Sorry I Crashed Your Black Panther Party

I'd heard excellent things about writer Christopher Priest's run on Black Panther back in 1998, but I didn't actually pay attention to the character until the series relaunched seven years later. I picked it up mainly because fan-favorite artist John Romita Jr. penciled the first arc, but also because writer Reginald Hudlin's take on the hero seemed intriguing.

Hudlin lost me shortly after J.R. took his leave. I forget the particulars; suffice it to say it was because of the writing, not the character.

My interest is renewed because of Marvel's Secret Invasion: Black Panther collection. At only three issues long, it's one of the shorter comic trades you'll find, but it managed to make me care about the character again.

There's something inherently right about an arrogant warrior-king who's always two steps ahead of the bad guys. This ain't your typical neurotic superhero fretting about where the money for his aunt's medication is coming from. He's an Oxford-educated physicist, an inventor, and a skilled military strategist. This cat (yeah I said it) rules an industrialized African country that's never been conquered by anyone. He's like Batman crossed with Tony Stark crossed with Dr. Doom. Who would dare mess with the guy--especially knowing he won't hesitate to run you through with his sword?

Aliens, it turns out.

Jason Aaron wrote this incredible tie-in to last year's Secret Invasion event. While the rest of the Marvel heroes had their asses handed to them by the invading Skrull armada, Black Panther formulated a plan before the green bastards even arrived in his kingdom of Wakanda.

They should've turned around as soon as they caught a glimpse of what the slack-jawed readers saw on page three.

It was a tight, action-packed read, and it left me wanting more. I'm going to order Christopher Priest's two trades from '98 for starters. (Come to think of it, that's all I can order since the rest of his run isn't collected.)

After Iron Man 2 and The Avengers, Rider would like to see Marvel Studios release a Black Panther movie. Just keep Hudlin away from the script and it could be great.

Rider Takes Public Transportation After Dark

This review is leaving the station and will take a turn down a dark tunnel to Hell. Don't despair, though, because I'll let you off at an unusual bus stop. You might even thank me.

Clive Barker is one of my writing influences, and many of the movie adaptations of his work have also left their mark on my subconscious. Images from Nightbreed to Candyman have stuck with me through the years. Even as recently as yesterday I was reminded of my favorite Andrew Robinson quote from Hellraiser: "It's never enough."

The director of The Midnight Meat Train, Ryûhei Kitamura, apparently echoes Robinson's claim--except in this film he isn't talking about the human condition...he's talking about the liberal use of blood on a movie set.

The sheer amount of gore here is almost a wonder to behold. It's absolutely gruesome. Even without it, this movie grips you by the back of the neck and drags you screaming into the black abyss. This isn't a horror flick for the casual viewer.

Keep in mind I love that kind of thing. I cheered during the lawnmower scene in Peter Jackson's Braindead (or Dead Alive, as I knew it when it was released in the U.S.). But that's how I roll. Your mileage may vary.

Vinnie Jones plays a sinister heavy named Mahogany who waits patiently on a subway bench, Forrest (Ackerman) Gump-like, for the first train after 2:00 AM. And pity the poor soul who happens to share a car with him once he reaches into his large black bag and retrieves his silver tenderizing mallet.

Just like any great Barker story, Meat Train doesn't flinch from the necessity of an inevitable, bleak ending. And, brother, it is bleak. How much more bleak could it be? None. None more bleak.

In other commuter news, here's a cool scene from the upcoming Fox Searchlight movie (500) Days of Summer. I'd buy a year-long pass for that bus ride. Wouldn't you?

Last stop, Rider's Block Station. Mind the gap.

We here on the Block would also encourage interested parties to check out The Midnight Meat Train's special feature "Cliver Barker: The Man Behind The Myth." Rider has never felt like more of a lazy jerk than he did upon seeing the staggering number of paintings Barker has completed--keeping in mind the man started painting at the age of 45. This image shows you how many canvases he considers "failures." They're kept in a tent and referred to as "the planet of the fucked-up." And even some of those were painted over five times.

Rider Watches Them, That's Who - Updated

I'll be honest: there's no way for me to write an objective Watchmen movie review without mentioning the comic. I considered several different directions to take this review, and they all came full-circle back to the source material. (Kinda like the first and last panels of the actual mini-series...and if you don't get that reference, you should stop now.)

I read the individual issues as they first came out in 1986, and I knew from the beginning that I was experiencing something way beyond the cookie-cutter superhero comics I'd been buying up until that point. Important and complex things were happening. By the twelfth issue, I didn't exactly consider the series bona fide literature--but that was only because I hadn't realized that comics could be literature.

