. Caine, of course, is completely overqualified for the job, but seems to be having the time of his life. He settles into character easily, dignity and charm oozing from every pore.

Though every fiber of my being is telling me that this movie is a complete waste of time, I can't help but love Myers and his silliness. Though he takes many disguises in Goldmember, he's simply the best when he's Austin Powers, the horny spy with a sensitive side. When he's on the screen, all reason goes out the window, and all you want to do is laugh.

I love science fiction.

Sometimes.

I have very strict parameters when dealing with science fiction. The genre is too finicky, too varying in taste and quality, and I need to protect myself. There's nothing worse than having to sit through two hours of bad sci-fi.

Here are some of my rules:

1. Have something to say. For me, good sci-fi is not about spaceships, lasers and pointy ears, but is a tool for talking about something more universal and timeless. Futuristic films, for example, stress the present fears of technology, big government and the devastation of war. How many books have you read or movies have you seen about a futuristic dystopia or post-war anarchy? The Matrix tapped into Millennial fears of rapidly expanding technology, the loss of humanity and identity. They are also often about searches or journeys, both literal and metaphorical: Buffy was often about isolation and the journey for redemption. Firefly (and later Serenity) was about the search for home and family in a hostile environment.

A lot of sci-fi claims to have something to say, but it says it in a way that's too blatant or cliched. Or the maker mucks the message up by putting too much other crap in it. Star Wars is a good example. Sure, anyone could talk about the battle of good versus evil, the Greek tragedy flawed protagonist with Anakin, blah blah blah. But any quality message is devoured by Jabba the Hut, and to take away any meaning also means you have to swallow hours of unnecessary puppets and prosthetics. Which leads me to my next rule:

2. All prosthetics, make-up and fancy-looking gadgets must be integral to the plot to be included. For example, my very favorite sci-fi TV shows to date are Firefly and the new Battlestar Galactica. Want to know what's cool about both these shows? No prosthetics. Killer robots, yes. Bumpy foreheads, a big resounding no. The extraneous material, while sometimes amusing and/or integral to the plot, often gets in the way of the story. The props and the make-up become what you see, sacrificing the dialogue or the performance. Part of the joy of Battlestar Galactica is how rudimentary their technology is, how they have to get along with the bar minimum because the cylons could infiltrate anything technologically beyond it (long story- rent the DVD.) The people of Battlestar Galactica run the show- not the technology.

3. Love stories should be kept to a minimum. I want to see space battles, complicated political machinations, and men in brightly colored tights- not sappy love scenes. This was part of my issue with the new Spider-Man. I don't care about Peter Parker and Mary Jane. Especially when Mary Jane is played the thoroughly uninteresting Kirsten Dunst. Every minute of screen time spent on the love story in Spider-Man II was a minute taken away from the fabulous Alfred Molina and his animatronic tentacles. In other words: completely wasted. If I want to laugh derisively at a love story, I'll rent You've Got Mail.

4. Just kidding. I would never rent You've Got Mail.

5. Nine times out of ten, if the word "star" is in the title, I'm probably not going to like it. The only exception I can think of for this rule is, obviously, Battlestar Galactica. Star Wars, Star Trek, and the interminable Stargate series- I hate them all. I know right now sci-fi geeks across America are clutching their chests in horror- how can I honestly call myself a sci-fi fan if I don't like Star Trek or Star Wars? They just don't interest me. I think with Trek there was a point in one's childhood where one makes the choice to be a Trekkie, and the opportunity just passed me by. As for Star Wars, I simultaneously despise it and am fascinated by it. I hate it because it's boring and unnecessarily long and pointless and badly written with no character development, and is purely a vehicle to push massive amounts of merchandise. And I am fascinated by it because of George Lucas's great gift for taking truly talented actors and killing that talent slowly and mercilessly. This caused me small bouts of amusement when he was just screwing with Harrison Ford. But then he grasped the divine Liam Neeson in his clutches, shredding his acting prowess and dignity like a fat, bearded hawk. This, I cannot forgive.

