OK. Okay. Here's what's about to happen: I'm going to go into the living room, fire up the cable box, and order Human Centipede On Demand (it's not playing in Los Angeles yet, but Time Warner has generously made it available at the push of a button), and I'm going to liveblog it here, doing my absolute best not to faint, vomit or tear out my hair while screaming in anguish at my Maker about how He could allow something like this to exist.
Is this a stupid stunt? Of course it is. But I need to find out for myself -- and for you, the reader who has too much sense to subject him or herself to this cinematic abomination -- if this is, in fact, 2010's Most Barfiest Movie. Join me in this potentially soul-extinguishing exercise after the jump: (It should go without saying, but there will be many SPOILERS ahead.)
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Today's bombshell announcement about Sandra Bullock's secret adopted baby was an absolute master class in controlling the narrative, locking up a Hey, Look Over There! Award for her publicist at this year's Flackies. (What, you want to talk more about the unfathomable heartbreak of having your Oscar afterglow brutally extinguished by a loutish husband's extramarital appetite for garishly tattooed, Nazi-fetishizing McGees? Sure, we'll get to that in a second, but have you seen this super adorbs widdle baaaby?)
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Dear Mr. Hefner,
On behalf of the millions of overjoyed residents of Los Angeles, we would like to thank you for cutting the $900,000 check that nudged the Save the Peak effort over its monetary finish line, ensuring that the pristine land adjacent to the Hollywood sign will be safe from exactly the kind of tacky developers who originally erected the humongous real estate billboard in 1923.
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Hollywood, it seems, is about to catch a severe case of volcano fever. With the news dominated by stories of international travelers who've been stranded by a commercial airline system brought to its knees by ash-spewing Icelandic death-chimney Ejyafjallajökull (pronounced "Steve," oddly) and by incredible images of the apocalyptic cloud blanketing European airspace, development executives are scrambling to get the first volcano project into the pipeline. After the jump, we offer our always-helpful suggestions to harried casting directors who face this imposing task.
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You've followed the critical feuds and read the think-pieces about how this weekend's most talked-about debut at the multiplex, the hyper-violent, mega-profane Kick-Ass, is poised to offend American moviegoers' delicate sensibilities. But until now, you haven't heard from one of the film's most controversial players, one that's been squarely in the center of the firestorm. And so Movieline reached out to the C-Word itself to chat about how it's being portrayed in the overheated media coverage of a movie masterfully engineered to delight fanboys while giving cautious parents' naughty places an inappropriate squeeze.
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Previously on Lost: Hurley is haunted by an enigmatic string of numbers. Hurley wins the lottery by playing those numbers, earning immense wealth. Hurley is cursed by his alleged good fortune. Hurley crash-lands on a strange island, never losing any weight despite a shortage of food. Hurley discovers Dharma Initiative-supplied foodstuffs, eliminating any petty grumbling about the weight issue. Hurley spends some time in a mental hospital, where he sees people who aren't really there and is visited by Lt. Daniels from The Wire. Hurley falls in love, then loses that love. Someone strangles a trombone player, producing an awful sound that provides a haunting transition from a tense moment to a commercial break.
Please join us as we take our place behind the Mr. Clucks counter, ready to serve out piping hot, extra crispy Answers by the bucketful to hungry, Question-bearing patrons looking to have their appetite sated after last night's Hugo-centric episode.
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Today, as you're well aware by now, Movieline celebrates its first birthday on these Internets [SFX: popping of champagne corks, the joyous slap of high-fives, the grinding snarl of a chainsaw carving an ice sculpture of Jim Cameron's bust], and the occasion is being marked with some contemplative looks back at the previous year in entertainment as observed by our bouncing baby e-publication. With the retrospective angle so ably handled by other colleagues, this column's been tasked with looking ahead to the coming year, and so we'll gaze into the Movieline crystal ball and try to discern from the murky, flickering images contained therein what unexpected trends, paradigm-shifting events and other assorted happenings to expect from Hollywood in the next 12 months.
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[In this exclusive excerpt from the new book Reality Matters: 19 Writers Come Clean About the Shows We Can't Stop Watching (HarperCollins, Apr. 13), Movieline editor at large Mark Lisanti measures himself against Jersey Shore's three-word Guido gold standard -- with less-than-optimal results. -- STV]
About five minutes into Jersey Shore's (two-hour!) premiere, Italian-American groups began to express their displeasure about the cast's embrace -- nay exultation -- of the term "Guido," considered by many to be a slur, as well as MTV's alleged exploitation of the group by reducing all Italians to an easily mockable Goombah stereotype. It's a complaint Italians have heard before, most recently after some people wrongheadedly decried The Sopranos, perhaps the greatest and most nuanced television show of all time, for depicting the culture as nothing but a bunch of tracksuited, pork-store-haunting, stoolie-whacking goons. As an Italian American who grew up in a New York suburb just north of the Bronx, among friends (if not family) who were recognizable, if distant, forebears of The Shore gang (in those days, it was B.U.M. Equipment instead of Ed Hardy), Pauly D's celebratory explanation of Guidoness as "a lifestyle... being Italian... tanning, gel, everything," was not just the last word on a minor controversy. it was an invitation to take an inventory of my inner Guido every Thursday night.
