Showing posts with label Hollywood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hollywood. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

It's March 1st--Do You Know Where Your D-List Load-Dropper Is?


For those of you who mopes out there who don't know what it means when people call you a mope, here is a fascinating education, courtesy of the LA Weekly:
The porn industry is many things. Subtle is not one of them. So when Porn Inc. went searching for a job title for people like Stephen Hill, the choice was "mope." It's based on the off-camera life of these fringe actors, hangers-on who mope around the studios hoping for a bit role, which if they're lucky might bring them $50 plus food — and the chance to have sex with a real, live woman.
The average rate for a mope is $50 a movie, $75 if the porno gods are feeling benevolent. So financially, mopehood is a losing proposition in an industry where just getting the HIV testing required to work costs $135.
"They're worthless, D-list load-droppers," says Jim Lane, also known as Jim Powers, the director of such fare as Young and Anal 39, Ganged and Banged and White Trash Whore 40.
Unlike mainstream Hollywood extras, Lane notes, "Mopes don't know they're mopes." Instead, most cling to a delusion. "They all think they're going to be stars and millionaires."
Mark Kulkis, the head of Kick-Ass Pictures, a company that specializes in specific niche porn such as foot-fetish and gangbang material, says, "We pay $50 for a foot job. And we shoot one a week for the site. There are only so many of those gigs to go around. These guys are hanging on the edge economically."
Hill, whose screen name was Steve Driver, used to say his signature was "monster hands." According to set photographer Gia Jordan, Hill "would wear these hands, like, from a Halloween costume. That was his shtick. He'd jack off on the girl with the hands and when he'd come he'd yell, 'Monster hands!' It was ridiculous."

Wow. Okay. The only thing I would argue there is that mainstream Hollywood extras lack delusions of grandeur, which anybody who has spent any time with extras knows is patently untrue. 95% of extras expect to be millionaire actors, whether those millions come from 15 years of nationwide Verizon commercials, a role on CSI, or the fat paychecks commanded by an A or B-list movie actor they are expecting it one way or another--IF THEY CAN JUST MAKE THE RIGHT CONNECTIONS.

It's good to know foot-job dicks can be rented for only fifty dollars. This is knowledge that's good to have up your sleeve when you run out of other options. It also helps explain how homeless men in the Valley get all their booze money and how male Hollywood extras are able to stretch out their paltry paychecks during lean times.

But just so you know, not all D-List Load-Droppers go quietly into the night, clutching a bottle of Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill, and stretch out on a piece of cardboard along the cement-lined Los Angeles River, never to make a name for themselves.

Todd was a pioneer among the D-List Load-Droppers

Take Stephen Hill (aka Steve Driver), for example, who was mentioned above--the lovable "Monster Hands" dude. Now here is a guy who moped his way to infamy in style.

Check it:
Female porn actor Charley Chase recalls, "I only worked with [Hill] once. It was a boy-girl scene and it was terrible. Mainly from bad hygiene."

Monday, January 10, 2011

It's Hard Out There for a Pirate


The ongoing saga of the Pirates Off the Horn of Africa (soon to be a best-selling trilogy of books/movies/video games aimed at the tween market, followed closely by a Broadway musical/traveling-ice-capade tandem to milk the parents dry until the remakes begin production) has just gotten a tad more interesting with the introduction of the sexiest thing in the world: lasers.


This just in from my contacts in London:
Sailors may soon have a weapon in their battle against sea-borne raiders: an anti-pirate laser.
BAE Systems has demonstrated its new laser system, which can temporarily blind would-be attackers. The system would prevent pirates from being able to aim their weapons at targets, BAE claims.
At distances of more than of between 1.2km (0.75 miles) and 1.5km (0.85 miles), the laser beam acts as a warning signal, letting the pirates know they've been spotted, said Brian Hore of BAE.
"Today's pirates tend to be opportunistic. If they know they've been spotted, they're likely to look for an alternative target," he told BBC News.
(courtesy BBC)
"At closer ranges, the green laser beam will dazzle them, making it difficult for the pirates to use weapons of their own" and rendering them physically unable to avoid dancing energetic ethnic steps to a John Williams score as Navy SEALs swoop in to gather the best performers in large canvas sacks to be airlifted to Central Casting in Los Angeles for further study, according to Brian "Dirty" Hore of BAE.

But the real question here is: are Somali pirates dazzled by lasers as sexy as vampires?

We aren't sure...