And as for Stargate... forget it, I'm not wasting any more time on Stargate than has already been wasted by Sci-Fi channel making me watch promos for it. Let's just say it's kind of like Sliders, meets Dawson's Creek, meets a lot of really bad one-liners. Plus one of the characters has both a bumpy forehead and this little gold doo-hickey on top of the bumps. I have no patience for this.

Well, there you have it. I am a picky eater when it comes to sci-fi, but when I can find something good, I devour it obsessively. Below is a list of my five favorite science fiction films/shows, the five worst (in my opinion,) and my five sci-fi guilty pleasures. Disagree with me? Let me know!

My Top Five Favorite Science Fiction:

1. Battlestar Galactica (the new one)
2. Firefly
3. Twilight Zone
4. The X-Files
5. Blade Runner

Top Five Most Hated:

1. Stargate
2. Star Wars
3. Star Trek
4. Farscape
5. Quantum Leap

Top Five Sci-Fi Guilty Pleasures:

1. Sliders (oh how I loves the Jerry O'Connell)
2. The Fifth Element
3. Plan 9 From Outer Space
4. Invasion of the Body Snatchers
5. Alien

A note: Hello kids, did you miss me? The rampaging King Kong of exams has finally been shot down and I can get back to the business at hand. This review is coming a little late (I actually saw it about a week ago) but its memory still lingers pleasantly in my drained, post-finals mind. So enjoy!

Brick (2005)
Starring: Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Nora Zehetner, Lukas Haas
Written and Directed by: Rian Johnson
Official Website

(Photo: Jospeh Gordon-Levitt, courtesy of Cinema St. Louis)

There are people who hate this movie.

As opposed to the waves of mediocrity (and similarly mediocre reviews) that most recent films tend to bring, Brick has inspired a venom that reviewers usually reserve for Dr. Suess adaptations and post-Bodyguard Kevin Costner flicks. At the New York critics' screening, according to Andrew O'Hehir of Salon, several walked out of the theater, one griping that "life is too short." But despite this, it nabbed the Sundance Special Jury's Prize for Originality of Vision, and has garnered itself decidedly mixed reviews ever since.

And so that is how I went to see Brick on a warm spring Saturday evening- looking for something to either despise or love with equal passion.

And I loved it.

Most summaries you Google will tell you that it's a re-imagining of Dashiell Hammett's detective noir of the '30s and '40s, a la The Maltese Falcon and Red Harvest, set in a Southern California high school. A Bogart thriller if Bogart was a cast member of The OC. But it is so much more than that. Newcomer Rian Johnson's film exists in a world all its own, a world he built using not only Hammett, but everyone from David Lynch to Quentin Tarantino to the Coen brothers. Brendan (played by wonderful Gordon-Levitt, whom I've loved since that ghastly Third Rock from the Sun sitcom,) goes on a search to find out what happened to his ex-girlfriend Emily (Lost's Emilie De Ravin.) Eventually Brendan finds his way into the inner circle of The Pin (Lukas Haas,) a 26-year-old dope-dealer. He crawls deeper and deeper into the underbelly of his idyllic suburb, looking for answers, and, finally, revenge.

There are maybe three adults in the entire film, and the teenagers themselves talk in hard-boiled crime novel-speak, using terms like "hooked," "yegs," and "dames." There is nary a "dude" or "awesome" to be heard. And the entire tone of the movie switches and twists, keeping the audience on its toes. Sometimes its a black comedy. Sometimes its a noir thriller. Sometimes its a teen movie. This jumping around doesn't seem to sit well with many, but for me it simply means that Johnson defies clear description. He is paying homage to the kinds of films he loves. But simultaneously he is breaking them down, mixing the parts together and building it back up, like some sort of genre Frankenstein. And the most fabulous bit is that it works. Like Brendan, we never know whats around the corner.

The filming is beautiful, a classic view of the sparse southern California landsape with no real center. And it's a view of a teenager's world: a universe of school parking lots and classrooms, of underpasses and pothead hang-outs, of warm maternal kitchens and smelly basements. The plot is a fantasy, the stakes much higher that most high schoolers are used to. But the world will be eerily familiar to anyone who can remember. Ironically, it's a more realistic vision of the high school experience than anything dreamed up by the purveyors of She's All That and 10 Things I Hate About You.

