Com direção de Scott Hicks, o mesmo realizador do premiado “Shine – Simplesmente Genial” (1996), sobre a vida conturbada do pianista esquizofrênico David Helfgott, começaram esta semana as filmagens da obra que conta a trajetória do gato pianista, desde seu início humilde, com as diversas rejeições que sofreu nas academias de música, até seu estouro na internet e os convites para se apresentar no Carnegie Hall.

O filme traz um comovente depoimento de Philip Glass (“What the fuck is a keyboard cat?” pergunta o perturbado compositor), além de contar com a ausência completa e absoluta de Nelson Freire.

David Caruso, com excesso de maquiagem, interpreta o gato na cena que o consagrou.

“Como ambos somos ruivos, acho que consegui captar a essência do personagem” afirma Caruso sobre o papel que promete levá-lo ao Oscar.

RE: Your mental stability

I hope this is just a hilarious joke and that on April 1st next year when I wake up to get my morning coffee and daily online reads, there your face will be with a big smile giving the world the always reassuring finger guns as if to say “I fooled you all, you big bunch of foolio’s!” and oh how we will laugh and in 2020 we will look back on it and say “remember how you got us good 10 years ago?”

What are the chances of that happening? Can we ever get back to the status quo? Don’t answer these questions for I do not want to know.

You’re a darn good actor sir. You’ve been in a few masterpieces such as Return to Paradise and Murder, She Wrote, and some not so good productions like the Village (although you are not to blame for this as M. Night “I Think I’m The Man” Shyamalan is an overrated ass and doesn’t realise he hasn’t produced a quality film since Unbreakable).

Are you pissed that you didn’t win an Oscar for Walk the Line, is that what prompted this sudden lifestyle change? Because you should know that I was rooting for you. I mean Philip S. Hoffman, good bloke, but come on he was in Patch Adams! I am a true believer in holding films against award winners. That way we could be guaranteed that David Caruso and Elizabeth Berkley would never win an Oscar – I know they already have a very slim chance, but a chance nonetheless!

Now I’ve heard you “rap” and I’m not going to be one of those “haters” that make ill-informed decisions before being presented with the entire story nor am I going to pass judgment on the lives of others. Having said that you’re slightly shit. I know I said I wasn’t going to say that but I lied. You’re so shit that I would rather listen to that white guy in 5ive freestyle before I have to endure another listen of what you’re bringing to the table. Take it back and get a refund. Do not put all your eggs into this rapping basket, because you will need a fallback. If asked to do ‘Gladiator 2: Attack of the Zombies’ I say take it.

I will treat this as an open letter as I believe Joaquin would regularly Google the terms “Shyamalan”, “Overrated” and “Philip Seymour Hoffman is a tampon”. This post should be right up there in the searches.

Like many Montrealers, I take Halloween seriously. It’s not just an excuse to get dressed up; it’s an opportunity to express that latent part of your personality. Ah yes, and get sloshed with a few of your favourite friends. In due form, I spent one evening preparing my costume with my buddy G, who, incidentally, is a horror movie filmmaker. To entertain us as we worked on our Halloween creations, G asked me to pick something to watch from his extensive slasher collection. His eye lit up when I brought out Night of the Demons.

Before judging us, you have to appreciate that I selected it only because it’s so much worse than you think. From Linnea Quigley’s b-movie training to that disembodied demon head, whose superimposed appearances are clearly being played on a loop. But then there are classic moments: the “lipstick-nipple,” Angela’s grotesque transformation from human to second-hand demon to lead monster, and the razorblade apple pie. True to the genre, those clueless teenagers get viciously massacred one by one, until nobody is left but the Vestian blonde. At least, that’s how I remembered it.

It wasn’t until I saw it again that I realized none of the characters actually die. Except for the two survivors, Angela and gang are merely turned into demons, whether by attempted murder or serious injury (one guy gets his arm chopped off; don’t know how that makes a demon, but that’s for another blog post). Naturally, one of the characters who gets away is poor, virginal, I-just-wanna-cuddle Helen, played by flaxen-haired Allison Barron. The brunettes, sexual deviants, and brown-haired sexual deviants all get it in the end, if not at first.