This is a valid concern and one which at the very least requires further taxpayer-subsidized research at entertainment think-tanks across Los Angeles and Orange Counties.

Can we lazily plug pirates into the age-old "star-crossed lover" routine with the same success evinced by the aristocrat/peasant, business heir/rival business heir, North/South, one religion/another religion, and vampire/mortal dynamics of years past?

Well, let's have a shot at the pitch and see what happens:

Saturday, July 31, 2010

"Perverts Wanna See New Girls," Thus Celebrity Pseudo-Innocence Must Be Lost on Camera


First of all, the steroids.
Second of all, the jewelry.
Third of all, Brian Pumper?



Fourth of all, how bored is that "first-time" "bitch," who may or may not "cream," who also happens to be Laurence Fishbourne's ugly and stupid 18-year-old daughter?
Fifth of all, how come she doesn't know how to become a bad-yet-working actor when even a Baldwin can do it?
Sixth of all, why does she equate a sex tape with a hardcore porn movie?
Seventh of all, why is Kim Kardashian her role model?
Eighth of all, how many pennies will it take to bang this lost soul senseless in six weeks?
Ninth of all, make sure you watch the whole (interview) video and none of the other (porn) video.
Tenth of all, vomit.

_

Friday, July 16, 2010

You Know She's Thinking About It


Osama bin Laden's newly-single son, Omar, wants to come to Hollywood and date Drew Barrymore.

While I find that an odd choice, since I don't find her remotely attractive or interesting, maybe it is an intelligent choice for a guy whose choices, let's be honest, are limited.

Could Omar bin Laden land Jessica Alba? Not a chance. Jessica Biel? No way. Jessica Simpson? Maybe--as long as he learns how to throw a football.

In fact, Drew Barrymore is such an attainable choice, relatively speaking, that I respect his calculating move, appropriately announced to the world with the sort of flowery shit chicks really dig:
"I want to go to America, and I would love to meet Drew Barrymore," said Omar, 29, who recently split from wife Zaina, 25 years his senior. "I am single now and she is the most beautiful woman in Hollywood."
(courtesy Huffington Post)
 Omar and his previous slave, Zaina

It probably doesn't hurt that Ms. Barrymore is one of the wealthiest women in Hollywood, due to her inherited Barrymore family money, the lifelong Barrymore family access to the movie biz, and her shrewd ability to use that money and access to start her own production company.

I mean, it's not like Omar is getting any of his father's money these days as from what I hear it's almost all tied up in military operations and cave speculation.

Omar has always has trouble figuring out who he is

If things don't work out with Barrymore, however, fear not--sexy Omar has at least one more peach on the tree, as it were:
Speaking from a Doha, Qatar hotel in an interview with the Sun, [Omar] also professes an admiration for Jim Carrey, American football, rock music and Madonna. "She's such a great dancer for a woman of her age," he says of the Material Girl, 51. 
Madonna would be so thrilled to hear that qualification on her dancing abilities. Trust me. She's pretty much in the bag, quaffing a pint of Metamucil on the grounds of her British estate, waiting to hear what happens with Drew...

Whaddya think, Drew? Nice pecs/goatee?

_

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

The Fart Heard Round the World


The reviews are in for M. Night Shyamalan's casually-anticipated The Last Airbender, which opens in theaters this Friday.

Please remember to keep an open mind as you read the following critical excerpts, courtesy of RottenTomatoes.com, and judge for yourself whether or not you should see it this weekend:
The picture drags along the ground like a fresh corpse, treating its own myth as homework and the participants as burdens, while feeling around a fantastically wasted world of weathered environments and ornate set design.
-Brian Orndorf, brianorndorf.com
Where to start with this one? How about this: If any movie ever warranted a class-action lawsuit against the filmmakers, it’s The Last Airbender.
-Keith Phipps, AV Club
More after the jump...

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Box Office Blues, By the Numbers

(courtesy Box Office Mojo)

In the era where studios deliberately put out target-marketed shit chock full of hot bods, special effects, and shallow characters, then expect to recoup at least 50% of their budget from curious/duped audiences on opening weekend, before word of mouth can get around, I am pleased to bring you the following news this week:
The A-Team has yet to make back half of its production budget in two weeks on over 3,500 screens. Add in marketing costs of $5 trillion and this bitch is in trouble.

Prince of Persia cost $200 million (plus marketing) and has only reaped $80 million so far--in four weeks on over 2,600 screens. Maybe a hog-wild Iranian box office will balance America's extreme disinterest?