I reread the hardcover collection in the weeks leading up to the movie's premiere, and there's no doubt in my mind that Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons created a literary masterpiece. (I also listened to the entire series of Comic Geek Speak "Footnotes" podcasts recapping each issue, because I knew I'd missed themes and symbolism in the past. Those boys clued me in to stuff I hadn't even considered. Kudos to them.)

I wish I could tell you that if I weren't the comic book fan I am, that I would've loved the movie anyway. I wish I could, but it's impossible to be sure. At the bare minimum it succeeds in depicting an alternate world on the brink of nuclear Armageddon, populated by a handful of impotent heroes forced into retirement and/or employed as weapons by the military. The plot poses the mystery of who would eliminate these castrated heroes and why, then asks us to judge a Big Bad who uses a proverbial sword on a Gordian Knot in order to change everything. Going by a "this tale hasn't been told on film yet" level alone, it delivered the goods.

Zack Snyder compressed a lot of storytelling into his film, but it didn't feel like overkill. I summarily dismiss other critics' claims that he was a slave to the adaptation. It's nonsense. As much respect as I have for Gibbons' art, I wouldn't necessarily call his work dynamic. Snyder's visuals on this movie were dynamic; almost breathtaking at times. He lifted many panels from the comic, but you're an idiot if you didn't expect him to. He owned the look of this reality (only David Fincher could have done it better).

Snyder took liberties with a few plot elements, and many fans have, in turn, taken issue with those fixes. (The poor guy simply can't win...should he change shit or shouldn't he?) I can confirm that the ratio of what he left to what he noticeably changed is about 10 to 1. But the things he did tweak were necessary to the believability of the story. There are a lot more folks who'll see this movie that didn't read the comic than those who did, and they're not gonna notice a change in tone or sense something was deleted. And those of us who realize movies and sequential art are two intrinsically different art forms--and that some things simply don't translate well--just won't care. (Follow this minor spoiler footnote for the three "big" differences I noticed...and why they still don't change the tone of the film.*)

Watchmen was almost three hours long. Snyder took his time and paced it out. He let it breathe and didn't rush it. He loosely stuck to Moore's already loose two-issue-per-character exploration, but I could've gotten to know the characters even more--especially Rorschach and Silk Spectre II (the former being my favorite, and because the latter didn't have a real origin). None of the heroes were slighted, mind you, but I honestly wanted a longer movie.

I hear there's a director's cut in the works. That's a must-own. I'll strip naked and cover myself in blue paint while watching it.

What? That's what I did while reading it.

Note: I'll award a Rider's Block no-prize to the first commenter who tells me where Zack Snyder worked a 300 reference into Watchmen.

* Rorschach takes a more hands-on approach to dispatching a child killer than he did in the comic. So the hell what? It made his origin story all the more shocking.

In the comic, Dr. Manhattan is the only hero with actual powers, but in the movie the others are throwing thugs across rooms and breaking walls with their fists. This was probably done to appease mainstream audiences who need to see snapping bones in their R-rated action movies, along with comic fans who didn't "get" the subtle tone of the original story. I was cool with it, and I especially liked that the bad guy took a few licks...he needed to.

There's no space squid in the movie, and I don't care. I always thought that was the most outlandish element in Moore's plot. Snyder's change actually makes sense, and improves the story without altering the tone. The doomsday clock is stopped and gives a terrified world a chance to reflect and give peace a chance. Whether it's accomplished due to a psychic blast or [the movie's alternative], the outcome was never certain and ultimately open to interpretation.

Rider's One Positive Thing Review of Tooth & Nail

One Positive Thing is a series of reviews wherein Rider savagely pans a lame-ass flick but, because he's normally an optimistic individual, still finds one good thing to say about it...'cuz his momma raised him right.

I don't remember putting this DVD on my Netflix queue, but it showed up in my mailbox anyway. It's the rental equivalent of a boring stranger accidentally receiving an Evite to your Superbowl party and then actually showing up. You don't want to talk to him because he's saying shit you've heard a million times before, but his girlfriend is sort of hot so you let him eat some Tostitos.

Tooth & Nail is what you get when a filmmaker has only two things going for him: A) access to one cool location, and B) Michael Madsen's phone number. Seeing as how 80% of this movie takes place in an abandoned hospital, and that Madsen co-produced and "starred," Mark Young couldn't have shot his vision of an apocalyptic future without either one.