His actors are better, too. Levitt is every bit the outcast, hunched up in an oversized jacket. He spits Hammett-esque lines with the driest wit and his performance melds amoeba-like between campiness and serious noir. But the stand-out is Haas as The Pin, who's terrifying even as he's being very very funny. He strolls humorlessly around the screen in a goth wizard's cape, carrying a cane with a duck's head on it. He waxes poetic about Tolkein "the hobbit guy," vaguely reminiscent of Travolta's soliloquy on the Royale with cheese. He is, in many ways, the embodiment of Brick: funny and serious, goofy and terrifying, derevitive and highly original.

Whether you love or hate Brick, there is no denying that Johnson is a director to watch. Divisiveness is the name of the game- it creates fodder for that elusive pixie "buzz," which can keep a director's career running long enough to make another movie. And there's no doubt in my mind that Johnson has a few more tricks up his sleeve.

A note: Apologies to Dashiell Hammett, who's name I spelled wrong in a prior version of this posting. (Were he alive, I'm sure he would be terribly offended.)

Well darlings, it's been fun. But the end of the semester fast approaches and I have been instructed to write a tearful farewell to Blogland.

But wait, you cry! I can't possibly be finished yet. I still have to post on noir art house favorite, Brick, which I saw last weekend. And I have to tell the tale of my experience with the Godzilla/King Kong marathon. Plus I'm very much looking forward to a little British naughtiness called Kinky Boots, about a drag queen that saves a shoe retailer. Oh there's so much more to see and do!

Don't worry my little cinephiles. I'll be taking a few days off to do icky exams, but near the end of this week I will return to my little blog to quench your thirst for completely uneducated commentary on all things film. I'd like to thank Prof. Matson for the opportunity to begin this little experiment, and say that it's been one of the most wonderful, and beneficial assignments in my college career (cough, I want an A, cough, cough.) But seriously, I had a fabulous time and learned a lot. Thanks again Professor!

And as for the rest of you (all two or three of you) I'll see you all at the end of the week. Ta!

It's that guy.

You know, that guy. The guy you see all time in film and on TV, but never really know his name. You know you saw him somewhere... oh yeah! He was in that one episode of Criminal Intent- he played the rich sociopath who killed his wife by infecting her with a rare tropical disease. And I think he might have been one of Elaine's boyfriends on Seinfeld. And wasn't he the guy who gets killed first in that movie about the giant snake? Yeah, that guy!

They are a celebrity unto themselves, those guys. They exist in the film and television spectrum of the Law and Order empire and bit character roles in romantic comedies. They are third billed in the opening credits. They are the ones eaten first in horror flicks. They are henchmen and firefighters and reporters and ex-boyfriends and goofy best friends. They are that guy.

One of my favorite of those guys is a man named Evan Handler. Handler's got the true "that guy" resume, especially where television is concerned. There's the obligatory guest starring on Law and Order and Miami Vice. A couple of failed sitcoms, a few big blockbusters, including Natural Born Killers and Ransom. He played Charlotte's husband for awhile on Sex and the City. Just recently he was on Lost as a figment of one the principles' imagination. And he was brilliant! He usually is. I'm always ecstatic when I catch Handler on the screen- his performances are nuanced, memorable and always well-rounded. And I love to watch him. There's something deeply intelligent about his eyes, which makes him very attractive- short, barrel-chested and bald though he may be.

Another one of those guys is actually a girl. Ever heard of Clea DuVall? Maybe, maybe not, but there's no doubt you've seen her. There's something about DuVall's look that makes her perfect for The Rebellious Teenager roles- edgy and sometimes disturbed. She's been in everything from Girl, Interrupted, to The Faculty, to 21 Grams. She was also the designated girly screamer in films like The Grudge and Helter Skelter. But her best performance was as Sophie, the waifish psychic in HBO's Carnivale. Carnivale, which centered around a traveling circus in Depression-era America was one of HBO's shows that was never able to gain Sopranos-style popularity, but was probably one of the most intriguing shows on the network- which is saying a lot. And DuVall was wonderful was the haunted clairvoyant. Plus she had one of the hottest sex scenes I've ever seen with Nick Stahl (always a plus.)