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Breaking News: Depressed Hollywood Actor is Now Fat


Heartthrob-cum-fatty Jeremy London might not be living the high life like he used to during his Party of Five days, but he has at least managed to etch his name onto the list of 2010's strangest news stories.

If you made this stuff up, everybody would think you were stupid:
Armed bandits abducted and robbed Party of Five star Jeremy London and forced him to smoke drugs during a harrowing five hour ordeal in Palm Springs, California, police have revealed to RadarOnline.com.

London, 37, was attempting to change a flat tire on his vehicle when a man stopped to help him, outside the Bahama Hotel & Apartments on North Palm Canyon Drive, late on the evening of Thursday, June 10.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

There's Only One Thing That Could Make John Travolta Cool Again


And despite it sounding like a totally awesome idea if you are a movie executive who has no idea what people want, it isn't Jonathan Rhys Meyers.

Or a bald head. Or an RPG. Or an ill-conceived movie nobody saw.

What is it then, you ask?

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Finally, Another Comedy for Fat People

Kevin James has been off the air for what seems like forever and, as a result, there has been a noticeable--and tragic--dip in the number of fat people trying to be funny on television.

As good as Kevin James was at trying to be funny while fat, however, it always felt like something was not quite right with King of Queens.

You guessed it--his wife. She was too skinny! How is middle America supposed to relate to a skinny, attractive person who looks amazing when rubbed down with baby oil and Photoshopped!

That's not what they want to see on TV!

[Notable exceptions include Seinfeld, Friends, and almost every other TV show ever made--but not Roseanne, thank you very much! -Ed.]


Enter Mike&Molly, one of CBS' certified-platinum fall hits that plans to fill the Kevin James gap. [Gross! -Ed.] Mike is an obese Chicago cop and Molly is an obese 4th-grade teacher, so you know, they are totally relatable on the job front, too.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Bows and Arrows Are So Hot Right Now


I don't know how you feel about it, Internet, but I think Lindsay Lohan looked pretty damn good at this photo shoot the other day. And she showed up for work! Double points!

I mean, her ass is just...jutting right out there. If it weren't for the meth-breath, the persecution complex, the idiocy, and the craziness, I could see myself settling down and growing to love that little potbelly.

Dare to dream, kids--dare to dream.


(For more photos, check out dlisted)

_

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Image of Miley Cyrus Captured On Digital Camera Somewhere


This picture brings no less than four things to the forefront of my brain:
1. Miley is way less attractive in the face than I remember and this disappoints me twice as much as it may disappoint you because she was totally on my list of post-career-collapse conquests and now I'm not so sure. My world is being shaken like a snow globe right now.
 
2. I can't believe neither Miley nor her hair-stylist/best-friend have iPhones. Have they not heard of them yet? Are they still on Sprint because they didn't want to pay that crazy early-termination fee? Don't

3. That bag is awesome. I want one--it looks like a Hefty bag with a $4500 price tag on it and everybody will totally be jealous when they see I have one.
 4. This girl is worth more than $25 million and I can't afford a used taco right now.


Dessert:


Talk about a dear in headlights! (Pun!) This flash is so bright that Miley looks two-dimensional. Also, are those jeans actually jean-printed spandex? I'd believe it...

_

Friday, June 4, 2010

Huey, Dewey, Louie, Scrooge, and Gandalf



It's pretty amazing this kid (what is he, 16?) can so effortlessly imitate the alcohol/cigarette/time-ravaged booming voice of Sir Ian McKellen (who, btw, has his own website).

Hollywood entertainment conglomerates must be relieved to know that should Sir Ian happen to meet his maker during the filming of a movie (The Hobbit 2?), some computer geeks and this kid's voice will ensure that nobody in the audience will notice.

Come to think of it--this might just add another 50-60 years to McKellen's lengthy career. Animated movies would be a snap and live-action would just require a green-masked body double and a slight increase in the visual-effects budget.

Hmmm...I wonder how Sir Ian feels about suddenly becoming so eminently replaceable...

_

Monday, April 19, 2010

Hollywood 2.0


In light of the dearth of originality that continues to plague Hollywood these days, here are five movies that will probably be made in my lifetime:


Real Housewives of Superheroes
What happens on the home-front is even more fantastic, in this out-of-this-world comedy from Robert Zemeckis.