I knew T & N was gonna have major issues when the title credits ended with "Written, Directed, and Edited by." That's not the order you're supposed to list 'em in, right? Unless you're pulling a Robert Rodriguez and going with "Shot and Cut." But wouldn't that require resigning from the Directors Guild? (Mr. Young, please take note.)

We are introduced to two factions of survivors: the Foragers, led by a bewhiskered Robert Carradine, and the Rovers, a band of Road Warrior-lite cannibals headed up by Madsen. Imagine the much scarier Reavers from Firefly, except their leader chases you while whistling "I've Been Working on the Railroad," and they announce their arrival by blowing a trumpet.

No. It happened. More than once.

All logic goes out the window when the voice-over reveals that society didn't end because of disease or war, but rather because, "the world just ran out of gas."

Really? All those charred bodies sitting behind the wheels of abandoned vehicles during the opening sequence were the result of folks simply running out of fuel on a Jimmy John's run during a fucking energy crisis? And if that were the case, why are the main characters shacked up in a hospital rather than their own homes?

What is it about an apocalypse that makes folks go from one place of safety to an unfamiliar, unsafe location to chill with strangers? It can't be for the security, because even with bloodthirsty cannibals roaming around, it never occurs to anyone to secure the hospital's doors once bodies start piling up. It's almost as if Young decided to depict a good-natured End of Days on the outskirts of Mayberry where honest folk leave their doors unlocked while they're getting a slice of pie down t' the diner.

Another pertinent question: if you were struggling to survive after the breakdown of civilization, what reason would you have for changing your goddamned name? And presuming you had one, would you change it to reflect an industry that caused the end of the world? Here are some of the Foragers' names, and I'm not messing with you: "Ford," "Viper," "Torino," "Nova," and featuring Rachel Miner as "Neon."

Don't get me started on the cannibals' names. They have their own motif: an oddly non-threatening Vinnie Jones is "Mongrel," and there's also "Jackal," "Shepherd," "Wolf," and "Badass." (The latter clearly not getting it.)

The actors try to do what they can with what they're given, but the guy who played The Jerk Security Guard in Dawn of the Dead is relegated to disappearing early on for a non-surprising reappearance later (I'd say "spoiler" if it mattered, which it don't), and the rest of the Foragers exist to show off clothing in the director's apparent attempt to do a cross-promotion with Eddie Bauer.

There are so many unsettling leaps in human behavior that we're asked to swallow that it's impossible to reconcile them. At one point a female character who hated one guy earlier, says to him, "You shaved your face. I like it." Then she kisses him, pissing all over the memory of the man she'd been sleeping with two days earlier who tragically ended up on a spit.

The best thing I can say about Tooth & Nail: Nicole DuPort has a nice head of hair. In my above Superbowl party scenario, she's the girlfriend.

Rider's opinions are fully those of Rider's Block Enterprises. Keep in mind he doesn't personally know Michael Madsen or any other actor whose only solid work was done with Quentin Tarantino, and he doesn't have a feature film of his own to prove he knows his shit.

Rider Reimagines Monkey Shines

Alternate title: Proof I Can Write About George A. Romero Movies Without Lapsing Into Zombie-speak

I caught Romero's 1988 flick Monkey Shines on IFC last night (for the first time since its video release) and it didn't disappoint. It had all the elements of a perfect film: quadriplegic sex, a killer monkey wielding matches and syringes, and John Pankow's enormous forehead.

But deep down inside my wooden cranium I wondered how it could be better. How could it be updated with current celebrities and state-of-the-art FX to really make that monkey shine?

For starters, I'd put Jason Statham in the wheelchair. He'd still be the quadriplegic hero who uses a mouth-tube to roll around his house, but I'd set the film in a future where he telepathically controls a pair of hologram arms for getting dressed. That way, when Yakuza cyborg-ninjas attack, Statham's "holarms" can defend him with a twisted-up shirt. Besides, his contract stipulates that clothing be used as a weapon in at least one scene.

Ella, the helper monkey who both loves and taunts him, will be played by Dakota Fanning. I'll use Lord of the Rings-like forced perspective and camera tricks to make her appear 18 inches tall. Nothing will make the audience cheer more than when Statham seizes little Dakota's neck with his teeth and chokes the life out of her as she gibbers and screeches. Fanning doesn't do her own stunts, so we'd have to use a Monchichi stand-in.

I'll change the epilogue to bring the Statham legend full circle: after his character's spinal surgery is a success, his girlfriend picks him up at the hospital (she's played by Angelina Jolie's CG doppelgänger in Beowulf but voiced by Doc Hammer as "Dr. Girlfriend"). She's driving a black Audi A8 or a BMW--depending on who offers more for product placement. It seems they're going to move to France, and he's going to call himself...Frank Martin! Never mind that it's set in 2021 and The Transporter took place in '02. It's Statham. Why question it?

