I work with a group of people who would spend their last ten bucks on magic beans. They don’t live paycheck to paycheck, or even day to day; they live second to second. “Oh, I found a dime on the floor,” they’d exclaim, while at the same moment making plans to spend it. Most people see the paycheck at the end of the week as the means to pay the coming week’s bills, but these guys think their paycheck is magic money that falls from the sky to pay for lottery tickets and cigarettes. The future? BAH! Who cares about tomorrow!

Last night a younger guy who works for me asked to leave an hour early. He does this every time I work with him, as if that extra hour will give him more time to do something more productive than smoke weed, which is always his true intention. I really didn’t care if he left early; the guy wasn’t accomplishing much anyway. But as we talked he mentioned that his shoulder hurt. “Why don’t you go see a doctor?” I asked, puzzled.

His reply? “I can’t afford it.”

I stared at him incredulously until he muttered “whut?” I began to explain to him that he doesn’t work for the things in his life, how he wastes his time getting high and blowing his paltry earnings on Pick 3 tickets, pot, and cigarettes. I tried to explain that leaving early is symptomatic of a larger problem: the idea that the future does not need to be prepared for or planned. You can’t just live second to second in life, I said, because you never know when you’re going to need to really need something. As I lectured him, a co-worker nearby, listening intently, started laughing. When I asked what he was laughing about, he said that he thought of me as everyone’s father.

Those words stopped me dead. I immediately began to think back to all of those times growing up when my Dad would yell at me about not saving money, not checking my oil, not being responsible with credit cards and my credit score. I remember chafing at the reminders, my face scrunched up in a displeased frown much like the fellow employee I was lecturing at that moment. I had the whole “the son becomes the father” moment that I thought would never happen to me. No, not to me.

I told the kid to get the hell away from me. I needed some time to think.

Lots of kids have relationships like that with their parents. It’s part of the natural awkwardness that invades the teen years, destroying the fragile bonds that were sewn before puberty. In my case, my Dad simply wasn’t interested in my sister or myself. We were financial burdens, obligations to be handled like the phone bill or the mortgage.

So you can imagine my surprise when I went over to my old friend Scott’s house tonight and saw firsthand his relationship with his two boys. Scott was always the most open and frank guy among our small group of friends, but I never imagined he would be so good at raising kids until I had the chance to talk with his boys. Or, rather, to watch them interact with each other. The walls that I once had with my father were not apparent between them, replaced instead by honesty and open dialogue.

I would never have wanted a conversation with my Dad about my masturbation habits, but there was Scott talking about it with his kids in obvious terms in front of me, a relative stranger. Scott seemed to be able to share his deepest secrets with his sons, and they seemed willing and eager to share theirs with him. Like Scott, I’m pretty blunt and to-the-point, and seeing their interaction gave me a glimpse of the type of relationship I would have built with my own kids had life offered the chance to me.

Besides that, it also made me feel good about the choices I’ve made in my friends. If one can be judged by the children one produces, then my friends are among the greatest people ever known. They have produced children who are warm, intelligent, thoughtful, inquisitive (an important one!), and funny. My friends have some pretty amazing kids, and it tells me something about those people I’ve chosen to populate my life. Through the children of my friends, I’ve learned that I’m a very lucky guy, indeed.

Of course, not long after shacking up together, Cindy found herself pregnant by this guy. “Oh, things will be wonderful between us,” Cindy likely thought as she rubbed her belly. Nine months later, Cindy popped out an adorable baby girl. A month later, the guy left her, too.

This story goes to illustrate one of the great truisms of human relationships: NEVER get involved romantically/sexually with someone who is currently in a relationship. Why would anyone want to be involved with a person that was willing to cheat on a relationship? If they did it to someone else, they’re willing to do it to you, too. You cannot change someone’s diseased mentality with your  desperate genitalia.

The saddest aspect of this entire episode is that poor little girl, who will now live in shame and doubt for the rest of her life because Cindy failed to understand this basic fact of life.

