Fertility starts in the mind.
My directorial debut, co-written with and starring some of the best comic talent at Princeton University.
Until then, slake your thirst for done-by-me comedy with The Weekly 101, where I post weekly lists of exactly one hundred and one items in conjunction with Jason Gilbert and Jon Weed of Business Flannel. There’s no better place to get your recommended weekly serving of 101 laughs!
In other news, I’ve been interning at CollegeHumor for the summer and writing a whole lot for them, so check that out, too.
Finally, if anyone can tell me what this movie Horrible Bosses is about, please, email me ASAP. I’ve been dying to know.
It’s called “I’m Going To Joke You To Death” and it’s where I’m going to be housing my non-trailer review writings and videos and other etceteras. It’s still in its formative stages, but like sea monkeys, it will grow for a little while before I lose total interest in it and let it die from neglect.
Let’s play a game of pretend. You are an actor. You’re a pretty damn good actor. Let’s say your name is Smell Gibson. You’ve made some truly classic movies. When people think Smell Gibson, they think epic scale without reliance on CGI, unforgettable climactic moments, and thunderdomes. You are on top of the world, buddy. But then your career starts to hit snags. You say a few things about the Jewish people that among some circles might be considered totally fucking awful, and as a follow-up, you put out an unbelievably huge film which pretty much depicts those same things. You suggest that your ex-wife be raped by some black gentlemen, but not before she gives you a much deserved MOCHJ (mouth-on-cock handjob), because come on, priorities, people. Smell Gibson starts to get a rep as an erratic, hateful alcoholic, and nobody likes erratic, hateful alcoholics unless they are sexy and wealthy and appear on magazine covers. You need something that will save your Smelly bacon. What should you do???
A.) Make an all-too-allegorical movie about a man whose life and family are falling apart getting his life back on track.
B.) Do the above, but make the means by which your character gets his life back on track a stuffed beaver puppet that he finds in the trash that he manipulates with piss-poor ventriloquism.
C.) Do the above, but present it in the trailer with a completely straight face and not even a hint of irony.
D.) Do the above, but pepper in completely irrelevant subplots that will just serve to distract from the magnificent spectacle of you talking to own hand in a thick Australian accent.
E.) Come on. Are you even trying to keep your lips still? Come on.
F.) Do the above, but sleepwalk through the movie with the sort of dead-eyed stare that suggests that you are so out of your gourd on liquor and pills that you are not just phoning it in, but text messaging.
G.) Do the above, but make the title a kind of weird but also sort of outdated sexual term, like something a big burly construction worker stereotype would use, just to make everyone a little bit uncomfortable asking for a ticket at the theater.
The answer, of course, is no, you goddamn idiot, what in God’s name do you think you are doing, and also, this multiple choice test wouldn’t pass any standard of academic rigor.
So here we are with The Beaver, which is basically a complete ripoff of R.L. Stine’s classic, Night of the Living Dummy, except that that one featured actual ventriloquism, except that the only way to make ventriloquism less exciting is to present it in writing. Like, here’s how you would write out ventriloquism:
“My name is Smell Gibson, and I am an actor.”
“Who said that?” said Jenny, “I could not tell because you weren’t moving your lips.”
“This beaver on my hand said that,” said Smell Gibson, “And also, blow me.”
Also, in Night of the Living Dummy, the dummy tried to murder people, sort of. The beaver in The Beaver just doles out tough love and is completely horrifying.
Don’t even get this trailer started on what happens when Smell Gibson comes into work with his beaver buddy. We’re looking at not one, not two, not three, but two whole collective gasps. This black woman up front? Sheabsolutely cannot believe her eyes! Whereas this Asian coolster off to the side couldn’t give less of a shit. He’s seen it all. Whitey on the right looks a little surprised, but he’s actually gone deaf from all of the Vicodin he stole from his parents’ house, so he doesn’t actually know what’s going on, and is just trying to play along.
Here’s a better idea for a movie than this terrible idea for a movie: Smell Gibson plays a man who’s stricken with depression. His wife’s pulling away from him and his kids can’t respect him. Then he finds a puppet in a dumpster with some fantastic bangs that teaches him a valuable lesson: Never say never. It would be called The Bieber and, in being a one-note pun, it’s got about as much depth as this movie does.
ONE STAR DUE TO SMELL GIBSON? MORE LIKE SMELL GIBSUCKS.
Somebody’s killing aliens all around the world. Why? Why should you even care?, rebuts the trailer for I Am Number Four. You’re not going to find out in the trailer. You probably aren’t going to find out in the movie, either. They did not figure out that part of the script. They probably greenlit this movie on the name alone. I Am Number Four! How cool is that? “Can it have explosions in it?” asked producer Michael Bay, “Can it be all sizzle and no steak? Can it have a flat lead couple and a bloated central conceit? Can we hand out electrodes in the movie theater so that viewers can self-administer current directly to the pleasure centers of their brain, eventually neglecting all of their responsibilities, relationships, and basic hygiene to deliver shock after shock after shock until they die, having ignored their most basic survival drives?” Yes, Michael! Of course!
But actually: Somebody’s killing aliens. The good news is that the nine of them can only be killed in sequence. The bad news is, what the fuck? Why? The other bad news is that Alex Pettyfer Am Number Four. At the beginning of the trailer, he finds out this shocking news. “What number am I. Seven? Five?” In the trailer, he figures it out after that, but I’d like to think they cut out the rest of the scene. “Six? Eight? Nine? One? No, One’s dead. Two? Oh, shit, no, Two is also dead. Three. Am I Three? I bet I Am Number Three. Oh, jeez, you’re right, Three is dead. Do you have a legal pad so I can sort this out?” Wasn’t it fun just then to use our imaginations???
No worries, though, because Alex Pettyfer knows exactly how to blend in: By enrolling in a high school and not even coming up with a fake name. Listen, buddy, they found Number Three hiding in Jerry Bruckheimer’s logo. Ain’t no way you’re going to do better than that.
According to the trailer, “He looks like us.” He looks like us? Alex Pettyfer looks like us? Alex Pettyfer looks like he steals cheekbones for a living. I look like somebody stole my cheekbones. Alex Pettyfer looks like he was designed in a collaboration between an Italian Formula 1 R&D department and Alexander McQueen. I look like somebody took that dough they give to children to play with at Bertucci’s and shaped it into a crude approximation of a man. Alex Pettyfer looks like a slightly worse Robert Pattinson. I look like a much worse Zach Galifianakis. Who could this “us” possibly refer to? Is this movie planned for a limited release in das Vaterland? Should we be throwing Blu-Ray disks of the movie up Mount Olympus?
“You have no idea how many have made sacrifices so you could live!” Dude: Three.
In conclusion, The Covenant.
TWO STARS DUE TO GIVE ME ONE GOOD REASON WHY THIS COULDN’T HAVE BEEN A LIVE ACTION CODENAME: KIDS NEXT DOOR MOVIE.