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Today's release of the Sex and the City: 2 Ferragamo 2 Fabulous trailer is something of a holiday at Movieline HQ, with the giddy sounds of being reunited with our favorite cinematic BFFs nearly drowned out by clinking champagne flutes and the delighted squeals of fashion-obsessed editors given 30 seconds of heaven in New Line's promotional All The Choos You Can Hold In Your Greedy Little Arms Closet. (The first installment grossed $415 million worldwide; they're really not screwing around this time.) And while we've already slapped a SOLD! verdict on this first two minutes of teaser footage, our excitement demands a deeper level of engagement with the trailer: its mysteries must be pondered, its myriad delights cataloged in painstaking detail. After the jump, we break it down by the numbers, hoping to better understand exactly what's in store for us on May 27.
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Previously on Lost: Desmond participates in Charles Widmore's race around the world, unsuccessfully. Desmond turns a key that causes all sorts of bad electromagnetic-related things to happen. Desmond sees flashes of the future. Desmond shouts "PEN-NAY!" to the skies, the powerful sound of his love dissipating in the island air before reaching the heavens. Desmond is locked behind a door on a submarine. Widmore dives in and out of mountainous piles of gold, Scrooge McDuck-style. Juliet whispers, "It worked," with her dying breath after detonating a bomb named after an Archie Comics character. Hurley eyes a box of Dharma Ding Dongs with lust in his eyes.
Please join us as we wake from a fevered, restless sleep and scribble some advanced mathematical equations which, when solved, provide the Answers to the Questions raised by this week's episode of everyone's favorite time-travel soap opera:
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This weekend, the New York Times took a look at the system of product placement that keep the pockets of your favorite Hollywood studio lined with beautiful, beautiful cash by loading up its films -- both of the blockbuster and modestly budgeted varieties-- with enough strategically positioned Quarter Pounders to stop the hearts of an entire location shoot's worth of Lipitor-gobbling Teamsters. Though it's recently become fashionable to decry the despoilment of an allegedly once-pristine art by greedy tie-ins, this kind of promotional consideration is not a new phenomenon, with deep-pocketed patrons emerging in the nick of time to help bridge the budgetary gaps in some of our most beloved movies. In the interest of celebrating a much-derided and misunderstood craft, Movieline takes a look back at the greatest moments in cinematic product placement.
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The news shook Hollywood to its very core: Charlie Sheen, the most handsomely remunerated mumbler in television history, has been telling "friends" (you know, the kind who respond to this kind of intimate soul-baring with an immediate call to People) that this season of Two and a Half Men might be his last, rumblings that certainly are not just a carefully choreographed tactic for any upcoming contract renewal negotiations. But if he is is, in fact, ready to step away from Men if they're not willing to make him a million-and-a-half-per-episode player, what's next for the Ma-sheen? Movieline is more than happy to throw out some suggestions for Sheen's potential new projects.
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Previously on Lost: Sawyer plays a record, sadly. Sayid returns from the dead. Kate seems useless. Ilana makes Ben dig his own grave, then doesn't make him climb in. Richard experiences existential despair, applies more eyeliner. Jack smashes some mirrors in the lighthouse out of fear and frustration. Desmond types a string of numbers into an old computer deep inside an underground bunker to stop some unknown "bad" thing from happening. A plane crashes on a mysterious island. A network exec approves a show about a plane crashing on a mysterious island.
Please join us, if you will, as we finally fling open the Door of Questions on the Lost submarine and release the Answers within for this week's episode:
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Yesterday, we noted Battlefield Earth screenwriter J.D. Shapiro's mea culpa for penning, in his words, the suckiest movie of all time. (Which you can read in its entirety here.) Not to be outdone (and no doubt fueled by Avatar's still-stinging Best Picture snub), super-competitive director James Cameron has issued his own imaginary exclusive apology to Movieline.
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Earlier today, we noted that Paranormal Activity 2 had found a new director, Tod "Kip" Williams, allowing the sequel to the most successful haunted bedroom movie of all time to proceed full-steam ahead. Shortly thereafter on the Paranormal Activity website, producer Oren Peli posted an official announcement of Williams' selection, ending with this tantalizing bit: "I don't want to spoil the story but I promise it'll surprise you. Stay tuned." This, it seems, is an open invitation to start wildly speculating about PA2's premise. And so we will! After the jump, our five best guesses about the set-up for the next round of pants-soiling thrills Paramount will deliver.
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