There's a whole world of these guys (and girls) who actually make up most of Hollywood's working actors. And as long as Dick Wolf and Wes Craven have a breath in their body, there will be work for these talented sort-of-knowns.

p.s.: There's an excellent article on my beloved Salon, written by one of "Those Guys." Read it! Come on, you know you wanna!

This is a little continuation of my previous post on the beleaguered Brattle theatre. I thought I'd talk a little about the theatre's founders. Alas, the 4-minute limitation of my multimedia presentation for which I began research in the first place prevents me from delving too deep into their history, so I thought perhaps I'd elaborate here.

Bryant Haliday and Cy Harvey, Jr. were the two young men who turned the scrappy stage theatre into a cinema. First of all, how AWESOME are those names? Like something out of The Magnificent Seven, though admittedly about a century too late. Nevertheless, I imagine them mustachioed and wearing bowler hats. I fantasize that Cy carried a cane and had a genteel flower in his lapel. Bryant was the violent upstart, with a 12-gauge in his hand and revenge in his mind

In reality they were Harvard grads, living in relatively civilized Cambridge, MA.

Bryant was an aspiring actor, who, as creative director Ned Hinkle put so well "starred in a couple of horrible B-movies I've never seen." You can IMDB him here. He had also acted in some of the stage productions at the Brattle, and I can imagine he probably cared deeply for the space.

Cy Harvey was another character altogether. He was the entrepreneur of the outfit, according to Hinkle, constantly shifting focus. He and Haliday started a lot of different businesses in the shape-shifting rooms of Brattle Hall. They opened two private clubs, the Casablanca and the Blue Parrot Café, both of which survived to become restaurants. They rented out a dance studio. And they had a intriguing little gift shop called Trouke, which sold imported goods and was "kind of a head shop for a while," according to Hinkle. Trouke will come into play later on in this little tale. Anyway, Harvey had been a Fulbright scholar studying in Paris during the French New Wave. He was in the thick of it- Jean-Luc Godard, Francois Truffaut, the Cahiers du Cinema, and the Cinemateque Frances. It was here, says Hinkle, Harvey was inspired to bring foreign and art cinema to the states. Together their passions led them to the Brattle in 1953, and began the tradition of new, different, and outright bizarre films being shown there.

This love and passion also eventually led them to begin Janus Films in the 1950s, which was one of the few production companies that brought the most important foreign film into the states: Godard, Truffaut, as well as Ingmar Bergman, Frederico Fellini, and Akira Kurasawa, among others. In other words, half my Introduction to Film Analysis syllabus. Janus, interestingly enough became the Criterion Collection of DVDs, one of the most reputable distributers of classic masterpieces.

So here they are. Two men who effectively changed the shape and face of independent cinema. And it seems like they had a pretty swell time of it too.

A note about Cy Harvey: Among many other things, Trouke sold some fancy imported soaps that Harvey was apparently crazy about. In the early 1970's he decided to pursue the soap business, set-up a shop in Cambridge and did pretty well for himself.

He founded Crabtree and Evelyn.

Entrepreneur indeed.

After the lumbering encroachment of final exams have been annihilated, I can look forward to a different set of dreaded monsters: the King Kong and Godzilla triple feature at the Coolidge Corner Theatre!! Three movies, showing back to back on April 26: the original King Kong, the original Godzilla, and the classic King Kong vs. Godzilla! What more does a girl need to shoo away the dizzy stresses of college life? They'll be shown in new 35 mm prints beginning at 7 p.m., and all three movies are just $10.

So if you're in town and can tear yourself away from the grim realities of existence for a few hours, come to the Coolidge and indulge in some old-school escapism: in the forms of a gorgeous screaming blonde, fleeing Japanese and a glorious stop-motion fight-to-the-death.