He's Just Not That Into Your Mom
Cougartown meets The Graduate, as Taylor Lautner must fend off a feisty Diane Keaton in his quest to win the heart of her daughter, Taylor Swift.


Back to Back to the Future: 3D
An obese movie nerd/computer geek (Jonah Hill) accidentally finds himself inside the 1985 cinema classic and hilarity ensues as he tries to cover his bumbling tracks without blowing it for Marty and Co.


Twitter: The Movie
Meg Ryan discovers that love really is blind when she discovers her number-one-follower-cum-love-interest is none other than Taylor Lautner, who happens to run a rival flower shop in idyllic Martha's Vineyard.


2 Many Jessicas
On the eve of his wedding day, Jonah Hill is forced to choose between Jessica Alba and Jessica Biel.


Since I am nothing but a whore, I promise not to slam these movies when they ultimately hit the megamultiplex--as long as I get 2% of the gross.


Dessert:

Dances With Wolves to Become a Broadway Musical!
(and remember--The Onion AV Club is not fake news)
_

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Is Eric Bana Even Alive?


Or is he some kind of bland, boring robot programmed to entertain some obscure-yet-profitable demographic that fails to respond to interesting people?

I think the jury is still out here. I found his action movie(s?) boring and the romantic comedies embarrassing. Wait, who are we talking about here--Gerard Butler?

Hmm. Maybe both. Gerard Bana. The line has been blurred, the line has become irrelevant. But I kind of liked him in Funny People, albeit playing a cuckold.

Hmm...

_

Friday, January 22, 2010

Roll This Sentence Around on Your Tongue for a While


"Now a married mother living in Hawaii, Geimer was 13 when she told authorities Polanski raped and sodomized her during a photo shoot at Jack Nicholson’s house."
(courtesy LATimes.com)

Pretty amazing, eh?

The only way I can think of to make it better is to add "while Burt Reynolds watched from the kitchen window and Jay Leno fixed a car in the garage" to the end of it.

Now, whether it was rape or consensual sex with an underage girl is immaterial--can you imagine fucking a 13 year-old girl in the ass? I mean...WOW...that's really going for it.

Even if she did want to have sex with Polanski--which it appears is not the case--that's like if an actor auditioned for a role in a Wendy's commercial and the director suddenly demanded he recreate Daniel Day Lewis' performance in My Left Foot from start to finish.

What brought Polanski to the point where he thought giving a 13 year-old Quaaludes and fucking her in the ass was a totally normal thing to do? What had he done before that moment that made this evening just another night of fun, in his mind?

Can you imagine the shenanigans that went on at Jack Nicholson's house that never made it to the papers? And those that happened at Robert Evans' house?

I can. And it's blowing my mind...

Roman, Jack, and Robert Evans after a night of fun at Evans' house
(photo courtesy GoodtimeCharlie)


If you want to learn more about the escapades of guys like Robert Evans, Jack Nicholson, and Roman Polanski (who partied together quite a bit), you should read High Concept, by Charles Fleming, which focuses on the life and times of one of the craziest sex freaks in Hollywood history--producer Don Simpson.

Here's a taste of what it has to offer, courtesy of Salon.com:
Simpson created an infamous persona -- he'd have hookers flown to his film sets, for example -- and eventually established a reputation as "the town's most notorious bad boy." He also had, for a few years, a nearly perfect instinct for what the public could be sold and a peerless story sense, manifested in cocaine-fueled, 40-page faxed memos.

It's hard to tell where Simpson's narcissism ended and his insecurities began. He subjected his chunky, 5-7 frame to epic quantities of drugs and booze, to late-night binges on peanut butter and hamburgers, to crash diets and workouts, to testosterone implants and to at least 10 procedures by plastic surgeons, including a butt lift and a penis enlargement. When Simpson died in 1996 at the age of 52, the coroner found 27 prescription drugs in his blood, plus cocaine, heroin and booze.
And from his wikipedia entry:
Simpson's unusual personal life has been documented in a number of sources. A chapter in the book You'll Never Make Love in This Town Again (which describes four prostitutes' stories about their sexual encounters with Hollywood celebrities) discusses his preferences for S & M and videotaping of their sessions. He is also known to have had several plastic surgery operations, allegedly including a collagen injection to his penis. People magazine, in an article after his death, alleged that he was a fan of snuff films.
Yeah. I guess when you're hanging around in this sorta circle, fucking a drugged 13 year-old girl in the ass is probably way closer to the line than it is for most people, thankfully.