Today, there was some back-and-forth between Adam Lambert and Out magazine’s editorial staff over the singer’s “handlers” asking the publication to make sure their client didn’t appear too “gay” in their cover story about him. This all reminded me that big gay Glambert only ranked runner-up to squeaky-clean Kris Allen (so immaculate, in fact, that he married his junior high school sweetheart when he was just 23). Will Kris Allen sell more records than Adam Lambert? Of course not. His role will be that of American Idol victor, not successful recording artist. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t like Krissypooh! But this is a publicity contest, and Adam Lambert doesn’t need a dull press release to make headlines.

In much the same vein, who did they bring back for the Night of the Demons sequels? That’s right: Angela.

It’s a bit like the Quebec referendum, isn’t it? Quebecers say they want something fresh and revolutionary, but when push comes to shove, the devil you know always wins. On a day-to-day basis, many francophone Quebecers still want that sexy, dirty, dreamy sovereignty, so long as they don’t have to vote for it.

What’s getting tiresome for me is the long, overdrawn process of attrition. In a slasher flick, this describes when (sexually active) characters drop like flies at the hands of a masked murderer/monster. In singing competitions like American Idol and X Factor, it describes those painful weekly eliminations that ultimately betray the audience’s hypocrisy.

Often, the chasm that divides who should have won and who actually won is wide and deep. Why don’t we just own up to our  desires and vote for the Adam Lamberts and Rhydian Robertses of the world? Who cares if they’re gay or worship David Caruso. Shouldn’t our loyalties lie with the people who interest us most? This isn’t like separating a country; it’s about performance! I don’t remember a single thing that Kris Allen sang, but I recall specific Glambert hairdos. And most people agree the latter was the better singer.

Do we really need more disappointing post-competition careers from our safe choices? Let’s have some fun! Let’s give ourselves what we want!

Does this mean that Jedward are growing on me? Goodness no! They’re really terrible. But like Angela, no matter what happens to them, they’ll come back. The good news is, they’re both blonde, and they’re very likely virgins.

The following is an excerpt from an actual conversation between Conrad Noir and Marco Sparks last night. Yes, this is what they’re really like…

Marco Sparks: So, you’ll never believe this dream I had the other night…

Conrad Noir: I don’t know if I’m really up for a conversation about your hopes and dreams, man.

Marco: Well, when I say “dream,” what I really mean is sweaty, dread-dripping nightmare.

Conrad: Oh yeah? Shit. Nevermind. You know I’m all ears for that. Shoot.

Marco: Well, I’ll tell you about the nightmare in a second, but first let me tell you about my Saturday night…

Conrad: Always a catch, isn’t there? Shit. Okay, tell me about your Saturday ni-

Marco: It was awesome. But then, later on, I was just trying to go sleep, right? And it’s late, I don’t remember the time, but late. So I turn on the TV and put it on mute, just wanting some flickering light and alpha wave manipulation in the room. Or something.

Conrad: Sure, sure. Perfectly normal.

Marco: So then I lay down on the bed. The room I’m in though, there’s no remote. Or, if there is, fuck if I know where it is.

Conrad: Oh, yeah, man’s constant struggle.

Marco: Right, so I’m stuck with whatever the channel is because, well, I’m lazy.

Conrad: I feel that.

Marco: In this particular case, it was A&E. The former Arts & Entertainment channel.

Conrad: “Former” being the operative word.

Marco: Seriously. Airing that late evening/early morning was a seeming non stop marathon of CSI: Miami episodes.

Conrad: Wow. Ouch.

Marco: Ouch is right. And let me tell you, I could not sleep with that on.

Conrad: How do you mean?

Marco: Every five seconds they cut back to a shot of David Caruso! Constantly! And let me tell you, Caruso has two emotional speeds on that show. The first: Putting on his sunglasses. The second: Taking them off again. People could be on fire, running around screaming, bits of their skin melting off or whatever as creatures of the apocalypse commit homicides or devour souls or just what have you, and Caruso’s cool as Fonzie the whole fucking time.

Conrad: That seems accurate with the little bits of it I’ve caught occasionally.

Marco: Also, it’s freakishly bright. Like, too bright and dayglo for even Miami.

Conrad: Okay.

Marco: It would not let me sleep! I turned over, looked at the flickering light patterns on the wall, like some kind of twisted variation on Plato’s Cave and I felt like Caruso was picking me up from the airport and driving me straight to madness!

Conrad: Caruso’s like that.

Marco: This is the guy from NYPD Blue to subjected America to his ass. Why would you want to see this man’s ass?!

Conrad: Or Dennis Franz for that matter.