Coolidge Corner Theatre:
290 Harvard St.
Brookline, MA 02446
(617) 734-2501

Photo courtesy of The Coolidge Corner Theatre

Thank You for Smoking (2006)
Starring: Aaron Eckhart, J.K. Simmons, Maria Bello, David Koechner, Rob Lowe
Written and Directed by: Jason Reitman
Official Website

(Photo: Bello, Koechner, Eckhart; courtesy of salon.com)

One of my favorite things to do is rip into a movie that everyone else loves. From Gone With the Wind, to Titanic, there are few greater pleasures than pointing out the glaring idiocy of some of the best-loved films of all time. I went to see Thank You for Smoking this weekend with mixed feelings: I knew that it would either live up to the hype or completely bomb. I hadn't seen a crap movie that everyone else loved in a long time, and part of me wanted it to bomb so I could destroy it with diabolical relish. Its ego, or a bizarre film-related sadism, but I find it hilarious.

So in a twisted sort of way, I was disappointed. Because Thank You for Smoking does live up to the hype, and more. While I hate the term "laugh-out-loud funny," it was precisely that. A mixture of absurdist and extremely subtle humor, blended with fantastic casting, brilliant writing, and wonderful camera direction. A well-tended strawberry daiqueri of a film, if you will.

Meet Nick Naylor (Aaron Eckhart,) divorced, father, and super-lobbyist currently flacking for the tobacco industry. He can talk his way out of anything, and has been named the Sultan of Spin. There isn't really a plot so much as a series of subplots outlining Naylor's life. He goes on a talk show and successfully argues against three anti-smoking advocates and a 15-year-old "Cancer Boy." He visits with the "Captain" of the tobacco industry (Robert Duvall.) He goes to L.A. to bargain with an Asian culture-obsessed executive (Rob Lowe) to include more smoking in films. He lunches with the lobbyists for alcohol (Maria Bello) and firearms (David Koechner,) who affectionately refer to themselves as the M.O.D. Squad (Merchants of Death.) He sleeps with a reporter (Katie Holmes) and is promptly burned by her in an article. And he argues against a hippy anti-smoking Vermont senator (William H. Macy.)

If the content of the past five or six parentheses are any indication, this is an inspired cast, all hilarious in their own right. Eckhart was never a favorite of mine, but he's slips into Naylor's consciousness seamlessly. He's sleazy, true, but not repulsive. His charm is infectious, and his colorful spin eventually begins to dupe you too. "Cholesterol is the leading cause of death in the United States," he says at a Senate hearing. "And here's Vermont clogging the nation's arteries with it's Vermont cheddar cheese!" Ridiculous? Of course. But you're so charmed you don't care. It suddenly becomes feasible that his ludicrous tactics would work with the public. Macy is his usual talented self. He makes his Senator Finnistirre both right in ideals, and just as sleazy as Naylor, at one point yelling at an aide for not finding a pathetic-enough Cancer Boy. Lowe, along with Adam Brody as his enthusiastic lackey, Jack, both have perfect timing- and it's Brody of all people who says probably the funniest line in the movie. Even the latter member of the unholy "TomKat" alliance holds her own.

It's interesting to note that everything in the film looks tainted by tobacco. It was filmed in a yellowish hue that looks like tar has settled on the walls, in the air, on the characters. And it occurred to me later that despite the prevalence of smoking (it is the premise of the film after all,) no one is actually shown smoking. Or not that I can recall. At one point, Nick sits with his sleeping son and crushes an empty pack, but that's about it. Strange, and I'm still pondering what it could mean. They certainly don't shy away from the effects of smoking- there is one sobering scene where Nick bribes the original Marlboro Man, who's been ravaged by smoking-related illnesses.

So don't feel bad for me. I can comfort myself by shamelessly mocking Titanic or some other over-hyped movie. And go see Thank You for Smoking and spread some spin of your own.

(Note: A few grammatical dribs and drabs were corrected from an earlier version of this post.)

Moulin Rouge (1952)
Starring: Jose Ferrer, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Suzanne Flon, Colette Marchand
Written and directed by: John Huston

(Photo courtesy of shutterfly.com)

On the surface it looked perfect: the original Moulin Rouge (the inspiration for Baz Luhrmann's vibrant adaptation,) fantastic character actor Jose Ferrer, the divine Zsa Zsa, and directed by none other than John Huston, previously of The Maltese Falcon and The African Queen, both essentials of classic cinema. It's the perfect combination, no?