After the credits roll, we'll fade back in on a rural Pennsylvania farmhouse, and a voice on the radio will say, "The dead are rising from their graves and eating the flesh of the living."

D'oh!

Best Vampire Movie Ever

I saw a great movie this weekend that set the standard for vampire stories, as far as I'm concerned.

It was about a beautiful vampire and a human who fall in love, and how their Romeo-and-Juliet-like relationship affects their respective friends and families. The cinematography was cold and blue. It was directed by a woman named Catherine Kathryn.

No, I'm not talking about Twilight. Heck, no.

I'm talking about Near Dark.

I saw it on DVD and was blown away. It was hard to believe this movie came out 21 years ago. I only realized that when I recognized a much younger "Nathan" from Heroes as the main character.

I love movies where genres are mixed together in a blender, and here Kathryn Bigelow served up a purée'd dish of horror and Western, and it felt like something new and original.

If you already know about this movie, see it again. Buy it.

If you haven't seen it, you're missing out on something far, far better than what Twilight attempts to be.

Compared to Near Dark, Stephenie Meyer's vampire books are like the non-threatening foreign boy that Lisa Simpson wants to hold hands with. But vampires aren't supposed to coddle you and act like one of the Jonas Brothers. They're demons from hell. The minute they're written like gentlemen you've de-fanged them, leaving a pale loser with messy hair drooling on your cleavage with no intention of doing anything about it.

Am I right?

Note: I was a little bothered to see someone's working on a remake. How does anyone think they can make this movie better? It's the most original take on vampires I've seen since Buffy ended its run.

Rider Has Questions About Quantum of Solace

If you saw the new James Bond movie this past weekend, back me up here: it was full of odd choices, wasn't it?

Why did they make Robbie Rotten from Lazytown the Big Bad? The scene where he tied Bond to a beanbag chair and forced him to eat Mentos and a liter of Coke seemed out of place. As was the scene where Sportacus rescued him with vitamin water and fresh fruit. (Spoilers.)

What was up with the theme song by Frank Stallone? "I am a super spy/ And I will defeat your ass/ Just look into my eye/ And I'll spray you with this knockout gas"? What kind of lyrics are those?

Why was Bond's license to kill printed using comic sans? At least use a military stencil font.

Why replace Bond's Aston Martin with a 1987 VW Quantum? They've got Daniel Craig seeking comfort in the arms of his hot therapist ("Auburn Carpet-Drapes") while driving. (Did you see that snot bubble as he blubbered about Vesper?) It just seemed like a weak way to justify using a lame Ian Fleming title.

What was up with the Marvel Studios tie-in? I know this was the first Bond sequel, but why did Samuel Jackson show up post-credits, and ask Bond to be part of the "Avengers Initiative"? That's taking things too far.

Tamara Doesn't Live Here, Seriously

OK, I really can't get to sleep right now.

I admit I shouldn't have watched The Strangers alone tonight.

I'm really sorry I did.

And now I can't sleep because I thought I heard someone knocking on the wall outside my bedroom.

Maybe it's the wind, but maybe it's not.

If my cell phone ends up in the fireplace I'll frickin' lose it.

November's Most Intriguing Headline So Far

Patrick Swayze unhurt in Berwyn police hazmat scare

Yeah, you almost don't want to click the link and read more, because your imagination conjures so many possibilities.

In fact, I urge you not to read any further. It'll be a guaranteed letdown.

Instead, write your own movie treatment featuring Mr. Swayze, a hazardous materials emergency, dancing, and an antagonist's throat ripped out by hand.

Post your ideas for our cinematic hero's name in the comments. It'll be fun.

How Is This (Wait For It)...Happening?

There are bad ideas and there are bad executions. When both happen at once, if you're lucky, you get something so magically bad it's awesome.

I took part in a talent show last spring, and among the lamer acts that night, one guy decided he would do a dramatic reading of General Patton's speech from the beginning of that movie. Aside from the fact "Patton" wore Reeboks, the timing of the message was confusing at best (i.e. it may have gone over six years ago, but at the time it just felt...off).

The awkwardness as it unfolded was palpable.

I watched M. Night Shyamalan's movie The Happening on DVD, and I wondered how it ever got produced.

Who keeps greenlighting that guy's movies? Why didn't they stop after Unbreakable? His plots and dialogue are so horrible you can't help but laugh out loud.