The original skit might be the flimsiest idea upon which to hang a feature film to ever come from the SNL factory, and that’s coming from someone who endured It’s Pat. The skit played in 90 second intervals throughout some of the episodes, and featured Will Forteas a bumbling version of television’s McGuyver endlessly trying to defuse a bomb before it inevitable blows up in his face. It was punchy and stupid in those 90 second increments, and I kinda liked it then.

But lemme tell ya … a ninety minute film is a much more difficult thing to endure. Forte returns as Macgruber, although he’s disappeared Rambo-style into a life of seclusion and meditation. He’s pressed into service by Colonel Faith (Powers Boothe) when his old nemesis Dieter Von Cunth (Val Kilmer) gets a hold of a powerful weapon. So Macgruber returns to service to defeat his arch enemy, helped by old partner Vicki St. Elmo (Kristen Wiig) and reluctant Lt. Piper (Ryan Phillippe).

The first ten minutes went by before I began to ask a recurring question: This is supposed to be a comedy, right? It plays like an actual imitation of those horrible eighties actioners, without any of the wit or brazen fun of better examples like Airplane or The Naked Gun. In fact, I wondered if this was actually supposed to be a comedy, because it was shockingly low on laughs.

Serving both as writer and lead, Forte has crafted a starring vehicle that ironically represents everything he is as a presence onscreen: shallow, stupid, blank, meandering, mugging, and vapid. Oh, and humorless. The film rattles pointlessly inside its hollow, poorly-constructed plot, the echoes of laughlessness smothering it. I’m not saying comedies should have rock-solid plotting; films like Austin Powers or Kingpin do not have amazingly complex stories to tell, either. But the best comedies disguise the flimsy plots and shallow characters with comedic, playful rhythms and situations that make you forgive the cracks in the screenplay. Macgruber makes you stare angrily at the screen while you dutifully count the minutes you’re losing on Earth.

Among the cast, Kilmer probably does the best as the unfortunately-named villain Cunth, which also points the curious in the direction of where this film’s grade of humor is headed. Kilmer has some serious chops, and I’m not just referring to his bloated face. Wiig overacts as usual, although I will say that what works on a small screen does not translate too well in larger dimensions. Phillippe is an enigmatic presence. He has the look and voice of ascreen icon, but he’s never managed to demonstrate any meaningful talent for drama or comedy. He’s serviceable, but something is still missing with him.

The direction Jorma Tacconeis pedestrian while still straining to parody the look of eighties action films. The special effects look just like you’d expect from a low budget ($10 million) action film. I just cannot believe that aa film with this much money and talent behind it can be so painfully unfunny and misguided. Did anyone not tell Forte and company that simply aping eighties actioneers was not enough … that a comedy needs actual jokes?

What a waste of time. Next time, make a Delicious Dish movie or none at all.

Not only did it manage to crystallize the paranoia and confusion that the Watergate scandal inflicted on the American psyche – unsurprising considering that the film was finished a year after the event itself – but it also captured the essence of seventies Americana. Technology has changed so much of our lifestyle in subtle and unsubtle ways. Watching All The President’s Men reminds one of the society that once was, and will never be again.

In particular, it’s striking to see Redford’s Bob Woodward and Hoffmann’s Carl Bernstein thumbing through telephone books and other records in order to track leads, or dialing rotary telephones. One quickly gets a sense of the enormous effort it took a reporter in the seventies to produce even one story. Research like that today could be accomplished with a few flicks of the keyboard, yet it took them days and untold amounts of persistence back then.  

Most films don’t capture a moment in time like that, since most films deal exclusively in creating a time period rather than simply allowing it to exist. In fact, it’s difficult to really pinpoint films like All The President’s Men that really accomplish that with their respective time periods. Network did something like that with the state of televised news in the late seventies. One could argue that King Of Comedy did something similar with the state of eighties talk shows. Wall Street did a decent job capturing the late eighties era of greed and emerging technology like computers and cell phones. Perhaps Wargames did the same thing with computers in the eighties.

