Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of Suck

In 1981, director Steven Spielberg, producer George Lucas, and writer Lawrence Kasdan introduced us all to who would become one of the greatest heroes in cinematic history: Indiana Jones. The movie: Raiders of the Lost Ark. The premise: homage to action packed serials of yesteryear. The result: outstanding. Quickly-paced, yet somehow balanced in character, we went on a thrill ride not only genius in plot, but just plain genius.

Three years later we were again exposed to the adventures of Indiana Jones, this time in the ill-titled prequel, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. However, the charm was still there, as were the thrills, and despite disturbing much of the general public with its PG-13-creating antics, the film was still very much kin to the original.

A further five years and we witness what is arguably the best of the series, the still ill-titled Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Here we get a built-in story (the Holy Grail), a return to our built-in bad guys (the Nazis), and an excellent built-in character-building device (Indy's father).

And then... nothing. Well, for 19 years, that is. Until Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull shows up. And resoundingly stinks up the cineplex.

Bad plot, bad script, bad cinematography, bad digital effects... bad idea, basically. And so overwrought with cliche, it makes the first three films look like Shakespearian theatre.

I mean... C'MON!

Seriously, we already knew that George Lucas lost his touch back in the early 80s, but this... this has to be the film that proves that even Mr. Spielberg is forgotting how to make a movie (he's already forgotten how to end one). How could he have possibly agreed with George that this was the best way to reintroduce us to our long-lost hero?

Why even listen to George, anyway? He already almost ruined Indiana Jones' legacy with The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles (an admittedly good show, albeit one that fit poorly with the established Indiana Jones franchise). And now we get this?

Ah, well. I was hoping to be a bit more insightful, but as I'm clearly devolving into straight-up ranting, I shall stop.

Hopefully, someone will convince George to do the same before he proceeds any further with his "Mutt Williams" sequels.

Oy vey.

Holy Snarkies!

So, the grand ominous quest to the land of Iowa, where the blond caucasians live and the soy and corn stink up the fog-ridden humid mornings was... I have no clue where I was going with that. Anyway, I went to Iowa with my favorite (sleeping with the) enemy, and had a great time. Stopped in Indiana, where the interstate construction never seems to cease... saw an old friend, one who was once fat, but is no longer, but sort of is... anyway, great to see him, his wife, his kid, and his bun-in-the-oven.

And then there was the opening at Fox Reality in Los Angeles. Well, not exactly for Fox Reality, but that's what it amounted to... couldn't take it for whatever reason, so I did the cool, non-Wilmington-film-industry-thing and gave the position to a friend of mine who happened to be moving from Wilmington to Los Angeles the day after I found out about the position. Oh, how nice of me... (Jon, if you're reading this, I drink for free FOR A YEAR when I finally make it back out there).

And that's how it works in California. People help each other get PA and runner jobs... unlike another faux film community I happen to have lived in, where those that fight for PA slots don't tell anybody else for fear of competition and for the simple fact that many of those fighting for those slots are just assholes.

But, bleh...

My favorite enemy looked absolutely stunning at the wedding in Iowa, by the way. So much so, a gas station attendant told her that she made his day. Well, buddy, she made mine, too... and I got to see her in a swimsuit that afternoon. Lick me.

Remind me not to drive over any bridges in Minnesota.

I've been combing my cats with a "furminator." Those work awesome. All pet owners MUST buy a furminator. Seriously.

Padres are in third place? What the fuck? When did the Diamondbacks suddenly start contending? Damn you, Tony Gwynn... unretire already.

And there I was, stuck in traffic on a hot, muggy, Sunday afternoon, when the sky blackened and lighting flew up from the Earth into the sky in what was clearly the strangest weather phenomenon in the last century. Okay, I just made that up, but I had you going, didn't I? Don't lie... you know I did.

By the way... if that person who hates "..." happens to be reading this (and she sometimes does), take this: ... ... ... ... ... ...

Oh, and when are you returning from France?

Right, okay... I'm making zero sense, but that's only because I have a lot to say, no way to say it, and my friend is in the kitchen slicing up chicken while my German Shepherd whines for my attention and my girlfriend ditches me for a mysterious entity codenamed "Andrea" and a cup of white chocolate hot chocolate from Starbucks.

Kick ass, right on, carpe diem, and all that other horseshit people say to egg each other on.

And vote for Clint Eastwood.

Star Wars Returns

Well, well, back by popular demand are the original versions of the holy grail of motion picture trilogies: Star Wars. All I can say is: it's about fucking time.

In 1977, a movie was released that damn near everyone who was breathing O2 at the time fell in love with. A movie cursed with 70s technology, a 70s disco influence, flat acting, and a premise so derivative, Oprah would have crucified its author. That movie was, we all know, Star Wars (back then, no one called it "A New Hope," because the nerds hadn't ruined the franchise yet). It was followed by the superior The Empire Strikes Back, and the technically superior, but sublimly ridiculous (thanks to the Ewoks), Return of the Jedi. With these three movies, George Lucas fulfilled his ultimate dream... or so we thought.

Fast forward to the late 1990s, and George, without a hit movie since the last Indiana Jones entry (whose credit, I'm sorry, is more due Steven Spielberg than Lucas), decides to rerelease the original Star Wars Trilogy in theaters. Audiences and fanatics everywhere are inspired, especially as the recently announced new trilogy officially moves into preproduction. The catch, my friends, is that George wanted to "alter" his beloved creations, under the auspices of "improving" them ("Beware the Darkside and its false pretenses," Yoda would have said).

So what do we get? A Han Solo that shoots in self-defense, thereby eliminating his entire growth-from-scoundrel-to-true-hero story arc. A Luke Skywalker that accidentally falls instead of defiantly resisting Darth Vader's will (a mistake that Lucas subsequently reversed in the arguably worse Special Edition DVDs). And a capital city of an Empire that celebrates the very moment its ruler is killed.

All in all, other than the misplaced nostalgia of finally seeing the Han Solo/Jabba the Hutt scene in Episode IV, the only worthy alteration in the "Special Editions" (special eds, for short) are the windows in Cloud City. Everything else: stupid.

Disclaimer: for the purposes of saving time and space, the author's comments pertaining to the horrible Special Edition DVDs and the absolutely appaling "Prequel Trilogy" will be reserved for a future weblog entry. Except for the following comment:

Episodes I, II, and III, can kiss my motherfucking ass! True Star Wars fans hate these movies, sorry, but it's easy to recognize the change in tone (how do you make Star Wars relevant? Umm... you don't), the change in pace (MTV, thanks for making these movies damn near incoherent), and the change in story (literal changes, too, exactly how many contradictions between the two trilogies are there?).

Anyway, these true Star Wars fans have, it seems, finally forced the hand of Lucasfilm, LTD. and 20th Century Fox. Our beloved movies are coming to DVD (packaged with the Special Editions, of course... I guess we can't ask for too much).