I love the movie Juno, but one complaint I've heard is how "no one talks like that." That's the point, though. We go to movies to be entertained and I don't want to hear how people really talk. It'd be weak.

But when M. Night puts words in his characters' mouths, they say things like, "Cheese and crackers!" (This was a soldier expressing disbelief). Or you get Mark Wahlberg talking to a potted plant and saying, directly into the camera with his eyes wide, "I'm talking to a plant." (Long, comedic pause.) "I'm still doing it."

Hilarity.

That's the other thing, if you're trying to sell such bad dialogue, get someone who can actually act. Wahlberg always looks like he's attempting to act but knows full well it's not going smoothly.

(I couldn't keep from laughing every time Wahlberg's character tried to be serious, because of Andy Samberg's impression of him. Every time he talked to Zooey Deschanel I pictured him saying, "Hey, Zooey, I produce Entourage. Someday you'll be cool. Say hi to your mother for me.")

Shyamalan has been making unintentional comedies for years now.

Maybe he should remake Patton next. If he can get it greenlit.

Loving Nick & Norah So Much It's Retarded

I loved Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist for so many reasons.

"Mikey" Cera was perfect (again). For those who haven't seen him in Superbad or his hilarious webisodes with Clark, you have to listen to everything he says, because just when you think he's done talking he says more under his breath...and it's always funny.

Finally a director who gets it, i.e. doesn't fall into the trap of putting together a soundtrack consisting of music from 20 years ago in a flick about today's teens. You know, a movie about what the director wishes his teen years were, set in the present, but with songs from his "Senior Year Was The Bomb" playlist on his old-ass iPod. Weeeeeak.

I have one criticism. It's the one thing that's keeping me from adding Nick & Norah to my favorite movies on my profile. "The Drunk Friend Who Looked 25 But Was Supposed To Be 18" was one of the best characters in the movie, but--as a girl who doesn't see the humor in getting sloppy--I wasn't laughing as hard as the rest of the audience. I'm not taking anything away from the actress (and hey, she is 25!), because her performance was perfect. At some point I just realized, "You're the daughter of a functioning alcoholic," and it wasn't funny anymore.

Anyways, I saw Nick & Norah with a few members of my band, and we all agreed: when we finally play our first gig, please let us have just one fan as enthusiastic as the guy literally doing flips for "Are You Randy."

Spirit Of Rock

I've played guitar since I was a munchkin. I like to think of myself as a musician, but technically I've only been onstage once, and that was a solo performance. Since then I've joined a band and we're trying to find our sound (and agree on a name). I've recently realized there's alot of responsibility involved in that...all because of a movie.

I saw Almost Famous for the first time this past summer, and it left a mark. A good one. It became one of my favorite movies ever, as a matter of fact. It affected me in three ways:

• It made me want to be honest in my song writing.
• It made me want to write more, period (songs, stories, poems, etc.).
• It made me not want to let Lester Bangs' spirit down.

I desperately wanted/needed to learn more about Lester the moment the DVD ended (imagine what he'd say about watching a digital movie on a disc read by a laser, you know?). He was so passionate about music and writing. More than anyone else I can think of. The night I watched it, I actually did stay up all night writing "pure dribble" in my notebook. (Minus the speed or cough syrup.)

Last Sunday I was checking out Boing Boing and found an old interview with Lester from 1980 (who died eight years before I was born.)

I put it on my Shuffle and popped in my earbuds yesterday for a listen while my Lit teacher screened the Great Gatsby under the pretense of comparing the book to the film but we all knew it was because she was hungover and wanted to sit in the dark with her eyes shut.

It's something every musician or music lover should hear. It's a great interview, and definitely worth downloading. The ambient noise of the street in the background annoyed me at first, but then I realized that made if more real...and Lester would've liked that.

Does anyone know where I can find more interviews with Lester? Please comment. (Oh, I'm also taking suggestions for a good name for an indie-alt rock band with a female on vocals and acoustic guitar.)

Paramental Weekend

This is you, moments ago: "I wonder what my blog buddy Rider did this weekend." Then you clicked here for my answer. So here it is.

I saw Ghost Town--because Ricky Gervais is the funniest Brit alive--and I watched Ghost Hunters on Sci Fi.

The latter activity caused a rift in the fabric of reality, because I don't believe in ghosts or reality television--yet I watched both at once.

I theorize the only reason I wasn't sucked into a neighboring dimension is because Ghost Hunters isn't technically reality TV.

(The good news: I cancelled garbage pickup with my township because I can now toss my trash into the glowing portal in the family room. The bad news: Boxter went missing while we were playing catch with a tennis ball that went astray.)

