Your Adaptation is Hurting My Asshole

It's a Meryl day!  Just as soon as I posted Chick Flick Haiku #8, Schlockhausen sent an email from the Tri-State Area.  Thanks Schlockhausen, your review of Adaptation made me shit...Twice:

 

What kinda bitch made this piece of shit? The kinda bitch who uses the fucking word 'meta' and orders decaf espresso and thinks, "Hey, I'm drinkin' espresso!" Bitch you're not drinking espresso you're drinking your espresso flavored lifestyle and washing it down with fuck, fuck and shit.  You know, the kinda bitch who thinks you give a shit about what they're talking about while you're yawning and thinking about getting drunker quicker just so the bitch's bullshit might go down slightly more easily. But it doesn't, because the bitch doesn't just talk, the bitch talks about what the bitch is talking about but never just talks. Talking about what you want to talk about and how you want to talk about it, that's what this bullshit is. Like a dog that takes a shit in your house, then eats the shit before you can clean it up, then throws the shit up but eats that too before you can clean it up, then throws that up too and wags its tail for approval.

Oh yeah and Nicholas Cage is just an asshole. 

 

Lovingly, Schlockhausen

Chick Flick Haiku #8

the kikuyu – who?

redford so lost in kenya

great theme music though

Gurrrl Power Redux

The Stepford Wives is a 2004 remake of the 1975 classic, staring the waxy Nicole Kidman as Joanna Eberhart, a television executive who survives a flashy assassination attempt by a disgruntled reality TV show contestant, only to be fired from her position of power. After a sparky bought of electroshock therapy, Joanna and her husband Walter, played by Matthew Broderick, move the whole family (two nameless, faceless children included) to the picturesque town of Stepford, Connecticut. Johanna stands out as a dry, emaciated and monochromatic career woman (the human equivalent of VIA instant coffee) in a town where all of the other women are shiny, elegant and vacant, (the human equivalent of Jordan almonds). Joanna encounters a friend in the loud and disagreeable misfit writer Bobbie (Bette Midler), as well as an adversary in the magnificent town matriarch, Claire (Glenn Close). Well, eventually, through a series of unlikely occurrences, like a cameo of Faith Hill literally do-si-do-ing into oblivion at a town Square Dance, Johanna realized that the charming women of Stepford are in fact housewife/RealDoll robotic facsimiles of a group of power hungry women who were once CEOs, judges, etc. (keep an eye out for a portrait of Faith Hill in a Hillary Clinton costume during Johanna’s research). And it was none other than their emasculated husbands who forcibly placed them into this state of fabulous limbo. Matthew Broderick has a change of heart just as he is about to oblige Johanna into sublime Stepford submission (it is not made clear how this happens, but there is a hairless, eyeball-less Joanna robot in once scene), and instead simply presses many buttons all at once in the main control room of the Men’s Club. All of the brain microchips go berserk and short out, the Stepford ladies come to their senses, and oh boy, do the husbands have some hell to pay! All in all, this movie didn’t make much sense, but it looked fantastic. For example, we are to accept that there is a woman who dispenses money out of her mouth like an ATM, and to not question how Joanna’s sad and floppy brown administrative hairstyle becomes icy blond and waist length. Apparently, a lot of content had to be edited out for various reasons (including a scene where mutated Bette Midler spreads open her breasts to reveal a frosty cavity for beers) so what was left was this Crazy-Quilt of a film? Perhaps The Stepford Wives would have benefitted from some more decidedly dark content, like all of the wives electrocuting their husbands with a “shocking” kiss goodnight...Written by the Cole Chickering

I Hate Guest Critics: Cole Chickering

One of my favorite sites these days is Woman's Day  For me, it's the non plus ultra of these Tumblr sites the kids are doing.  I don't get it, makes no sense to my eyes, but what the fuck do I know...I have grey pubes and I'll soon need bifocals according to my Armenian eye doctor.

Woman's Day

I never met Cole Chickering.  He lives in Chicago or some place I visited 8,000 years ago.  If Cole lived in LA he'd hate me 'cause I'd follow him around and try to smell the youth that no doubt seeps from his every pore.  I hate him.  I love him.