_

Friday, December 11, 2009

Item: High-End Realtors No Longer Go Anywhere Without Liverwurst in Their Pockets


The gorgeous and supremely-talented Candy Spelling, the useless widow of phenomenally-wealthy television producer Aaron Spelling (who never cheated on her, I swear, or she totally would have left his filthy-rich ass) and mother of never-quite-sexy-enough Tori Spelling, is desperately trying to sell her home in LA.

The asking price? $150 million

Yes, it is ridiculous--but so is the house and so are many of the people who could afford to purchase it. Situated on 4.7 acres of prime real estate in upscale Holmby Hills, the house has over 100 rooms--including one devoted solely to wrapping presents. Jealous?

Televised-Trash Mogul Aaron Spelling

The house was built in 1991--after tearing down the legendary home of the far-cooler Bing Crosby--using the riches Aaron Spelling squeezed out of the working class via such TV shows such as Loveboat, Dynasty, Charlie's Angels, 90210, Melrose Place, and Charmed, among others.

It is the largest house in LA County and the most expensive home in the country. [FYI--My research indicates that this also puts it in a dead heat for the title of Most Expensive Home in the World, since a six-story mansion on Belgrave Square in London is also for sale for $150 million.--Ed.]

The Manor, as seen from my stealth chopper, Goodtime 1

Can you imagine the commission on this bitch? Can you imagine how many realtors want a piece of that solid-gold pie?

Now, under any circumstances, selling a home like this would require some real craftiness--where do you advertise? Whom do you court? How negotiable is the price tag? How many (and what ethnicity/age) prostitutes do you send to the corrupt Russian tycoon in your attempt to persuade him before you give up and move on to the next one?

In the current economic climate, the successful marketing of this monstrosity is tantamount to a work of art.

How does one choose the proper dreamer for such a task? Copious research into the credentials of the best in the business? Haha--you just betrayed your plebeian roots and demonstrate why you belong in the minimum-wage service industry.

The correct answer is that you let your dog smell the prospective agent.

A soft-coated Wheaten Terrier, but probably not the one in question

Courtesy of Huffington Post:

Spelling told The Associated Press that she let her dog Madison, a soft-coated Wheaten Terrier, help pick out the best real estate agent for the task. She had her security bring the dog into the room every time she met one of the candidate agents and watched how the dog reacted. If Madison didn't like them, Spelling crossed them off the list.

Prospective buyers won't have to worry about passing such scrutiny, Spelling jokes.

"Not at all," she says.

Ha ha ha...as if she would have her dog chose the buyer! That would be ridiculous...

Not that she'll ever answer them, but I have a few questions for Ms. Collagen Repository:
1. What the fuck is a 'soft-coat?'
2. Why is this an important detail when describing your dog?
3. Since the house has been on the market since at least the end of March, have there been any repercussions for Madison's poor taste in realtors?
4. Specifically, have her champagne and caviar rations been reduced?
Should I hear back from her people, you will be the first to know.

Developing...

_

Thursday, December 3, 2009

The Smiley Face Is the New Fuck You

So I was told recently by a group of friends that I am too negative, that my glass isn't even half-empty, but broken. "Why don't you just slit your wrists?" one of them sai

I tried to explain that just because I believe mankind’s Achilles heel is its own human nature, that a world full of 95% beatific lovebirds would unfortunately be enslaved by the other 5% with guns and no conscience, that there is no way to fix the American/global political/economic system, does not mean that I find my own existence hopeless.

Convincing them proved impossible. Was it because they weren’t listening, just acting on their own instincts and jumping to conclusions? Was it because I wasn’t clear? Was it because I am wrong and I do want to kill myself but just don’t know it yet?

Fear not, loyal reader who stumbled upon this site when Googling “Real Dolls”"Face Fuck" (it works--try it!), my end shan't come by mine own hand. I am not that kind of guy.

You see, I want nothing more than to live, to experience as much as I can while I can. Life is an adventure that I wish could last forever, but it can't--I will die some day. It is inevitable.

Equally as inevitable is the fact that while drinking in the endless beauty in this world, I too-frequently choke on a spot of sewage. Hey, whoa, whatever--sweetness and shit...that's life, right?

Right. Which was really the only point I was trying to make--no matter what we good people do, no matter how many wonderful happy things there are in the world, there will always be evil lurking. Always. And much like in Star Wars, the Dark Side is far more powerful, far wealthier; less like Star Wars, we have no Jedi on which to pin our hopes.