Now you're asking the question: "Cripes on a crutch, Rider! Why would you bother watching anything on the Sci Fi Channel? I've produced better movies on my cell phone featuring my neighbor cutting his shrubs in black socks."

Truer words have never been spoken, my blog friend, although I think Sci Fi has already produced a show about a man-eating shrubbery that wears black socks, so try again.

But to answer your question: I can't get enough of "TAPS," as the ghost-hunting team calls themselves, because they've added a new tool to their arsenal of paranormal equipment.

By employing something called a K-2 meter, the Roto-Rooter researchers from Rhode Island (it's embossed on their business cards) can interview unseen entities and get yes or no answers out of them.

Sure, the questioning sequences are heavily edited, and OK, Grant and Jason don't bother explaining how the electromagnetic device actually works--aside from pointing out that the flashing LEDs mean "yes." But the possibility that these guys are actually communicating with the dead is interesting.

A few weeks back they were in an old sweatshop, talking to the ghost of a nine-year-old boy. He admitted he was lonely, and Jason--who looks like Michael Chiklis with bad facial hair--invited the spectral lad to come home with him to live with his five children. It was a beautiful moment. He's like the Angelina Jolie of dead kids.

In last week's episode, they quizzed a female spirit in an abandoned train station. She was still waiting for her man to arrive home from World War II (which explained a great deal about the punctuality of trains in Buffalo and why the station had closed). But the TAPS guys kept their Q&A way too basic. There were so many other questions--philosophical and otherwise--they could have asked but didn't.

• "Are you hot?"
• "Can you touch me here?"
• "Andy Kaufman: alive or dead?"

I smell a Ghost Hunters celebrity talk-show spinoff. There's so much potential in the premise of setting an EMF meter down on Elvis' toilet and interviewing the King. Fox would buy it.

By the way, you can purchase a K-2 meter yourself, and get more party mileage out of it than that Ouija Board you never use because your mother told you it invites the Devil into your soul.

P.S. Wait for Ghost Town on DVD, but first buy the BBC's Office series and see a rotund comedic genius at work.

Smacky

I want to write and direct a feature-length motion picture called Smacky: Enemy of the Cool. And it's all thanks to Lance Briggs of the Chicago Bears.

I was watching the local morning news today--'cuz I need something to do while eating my Frosted Strawberry Pop-Tarts and Miller Lite--when this pro football jerkoff sat down for an interview wearing big-ass sunglasses which he never removed.

I thought, Who does this guy think he is, P. Diddy?

My next thought was an odd one: I wish an angry midget would appear out of thin air and smack those goddamn glasses off his smug face.

That's the moment Smacky was born.

In the treatment I'm writing, Smacky is an impish demon, dressed in lederhosen, who answers the summons of anyone who chants the following:

Please, Smacky, slap this bitch
Please, Smacky, slap this bitch
Please, Smacky, slap this bitch

Smacky teleports in and viciously assaults anyone who acts cooler than they really are. He stands a mere three feet tall, but his hands are the size of those foam fingers you find at sporting events. He smacks his victims so hard they're nearly decapitated.

I don't have all the details worked out yet, but a few key images will be featured in the trailer, which I'll shoot before the movie actually goes into production.

• While in concert, John Mayer will shriek like a schoolgirl as he scoots backwards across the stage from an unseen assailant; in the audience, Jennifer Aniston will be smiling (having summoned Smacky herself!)
• In the process of saying, "You're fired," Donald Trump will be slapped by an unseen force so hard and so fast, that for a brief moment his face will actually look handsome (the colors will invert during a freeze frame of that moment, then fade to black)
  
• At the Republican National Convention, Sarah Palin's glasses will shoot through the torso of John McCain and embed themselves into a podium (with the standard foley sound of a tossed knife vibrating in wood)

I take PayPal if you'd like to invest in my film. I'll need to get Warwick Davis in the Smacky role, and he commands a huge salary. $150 million should cover it.

Note: For more slapping goodness, check out the first 30 seconds or so of this video from an Indian game show. Turn the sound down if you're at work, though, because five seconds into it, the hostess (I guess?) tells a contestant to eff off, in English, and that's when the fun begins. She slaps him, he slaps her back even harder, and it's only then he even realizes what's happening. As the stagehands kick the shit out of the guy, it's funny to hear him crying over and over, "How can she slap? How can she slap?" Because he's miked, you can hear him sobbing like a tired infant under his assailants' fists.

It's gold, Jerry, gold!