Are there any movies that you can think of that manage to capture the essence of their respective time periods?

It’s very meta.

The show’s trippy visuals, its unrelenting deadpan deliveries, and the wondrously clever songs made my heart do parkour. So much creativity and energy went into each episode that cancellation was probably a mercy; nothing that perfect could sustain it forever.

The show’s odd and peculiar heartbeat was provided by Clement, an actor whose mere presence onscreen made me start giggling. He has a face that looks like it was sculpted in plasticine Jello, with nearly impossible curves swirling around his unmoving, heavily-lidded eyes. He is the proverbial human cartoon.

I was bummed when the show was cancelled, because I truly feared that Clement and McKenzie would have trouble finding parts in which to continue their fascinating comedic work. Those fears are proving unfounded, fortunately. The pair have just completed a very successful tour. And now comes word that Clement has scored a big blockbuster role as the new villain in the upcoming Men In Black III, which seems like a perfect fit.

I guess someone could yell “SELLOUT” to such news, but what’s the point? Physically Clement looks like part of that universe, and the franchise doesn’t take itself too seriously. I’m betting that Clement’s wry deadpan will be a nice foil for the craziness going on around him.

I LOVE IT!

Crowe stars as Robin Longstride, an archer who makes a fateful decision to impersonate a dead knight by the name of Robin of Loxley. This puts him in the middle of a massive plot to overthrow England’s arrogant King John by the French, led by the wicked Sir Godfrey (Mark Strong). It also allows him to meet and woo Loxley’s widow, Maid Marion (Cate Blanchett). Eventually, the French invade the coast of England, and only Robin can lead the battle to prevent the imminent destruction of the Crown.

Does that sound unfamiliar? Rather than film the traditional story of Robin Hood and his Merry Men in Sherwood Forest, Scott has made the bewildering decision to film the prequel to all of that derring-do. And it’s a joyless, mud-strewn, post-modern prequel at that; the colors are muted and grim to reflect the current trends in darkening up the material, the hero is troubled and serious, and Maid Marion becomes an unwelcome action heroine. Nothing in this film has any lift or spirit. The energy, spark, and mischievousness that has popularized the Robin Hood tale for centuries is completely missing here.

Even worse, the script by Scott and Brian Helgeland mixes in a bunch of boring political intrigue that is painfully boring and somewhat confusing. One can sense that Scott realized this in the editing sessions, because every location comes with a title card explaining where you’re at in the story. Even with those title cards, it’s difficult to understand what’s going on, and even more difficult to care.

In another disastrous decision, Scott employs a 47 year old Crowe to play an early version of Robin Hood, who, in his prime, is understood to be a fairly young man. In the 12th century, a 40 year old man was positively geriatric, yet here we have Crowe lumbering around while trying to persuade us that his best years are still ahead. It’s ridiculous. Also bad is the casting of Blanchett, who appears far too aged to play Marion, not to mention suit up for battle. Even worse is the complete lack of chemistry between the two actors, resulting in a fizzled love story on top of the grimness and heavy blanket of mud.

Worst of all is the idea to set the events of the film completely before the traditional tale begins. We never see Robin Hood’s skill with a bow and arrow until the very end. We barely meet his Merry Men, and we never see them in action. The effect is like watching a prequel to Jurassic Park where we watch the creation of the dinosaurs, with the end of the film reaching the point where the actual adventure begins. Scott hammers this failed idea right into the gut with a sucker-punch of a title card at the end: “So the legend begins.” In other words, we just sat through two and a half hours of depressive nothingness for no reason whatsoever. Horrible.

While the film looks terrific and realistic, it is a pointless exercise in how to waste $200 million dollars on a pretty advertisement for 12th century England. A terrible film.