Anyway, Woman's Day makes me cry.  Or makes me wish I could cry.  Look for Cole's smart-ass review soon.  Hugz, Rock Hard

Chick Flick Haiku #7

bette and lily twinned?

that frog’s ass ain’t water-tight

still, you’ll piss yourself

Pet Semenary...

First of all, I'd like to preface this review by saying I am usually pretty lenient when it comes to accepting small grammatical errors like ending sentences with prepositional phrases or accepting the occasional “their/there/they’re” confusion in text messages.  However, I think the fact that this movie is purposely misspelled speaks volumes about the movie I’m about to describe. Not only was it not integral to any sort of “plot device” but I’m pretty sure Stephen King thought he was being really fucking clever when he did it. I can just imagine his smug Mongoloid face smirking from above his stupid fucking clunky '80s typewriter. Then again, I’m probably just butthurt because I didn’t realize it was misspelled until someone in the movie mentioned it.

Pet Sematary has a pretty simple plot to understand- seemingly perfect family moves into a new country home near a dangerous highway in which trucks haul-ass down. Within the first 5 minutes of moving, their obnoxious semi-psychic, but not smart enough to listen to her mother, daughter injures herself on a tire swing and their 4 year old toddler almost walks into a street and gets hit by a truck. The son is saved by a world weary old man who cryptically mentions the pet sematary. Foreshadowing with a capital F.

However, what seems to be more of an impending doom is the awkward family dynamics. Although an attractive pair, the mom, played by Star Trek NextGen actress Denise Crosby, is totallllllly a closet-case while the dad, played by Dale Midkiff, has the dead stare that only someone with a violent porn career or a Canadian can have. There are so many times where Dale Midkiff struggles in terror only to look as if he is preparing to blow a load.

The last member of this family is the cat. Pretty much from the get-go everyone anticipates this cat to be hit by a truck and to be killed. However, it waits to do this when mom and the kids are away, probably visiting with mom’s “friend” Pat. The cat dies. The dad buries it in the pet sematary. It comes back to life. It is evil.
Also, there is some weird subplot with dad not being able to save some dude who had half of his brain oozing out and he comes back as a friendly zombie ghost to give advice but I wasn’t paying that much attention. There is also more sub-subplot about mom killing her sister/first girlfriend, who had some crippling spine disease that made her character look like a man in drag, dressed up as some Marnie Weber character. Also, the cat flings a dead rat into porndad’s tub while he’s taking a bath…hilarity ensues.

So FINALLY, the son gets hit by a car. He gets buried. He comes back to life. He’s evil. HE STABS THE SHIT OUT OF SOMEONE’S ANKLE. POSSIBLY THE MOST TERRIFYING MOMENT IN ALL OF HORROR HISTORY. He kills the mom. Dad buries her. She comes back to life. She’s evil. She kills the dad. See the ingenious web that Stephen King has spun?

However, despite the schlock, Pet Sematary is still a scary movie and ended up giving me the following nightmare:

I dreamt I was walking around the Grand Library in Glendale and outside their gallery space was a tv talk show set up like Space Ghost Coast to Coast with two demons that looked like they were from Buffy displayed in those monitor-chairs. The dialogue was like “Oh you killll me Beazebub”. “AHHAHA, that’s what your mother and the 40 million souls I’ve collected said”. Then I walked into the gallery space and it was a 3-D video installation of these horrifying shadows that would creep and surround you and it felt like I was trapped in hell. I remember blinking and trying to wake up from within the dream and when I finally did I was dropped off in a family reunion. This reunion was my mother’s Texan family and it ended on a high note when I ran into '90s boy next door, Breckin Myer and we tried to figure out how related we were so we could make out.

THE END...Dirty Pillows.

Introducing...

We here at Cinemüshka are pleased to announce a new contributor, Dirty Pillows.  She's a girl...Maybe even a woman...All Woman.  Super Glossy is busy with a new boyfriend (again) and can't find the stinking, dirty time to write.  She will though, I'm sure, 'cause relationships fail.

Look out for Dirty Pillows' first review sometime soon...really soon, like maybe tomorrow..

Play Misty for Me, Shithead...