NO.

This... this thing betrayed me! The first scene in the famed Paris nightclub lures one into a false sense of security. The place is dirty and the capering girls are loose and obnoxious with bad teeth. Ah, I thought to myself, this is Paris in the nineteenth century: brash, luridly glamorous, petticoats a-flying and legs akimbo. The painter Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (Ferrer) sits at a table in the club, downing a bottle of cognac and drawing sketches of the dancing girls right on the tablecloth. He throws out zingers and one-liners, one after the other, like finely tuned right hooks; he is bitter and drunk. He is fabulous.

Then Zsa Zsa comes out and starts singing and the whole thing goes down the tubes.

Perhaps it was my fault. Perhaps I was spoiled from enjoying this experience by Luhrman, Nicole Kidman and her fiery rendition of "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend," and a far jollier version of Toulouse by John Leguizamo. But when Gabor came out in a bizarre plumed hat (see above) singing about "Flowers in April," as the so-called star of the Moulin Rouge, I got a slow sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

The movie just gets wierder from here. We are offered a lengthy flashback which recounts the reason for Toulouse's bitterness: he was injured in childhood when he fell down a flight of stairs. Or, as the movie would have you believe, launching himself down the stairs in a sad attempt to make it look like an accident. Whatever happened, the bones in his legs didn't knit, stunting his growth. His girlfriend leaves him because he's a cripple, his father laughs derisively at his childhood sketches, blah blah blah. Fast-forward to the present, and Toulouse enters into two tumultuous relationships- one with a street girl, Marie (Colette Marchand,) and another with a mature woman named Mryianne (Suzanne Flon.) He struggles to balance his art, his relationships, his family name, and his increasing descent into alcohol.

Ferrer becomes increasingly irritating through all of this, and his snappy delivery becomes more and more monotonous. Ok, we get it, you're angry and bitter at life! I would comment on Marchand's performance, except I couldn't understand a word she was saying. The editing was laughable, the music was grating, the plot becomes more and more useless and almost bored with itself... I could go on and on.

While I was doing a little research here and there, I found a most disturbing tidbit of information: this movie was nominated for an Academy Award- several in fact. And it won for Best Costumes and Best Art Direction. It was also nominated for Best Picture and and Marchand got a nod for Best Supporting Actress. One of the worst movies I had seen in a long time, and it got nominated for Best Picture. There is no justice in the world.

It might have been all right if the movie was amusingly bad (see prior post on Snakes on a Plane) but it's just dull, dry, and uninspiring. Perhaps it's not entirely the movie's fault- it would be hard to impress someone who's seen Luhrmann's adaptation, and even harder to beat Leguizamo's lovely performance. But whoever's fault it is, there's no excuse for that kind of betrayal.

There's a new movie coming out this summer.

It's about a guy who wants to kill this person who's going to testify against him.

So he releases a whole crate of poisonous snakes on the plane the witness is on to kill him.

You know what it's called?

Snakes on a Plane.

No, I'm not kidding.

Click the link above- you'll find the IMDB listing for it. Heck, have it's official website link too.

Interesting. The official website doesn't have much except a link to a fan site, and New Line Cinema's logo.

Not even a synopsis of the movie.

But then you don't really need one, do you?

It's a movie about snakes on a plane.

'Nuff said.

Gets straight to the point- I like that.

Anyway, Samuel L. Jackson's in it.

The IMDB listing says that Jackson took the part purely for the title. He was adamant it not be changed when they began marketing the movie.

I like Jackson's moxie. Only he could star in a movie entitled Snakes on a Plane and still maintain a shred of dignity.

Here's one of his lines:

"Enough is enough. I've had it with the snakes."

Is that not the best line ever uttered in film? So decisive, so take-charge!

So, I guess the conclusion to this silly little interlude is obvious:

I can't wait to see Snakes on a Plane. I'm purchasing tickets as soon as they're available.

And Samuel L. Jackson is the coolest man alive.

That is all.

(Photo courtesy of About.com)