Social Network, You Shall Not

Hiroko Yoda, a Japanese author/translator, was denied a Facebook profile because she shares a last name with a fictional Jedi Master...all because George Lucas' character is on a list of blocked names.

It's sad when a person wants to use their real name on the Interwebs but can't.*

Yet it's funny that one can create a profile for George Lucas-Douche in mere minutes--complete with a portrait drawn with a Sharpie.

Check it out while you can. The Lucas-bots up at Skywalker Ranch's legal department are scrambling.

"Stay on target! Stay on target!"

UPDATE: As you may have noticed, I eventually changed George's Facebook profile to my own. You'll have to trust me that it was awesome while it lasted.

* Or when they get fired for doing so and can't use their real name ever again (*wink*)

Rider's Clone Wars Review

I attended an early screening of the new animated Star Wars movie, and I knew about the embargo on published reviews until the day of the film's release. But now that Warner Brothers forced Harry Knowles to remove his negative review, I'm gonna tempt fate. Come get me, you bastards.

George Lucas has never made a bad movie in his entire career. He has stayed true to his own vision, while simultaneously pleasing die-hard fans whose imaginations were kick-started by his creative genius.

Still, Star Wars: The Clone Wars stunk like Oprah's septic tank in 120-degree heat. It was full of gaffes, strange plot twists, and odd choices, beginning with the new Lucasfilm logo: a unicorn with a pink lightsaber horn. Then things got worse.

A JEDI TALKS NOT THIS WAY: Yoda (pictured) uttering the phrase "Can o' whup-ass"

The opening musical number seemed out of place. "Winchester Cathedral"? Really? Director Dave Filoni didn't stop there with questionable music from our world appearing in a far away galaxy. At one point Jar Jar came out of the closet and played "I Will Survive" on the kazoo while roller-blading in biker shorts. He's gay, yes, but come on.

How could Admiral Adama and the crew of the Galactica appear and join the conflict against the Jedis? That's an entirely different franchise. And why was everyone pantsless? Did they really have to include CG rendering of Edward James Olmos' acne pockmarks...then explain them as midi-chlorians gone awry?

Technical glitches and product placement plagued the entire production. At one point Senator Palpatine was inexplicably replaced by the squirrel from Ice Age who suddenly threw an acorn at Shrek-Wan Kenobi. Then he hoisted a can of Pepsi and launched into a monologue about Cool Ranch Doritos. "They will be my downfall," he cackled, loosening his belt another notch.

I also didn't understand why the producers chose America Ferrera to provide Yoda's voice.

Spoiler: Stay through the end credits. Lucas teases the final title of the upcoming TV series. (Clone Wars: Anakin at 15.)

Texted Movie Reviews: The Dark Knight

Texted Movie Reviews™ is a regular feature wherein Rider posts SMS messages he received on his BlockBerry from friends or family members about current movies.

The following reviews are from Tim L. and Eriq E. about The Dark Knight.

Message #1 (Eriq):

Watchmen trailer so sick

Message #2 (Eriq):

Very well put togther film-lacking in action at times-both Heath and bale are excellent-I feel Heath would have received nod dead or alive

Message #3 (Tim):

Funny dark very very good heath ledger is great and a surprise twist in the plot

Message #4 (Eriq):

overall good movie-would see it again

Creepy Orphans, Manilow, and White Hen Sammiches

Just to reestablish my credentials as a pop culture blogger, here's my wrap-up of the past few days.

Saturday - I watched The Orphanage on DVD. It frightened the living dooky out of me--in the middle of the day, no less. Remember how unsettled you felt toward the end of The Descent? I'm starting to like that...similar to getting addicted to the way your tummy feels when you're tipping backwards in a chair and catch yourself just before you fall. Wheee! Spooky moppets emerging from the shadows behind you!
Sunday - I was almost prompted to download a Barry Manilow song after seeing Hellboy II: The Golden Army. It also made me crave a cold Tecate. Even the voice of Seth MacFarlane couldn't ruin this movie for me (he's the antidote for funny).
Monday - I watched "The Drug Test" episode of Factory on Spike. The show capably balances quick, Arrested Development-type humor with blue-collar machinists talking smack about sex, their jobs, and life. When perfect shows like AD get cancelled, this one won't stand a chance. Still fun to watch while it lasts.
Tuesday - I've been known to occasionally watch Ninja Warrior on G4. Asians being humiliated on obstacle courses goes perfectly with Flamin' Hot Cheetos and scotch when the TiVo queue is lean. It turns out ABC's shameless ripoff Wipeout is surprisingly watchable and even funnier with Americans getting hurt. Who'da thunk it?
Wednesday - It was Wednesday, so Andy Dick did some inappropriate shit.