I hate music and I hate people who ask me what my favorite music is.  Like I care…and when I say I love opera, the scumbag who asked me what my favorite music is looks at me like I’m some fruitpie.  Hello!  Straight people like opera.  Some straight people LOVE opera.  So, fuck you. Yeah, I know, you have a Maria Callas cd…Eat me, douchebag.

I hate the opening song from Death Game so much, I wish Michael J. Fox sang it.  It’s got to be the lamest piece of shit song that has nothing to do with squat. Someone loved this gem of a ditty, 'cause it appears at the beginning, middle and end of possibly one of the worst movies that ever got made.  It’s so bad they dubbed Seymour Cassell with some suave dude's voice.  Sondra Locke and Colleen Camp keep it real though.  Their voices are pure and so are their performances.  Raw.  Real.  Rent it if you can.  It’s a true story.  Usually true story movies are good, but not this one.  It made me cry.  Sondra and Colleen channel something awesome in this scatological, Seymour-torturing, orgy, lezzy fest co-starring lots of food.  It scared and scarred me.

Some thirty-five, nasty years later, what are we left with?  Seymour Cassell is considered some stupid underdog genius by every Cassavettes-loving turd, while wicked Sondra Locke and Colleen Camp are nowhere to be found.  I wish I was at the pre-production meetings for Death Game.  I bet Locke thought she’d get another oscar nom. for this.  She should have.  But I’m guessing Clint had other ideas for her.  This movie obviously scared him to death. 

Bye-bye La Locke, but thanks for Ratboy...Rock Hard 

Be Kind, Fast Forward...

I really find it hard to sit through entire films, especially if I know I’ll hate them…I’ve decided to try to rent films for a particular scene or moment.  Like renting Brown Bunny to see Chloe suck that big Gallo cock. (I think she swallows, poor gal.)  Or Scanners to watch the head explode. Or Caligula to watch the straight porn but secretly get off on the gay shit.  

I rented In the Heat of the Night because I think women aren't allowed to act in movies anymore.  Real acting.  It's a man-movie, but Lee Grant is a better actor than bozo Rod Steiger will ever be. Ask Margot Kidder.  Maybe good actors, like Tuesday Weld, are living in the Valley somewhere having lunch with other actors we’ve all forgotten about like Colleen Camp, Season Hubley, Cathy Moriarty, Nancy Allen, Candice Azzara, Sandy Dennis, Candy Clark and Linda Manz. 

Go rent In the Heat of the Night to watch the whole 5 minutes of screen time by Lee Grant.  She’s really acting here. No, really.  I know she’s an old lady now and all you macho assholes in love with Christian Bale will totally dismiss this rant, but it’s only 5 minutes and she was in Mafu Cage with Carol Kane, which would be hailed a classic had it been directed by a man.  What would Dinah Manoff say?...Phft, Rock Hard

Chick Flick Haiku #6

baby voice, big hair

bitch boss breaks her leg – hooray!

let the river run

BSM on FF

Way back when I had netflix, after a week staring at my netflix, I figured I had 20 minutes before People’s Court came on to watch Black Snake Moan.  With remote in hand and the distant memory of L.A. billboards showing a pervacious Ricci imprisoned by the black man, I pushed the fastest fast forward possible and was rewarded with a gem of a Lifetime chick flick…I learned that in less than two weeks I could be cured of my whorey, sexy, wicked, dirty ways by slapping my thighs, hugging a Timberlake or simply being chained to a radiator…I mean, if she could be cured in two weeks and decide she should stay with a Mouseketeer and not be with her righteous, black daddy, then I could do anything…Somewhere in this potpourri of southern voodoo camel-toe sexiness is a shitty movie.  I cried twice and I rewound and zoomed in on several scenes but really, People’s Court was calling and I refused to stop now.  It was that good.  On top of it all, the lovely and forgotten Kim Richards was featured as Ricci’s trashy mommy.  This fucked me up on many levels.  How can the star of Escape and Return to Witch Mountain even be available for this?  Plus, I checked her out on IMDB and she was born in Mineola, NY.  But that’s where I’m from and she’s only a little older than me and I don’t ever remember seeing her smoking pot, sucking dick or setting fires in the abandoned reservoir near the public pool off Westbury Ave.  Maybe she was in Los Angeles auditioning for the Rockford Files…Avec tit, Rock Hard