It is not pessimism that leads me to such a conclusion--it is realism. A common excuse, I know, but hear me out. Have you optimists not studied your history? Have you optimists not been reading the paper the last...since you've been alive? Has our government--or any government, for that matter--ever not been corrupt? Have there ever not been wars? Have many of these wars not been fought for religious reasons, of all hypocrisies? If we can't even trust our monks to not rape our children, whom can we trust?

(check this out)

Unfortunately, groups of people need leaders or nothing good ever happens (what does that say about us, by the way?). Have you ever gone to Las Vegas with 13 people who are "just there to have some fun and don't really care what they do?" I have--they do nothing. Or they do 13 things for five minutes each and spend the entire weekend in a taxi, stopping only to pay covers. Either way nobody has any fun or gets anything done and that's my point. They need a leader.

Whether that/those leader(s) is a monarch, a Parliament, a triumvirate, a President, or a Chieftan, it makes no difference. Those in power will eventually exploit those not in power, whether for sadistic or materialistic reasons.

If you are lucky enough to be a citizen of the Western World, your politicians smile and make promises, purport to be moral--all the while doing whatever is in their own best interests, which almost always makes your life worse and usually involves one of two ploys:

1. Talking a lot and doing nothing, when not in a hotel room with a prostitute (or sometimes even when they are in said hotel room, it makes me smile to say). This is a great tactic if they don't want their opponent in the next election (which they need to start thinking about as soon as they win the last one) to be able to say they supported a nefarious cause.

2. Blowing with the evil wind as they Kowtow to the quasi-legal bribes--campaign contributions, vacations, consultancies post-term, and/or favors for their otherwise inert offspring--offered by corporations through lobbyists (who I think we should just start referring to as Hessians), when not in a hotel room with a prostitute, because this not only makes them wealthy, but greatly aids their reelection since they will never want for campaign funds against a more honest candidate. Besides, if everybody else in their party is doing the same thing, it's hard for somebody to stand out as a bad guy--it just becomes 'party politics.'

If you are a citizen of the rest of the world, if you don't join them, you had better do as you're goddamn told or they kill you--or put you in a dungeon for the rest of your life. Your choice!

But just as there are happy people in China who lead good, honest lives beneath the shadow of an oppressive regime, I lead a good honest life in America. Just because I am aware that history has my back on the whole 'power corrupts' angle (and the whole 'the corrupt seek power' angle, while we're at it) doesn't mean that I let it bring me down. Much like the farmer in China, I simply am aware of the menace and try to avoid it at all costs while I do my own thing in a bubble of relative contentment. It's what I do.

It's what we all do--when we walk by a homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk in the freezing cold, when we pay $12 for a beer at a basketball game, when our second consecutive governor is indicted, when the first four stories on the news involve grisly murders and rapes. We pretend it didn't happen, that it couldn't be as pervasive as it seems. It must just be the media exaggerating things, it couldn't be true that these problems were actually worse in the era before cameras, fingerprints, DNA tests, democracy, laws, the internet...right?

We bury our heads in our asses and get on with our lives.


But every time I come up for air, I find the world smells even worse than I remember, upon close examination of its inhabitants. Whether or not we like to admit it, the beauty that we know and love has a dark side that is something fierce and eventually it will swallow us whole before sashaying off as if nothing happened.

This will not happen in my lifetime, nor yours, nor that of any lawmaker, which is why many of them act as if they don't care about global warming, a fair distribution of wealth, or education--they are greediest when there are no direct consequences. As are most of us.

The reason we don't admit this to ourselves is because it is much better to imagine that our instincts are pure, the world will go on forever, good will triumph over evil, and there are only tiny pockets of problems in an otherwise gorgeous Garden of Eden. This is a comforting thought. Most people believe in God or follow a religion for the same reason--it is far easier than being burdened with the truth, that there is no meaning of life, that we are just here as one of many quirks in the universe, much like the badger, or bacteria.

Ever since I was younger than I should have been to know what a CEO was, I wanted to be one. I was a smart kid with lavish dreams and I wanted to be fabulously wealthy. CEOs are paid obscene amounts of money for decision-making and never have to break a sweat; it made sense.