Day 43 on the road - I'm still wandering Mordor's heartland, and as you may recall in this post I've been shacked up in an Arby's.

My situation is both pathetic and sad. My clothes smell like curly fries. Boxter vomits on cue when our host Chas offers us Ham & Swiss Melts he planned on "throwing out, anyways." I've only been eating this "food" for eight days. I don't know how Morgan Spurlock lasted a month.

I took some cash from the register this morning (Chas encourages it), and walked to the nearest convenience store. You know Arby's food is bad when a White Hen ham sandwich with chips tastes like Thanksgiving dinner.

--
Sent from Gmail for mobile | mobile.google.com

Rider Explains the Appeal of Zombie Movies - Part Uno

A new feature on the Block, where your humble host Rider attempts to explain the appeal of zombie movies. If you ever meet him at a blogger party and you've run out of topics--i.e. why Whatchamacallits are the best candy bar on the planet, 100 reasons why John Mayer is a tool, how Sprint is the worst cellular carrier in the U.S. and will fold within 12 months, etc.--there will be no need for awkward silences. He will have sparked a desire in your heart to seek out movies and books about the walking dead and you'll have more interesting things to discuss than why Dr Zibbs has been in the bathroom for an hour or how drunk McGone is again.

Our first installment focuses on the most obvious reason why zombie movies are so appealing...

It's fun taking out pent-up frustrations on family members and other worthless members of society.

Come on, admit it: you've wished your family members dead at least once in your life. Maybe it was the time mom smacked you when you spilled milk and sent you to bed without your liver and onions, and as soon as your bedroom door shut you whispered, "I wish God would take her in her sleep tonight."

And the next day she cooked you scrambled eggs and bacon and you loved her again--but the point remains: you wished your mother dead over trivial shit at a young age. That's a deep-seated instinct that never goes away, my friend.

Cut to a standard dilemma in every classic zombie movie since 1968's Night of the Living Dead: a character's brother or daughter is killed in a zombie epidemic, has a brief moment of peace, then opens their milky eyes and suddenly lunges after them with a garden trowel. Surprise!

It's you or them, dear reader. You don't want to kill Uncle Rudy, you have to. But what your inner self is actually whispering is, "Now you get to."

The primary reason why zombie flicks are so awesome is because you live out the fantasy of putting a bullet in the brain of the brother who teased you incessantly, the roommate who stuck you with a $1,500 phone bill from porn calls,* or the teacher who ridiculed you in front of the class for not knowing pi to the tenth decimal.

Or, as pictured, the birthday clown who once creeped you out and gave you nightmares and a life-long unpredictable bladder. Usually triggered by Ronald McDonald making parade appearances.

* True story. Sadly.

Texted Movie Reviews: Wanted

Texted Movie Reviews™ is a regular feature wherein Rider posts SMS messages he received on his BlockBerry from friends or family members about current movies.

The following is Jeremy W.'s review of Wanted.

Message #1:

Wanted was awesome. No nudity.

Message #2:

Movie was awesome! GREAT kills

Click this link to read a translation of Angelina Jolie's tattoo

Day 35 on the road - Jebus help me. After leaving Target two days ago, now we're staying in an Arby's.


Chas, the 16-year-old store manager, lets us sleep in a booth because "the corporate douches haven't promoted me to district after five goddamn months. Besides, what are they gonna do--fire me? Feel free to use the laptop, even for porn. I've got shit bookmarked."

His assistant manager Gladys, a 43-year-old mother of six, brings us leftover Bacon Beef 'n Cheddars just before she leaves for the night. I have managed to keep them down, but just barely.

This morning the Mordor County Health Inspector walked in as I was bathing Boxter in the prep area sink. He watched quietly, then informed me that I "missed a spot." He gave the restaurant a pass in exchange for one of my Chuck Taylors. When I handed it over, he explained that he met Ellen Page at a Katy Perry concert and she autographed his right shoe. He keeps it on a shelf at home and needed a replacement.

Chas was pissed at me, though. "You shouln'ta done that, bro! Let 'im close us down! I needed a vacation!"

I replied that it could have turned into a permanent vacation.

"Dude-man, haven't you been listening? Nobody gets fired from Arby's! Joe-Ray the maintenance guy strangled the last store manager, and I just gave him a fi'ty-cent raise!"

I don't think I'll be staying here much longer.

Gotta go. Gladys just told me Boxter pooped in the walk-in.