Marco: Well… obviously. But, so I lay there, squeezing my eyes shut. But it was no good, man. I knew that Caruso was in the room with me. Putting his fucking sunglasses on. Or worse.

Conrad: Worse?

Marco: He could’ve been taking them off again…

Conrad: Okay, so this was the nightmare?

Marco: Oh, no, this was real. Deadly real. Eventually I must’ve passed out from all the stress of his ontological torture and when I woke up, of course, A&E was still on, right?

Conrad: Yeah, of course.

Marco: So, the sun is shining through the window, birds are chirping little songs and I’m a little tired, but I’m breathing a sigh of relief. I’m all like, “Thank God, it’s morning, I made it. I survived!”

Conrad: This is going somewhere bad, isn’t it?

Marco: You bet your goofy ass it is, my friend. Because there on the TV…

Conrad: Yeah?

Marco: Motherfucking Chris Daughtry was on the TV. Somebody was actually interviewing him!

Conrad: Ugh. Gross.

Marco: Exactly! Why would anyone want to interview that fucker? Why is he on the TV? Why did my day have to start with these violent images? It was like… last night I couldn’t enter the domain of sleep and now… Now I can’t be awake with this in the world!

Conrad: I feel like I need a drink now.

Marco: Me too. From just, you know, reliving that traumatic experience. From being the plaything of the sandman.

Conrad: So what was the nightmare?

Marco: Oh, the nightmare. Yeah, sorry. That was last night. I was like in a room, but I wasn’t. I was like “the camera” or whatever. Anyway, there was a little boy and he was trapped in the room. No windows, yet there was moonlight slipping around. And he was sleeping like a little shit does and then goblins crawled out of the cracks in the walls and out from under the bed and cut off his eyelids or something.

Conrad: Damn. I like that. I mean, that’s seriously creepy.

Marco: Yeah, it was something. When I woke up, I knew you’d love it.

Conrad: You were right. And goblins, you say? Wow. Goblins. That part is especially wild. People don’t throw around the word “goblins” all that much anymore.

Marco: Let me tell you something about goblins, my friend. Something you may not know. Something very few people may actually know.

Conrad: Do it.

Marco: Goblins, man. They’re no joke. They’re fucking scary, and they’re fucked up. And they will fuck you up. You understand me?

Conrad: Yes, I believe I do. But let’s talk about something important now. Let’s talk about me and my dreams. And my nightmares.

Marco: Take aim and fire away, baby.

Conrad: So, you know, I’ve been taking melatonin a lot lately, right?

Marco: Cause you can’t get your hands on ambien, right?

Conrad: Yeah, sorta. I got tricked into trying to go all natural, which is a sham. Whenever in doubt, just go with hard drugs.

Marco: Put that on a t-shirt.

Conrad: Don’t tempt me.

Marco: But I feel you. I have several friends who don’t realize they’re becoming recreational vicodin addicts, which is cool, cause this is America and shit. But I can’t do that stuff anymore. It gives me freaky nightmares. I mean, genuinely freaky nightmares. Like, where the goblins show up and tell me I’ll have erectile dysfunction for the rest of my life and or will be forever locked in a mortgage I can’t afford.

Conrad: As long as you’re not longer dreaming about Avril Lavigne, you’ll be fine.

Marco: I’ll have you know: That was a very special time in my life.

Conrad: Anyway… me. And my nightmare.

Marco: Do it.

Conrad: So, I guess you’re supposed to take melatonin only so much, right? Until it stirs up your… well, I don’t know. Something. Some kind of chemical. I’m not a trained doctor or anything. But you take it short term, you get some rest, you move on.

Marco: Gotcha.

Conrad: But I keep taking it because it gives me juicy nightmares. And I’m a horror movie fan.

Marco: I remember that you were a Freddy guy more than a Jason guy.

Conrad: Exactly! Anyway, so the one I had last night… Wowza.

Marco: Oh?

Conrad: Oh yeah. So I’m like wandering around in this fucked up, dark version of Chuck E. Cheese’s, right?

Marco: This already sounds terrifying.

Conrad: Oh, it was. Believe you me. It so was. And there’s all these fat, sweaty white people around me.

Marco: Your ultimate nightmare.

Conrad: My ultimate daymare, you mean. But there they are. And there’s famous gross white people there too. Like Jeffrey Dahmer.

Marco: I remember that Peanut used to date a guy who looked like Jeffrey Dahmer. Man, I hated that guy.