I had a brain for business, as it turned out, and things were looking good. In high school, my favorite electives were Intro to Business, Business Law, Business Management, Accounting...I even won an accounting trophy! (Don't ask) I entered Northwestern University as an Economics major, but one of the reasons I went there over other schools was that they offered many more options should I change my career goals--top journalism, music, and theater programs, as well as a great film program (although not these days).

This was important because the more I learned about how to succeed in business, the less I wanted to be in business. To the detriment of mankind, good business decisions are rarely good decisions.

Fire a talented, loyal employee because you can pay a replacement less money? Done. Demand that your $20,000/year secretary have at least a master's degree and five years' experience? Done. Cancel your employee pension plan because the overpaid executives made too many bad decisions and your stockholders reaped too many dividends too soon? Done. Pay slave wages to Asians toiling in horrific work environments and pollute at will, in order to compete with all the other companies doing the same thing? Done. Bribe the government to let you keep making money at the expense of the health and happiness of the world? Done.

Once I gave up on my businessman dreams, I went searching for something that I would enjoy doing, something I was good at and felt good about doing.

I flirted with journalism, but realized that I did not want to spend ten years writing about PTA meetings at the fifth-grade level, a helpless puppet of some vast, self-serving media empire that wears its politics in its wallet. Political science? Yeah, right--try getting ahead in politics while still being able to look at yourself in the mirror.

Eventually, I realized that the most fun I ever had was making movies for class projects in high school, despite the fact that I spent easily 100 grueling hours to create a 30-45 minute low-budget costume epic that could have been a 5-minute unedited piece of shit shot in my kitchen by a dad with the shakes.

For better or worse, the fates and I chose the arduous path of the idealistic artist, easily the least-lucrative career I could devise. Especially if you have a bit of a motivation problem.

Once entrenched in the film industry in Los Angeles, however, I quickly confirmed that the film business is little more than a business these days, even for respected artists. Great movies still get made, but they are so rare it is embarrassing. Most movie ideas come from untalented film executives worried about their jobs at Must Have More Profit At Any Cost Corporation, Inc. And so P.T. Anderson struggles to get a movie made because easily-frightened investors would rather shell out for Shrek 4: His Shit is Green.

If Mr. Boogie Nights/There Will Be Blood has that much trouble, as an established auteur, what would it take for me to break in and how would it be any different once I got there?

There needs to be a game change if the movie biz is to survive, one which I believe is nigh. Nigh, I tell you! Online video is clearly the future, but its ultimate channels of distribution remain chaotically unclear. The necessary revenue streams are not yet visible. The art of cinema is in flux and, unlike photography, painting, and sculpting, movies are not only crazy expensive but require much more manpower. I can make it for the web, but how does this help me eat and pay rent? I can make it for the theaters, but how would I get a 1970s character piece without a love interest distributed by the big guys in a marketplace overrun by vampires, romcoms, and children's toys?

This continues to be a disheartening revelation. Short of moving to upstate New York and selling handcrafted furniture out of my garage as I fill the basement with banker's boxes of unpublished fiction and philosophy tomes, what the 'F' am I gonna do with my life that I can feel good about?

As much as it sucks, I guess I need to be an artist who works outside of the system, even if that means nobody notices, and I need to be really productive without encouragement, even if I never make any money. Besides, how many artists died penniless, only to be revered centuries later, when rich men start measuring their dicks with VanGoghs and Latrecs?

I don't have a figure, but I'm sure it is a lot, or too many, at any rate. So the next time you see one, hug a starving artist--especially if he seems depressed. Hell, give him a few bucks while you're at it--he's way more lovable than your average bum or banker and you just might melt away a bit of his disenchantment with the world.

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Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Have They Already Cast "The Hobbit?"

Because I just found the perfect Bilbo Baggins--no make-up required!

Formerly hunky Mel Gibson, staring at a Jew across the room

BAM!

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Wednesday, November 4, 2009

It Worked!


In light of my dressing-down of anybody who might compare filmmaking chump Jared Hess to Pier Paolo Pasolini, Fox Searchlight has decided to shelve Gentlemen Broncos.

Or maybe it was a result of the disappointing opening weekend in NY/LA (come on, Searchlight--know your audience and premiere it in the Utah/Idaho/Oklahoma/Duh-ha-ha markets if you want a true read on how it rates).

Or maybe it was the fact that the movie just plain sucks and they are quietly admitting they have no idea what they are doing. Let us not forget the same 'studio' recently released Whip It like a fart in the wind and still seem to think they should sit at my dinner table.

Thoughts?

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