Iron Man

With the stakes even higher for this sequel, it’s sad to say that this newest film fails to even reach the modest standards of the first film. A disappointment.

One of the biggest problems with Iron Man 2 is that there is too much RDJ and not enough Iron Man. Long stretches of this film involve Stark in love triangles, or talking to extraneous characters. Where the original was punctuated by punchy, attitude-laden action sequences, this sequel is weighed-down with conversations. And many of these conversations involves awkward attempts at the lighthearted humor of the first film, making this sequel feel far too comical. This is a movie about a robotic superhero, not Tony Stark love triangles.

The script crams so much into the second half that the film becomes a mess of subplots and set-ups. It’s clear that Marvel desperately wants to launch every single hero character into a movie franchise, and they’ve tried to set-up these spinoffs within the framework of this one film. So now we have Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) showing up to have conversations with Stark to set up an Avengers film, or Scarlett Johansson slithering into the film as Black Widown for no real reason except to cause script havoc.

Of course, when you have a villain as ridiculous as Mickey Rourke’s Whiplash, you almost don’t mind being distracted. Was this the best villain they could invent to counter Iron Man? A Russian guy with two electric whips in each hand? It’s almost comical to see Rourke wandering down a raceway brandishing these stupid weapons, an unearned smirk on his face as if he’s invincible thanks to these dumb whips. Rourke does a good job with what he’s given here, using his considerable charisma to make his Ivan Vanko character work. Still, the script abandons the character again and again for subplots that he’s almost useless. And those whips don’t help his case much, either.

A better villain is the smarmy Justin Hammer, played with gusto by Sam Rockwell. Hammer is the anti-Stark, and his desire to overtake Stark’s fame is palpable. It’s such a shame that the character is wedged into such a convoluted script. I kept imagining how nice it might have been to have Hammer and Stark square off in this film, rather than have Whiplash and the other 596 subplots running as well. Streamlining the script would have helped, and these two characters are terrific foils for each other. A missed chance, for sure.

As a set up for the Marvel universe, I suppose this film works well enough. It is a marvel indeed that they have managed to construct these films to interlock together overthe course of several years of production. However, as a stand-alone film experience, Iron Man 2 is a colossal misfire that definitely deserved better.

The new film has some delicious plans for Freddy. It’s unfortunate that the rest of the film wasn’t restructured as carefully.

This remake stars Jackie Earle Haley(great choice) as Freddy Krueger, a gentle gardener who may or may not be a pedophile. This added backstory helps in the deepening of the Freddy character, and justifies the actions of the parents to pursue Freddy into a factory and burn him to death. Of course, Freddy comes back to attack the children of those Elm Street parents, and the film falls apart after that.

Much of the remake is nearly a shot-for-shot restaging of the original film, yet the effect is not the same. Part of the problem lies with the script, which completely mishandles the Nancy character. Instead of a plucky, average girl tested to the limit by a dream-hijacking boogeyman, this Nancy is already angsty and haunted, ruining the arc that carried the original. It doesn’t help matters that the young actors here are all charisma-free and plastic, missing much of the life injected into them by the original cast.

This remake also strips the original story of much of its potency by diluting the pointed familial commentary that made the original film believable and disturbing. Sure, the alcoholic mother subplot in the original was a little hackneyed, but her drugged out responses to Nancy’s terror and trauma added a layer of frustration in the film that drove the plot. Here, the story is reduced to a bunch of kids trying to solve a mystery we already know, and therefore it loses a lot of tension.

So the latter section of the film largely restages many of the kills of the original, begging the question: WHY? While the original film is dated (I mean, Johnny Depp in a half shirt??), it is still an effective film. If a remake must be made, why not go out and add some originality to it. This remake feels like a limp playing of Freddy’s greatest hits from the original, without the drama or the thrill of discovery that made the original so striking.

All of this is a shame because Haley makes such a good impression as the new Freddy, quite icky and unpleasant. A better movie should have been made around this excellent casting choice and this iconic character.