Conrad: Me too. Well, Dahmer, anyway. But he was the guy who, later on I discovered, didn’t belong in the dream. But there was other famous people too. Like Mary Kay Letourneau. And Roman Polanski. And Joey Buttafuoco. And Debra Lafave. And Pete Townshend. And Bobby Fisher. And Gary Glitter!

Marco: Oh shit. You were at a child molester convention!

Conrad: Exactly. By accident, of course. Once I realized what was going on, I was like, “Oh shit, I gotta get the fuck outta here!”

Marco: Shit. I hope so.

Conrad: So I take off for the door, right? But right as I get to it, I notice the little bulletin board listing who all the speakers are going to be at this thing.

Marco: So, it was like a proper convention then? With speakers and talks and things?

Conrad: Yes! Terrifying, right?

Marco: Very.

Conrad: So I’m running my finger down the board, just looking at all the famous names. I remember that R. Kelly was on there, of course.

Marco: Right. Yeah. “Age ain’t nothing but a number,” after all.

Conrad: And then I get to the end. The keynote speaker.

Marco: Ooh, this is going to be good, isn’t it? Who was it?

Conrad: I’m not bullshitting you here. It was Jon Gosselin.

Marco: Oh… wow.

Conrad: I know, right?

Marco: Yeah. Wow. Eeesh.

Conrad: But, whereas everyone else had their name and like a title of what their speech was going to be about or whatever, after his name… there was just one word. One single word.

Marco: What was it?

Conrad: It was simply… “Gangsta.”

Marco: Oh. My.

Conrad: Uh huh. It shocked me away. And I sat there, in my bed, just catching my breath from the sheer intensity of the thing. And I just whispered it back to myself. “Gangsta.”

Marco: Wow…

Conrad: Yeah, I know.

Marco: Yeah.

Conrad: Yeah.

Marco: Yeah, uh… let’s talk about something else, okay?

WORD

platitude [plat-i-tood, -tyood] n. 1. a flat, dull, or trite remark, esp. one uttered as if it were fresh or profound 2. the quality or state of being flat, dull, or trite: the platitude of most political oratory

BIRTHDAY

Bartomoleo Bandinelli (1493), Elizabeth Cady Stanton (1815), Auguste Rodin (1840), Karl Marx (1897), Jo Stafford (1917), Kim Hunter (1922), Charles Manson (1934), Mills Lane (1936), Booker T. Jones (1944), Al Michaels (1944), Neil Young (1945), Megan Mullally (1958), Sammy Sosa (1968), Tonya Harding (1970), Tevin Campbell (1976), Ryan Gosling (1980), Anne Hathaway (1982)

STANDPOINT

One things that bugs the shit out of me is when someone, after finding I lean toward the indie rock persuasion in terms of music listening, will classify me as a “music snob.”

The reason it irks me is because it’s simply not true. Well, not completely true anyhow. There’s truth to the idea I look down my nose at artists like Pink, Britney Spears and Kanye West. But it’s only because I think that those artists (and about a million more) really concentrate on finding new ways to suck. And not just at music. At life, as well.

However, if you like those artists and want to listen to them, feel free. Yu can turn them on and dance around your living room and scream the moronic lyrics at the top of your lungs for all I care.

You see, because while I have discerning musical tastes, I am all for you listening to whatever makes you happy. Even if that same music makes me uncontrollably sad. Listen to what you like. It’s your choice.

The problem I have is when someone like you tries to engage me in some sort of debate about musis, lecturing me on the finer, more subtle points of music. Here’s where I gotta stop you.

As I stated before, listen to what you like. But, please, for both our benefit make no attempts to persuade me one way or another about the musical merits of the new Green Day album or how I don’t really understand what Taylor Swift is really singing about. I do. I get it. And, as you’ve made a conscious decision to like that kind of thing, I’ve chosen to go the exact opposite way with my listening pleasure.

So when you call me a “music snob,” you should not be too surprised when the next 30,000 words that come out of my mouth are directed squarely at you, your intellgence and your lack of depth.

Because, really, what’s the difference between you accusing me of being too deep to understand the simplicity of simple music, and me accusing you of being too much of a simpleton to understand the simplicity of great music?

Guess that clears that up. Glad we had this talk.

QUOTATION

What is the feeling when you’re driving away from people, and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It’s the too huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies. → Jack Kerouac

TUNE

Seems like a ton of bands are doing the return-to-rock thing. (See Kings of Leon, My Morning Jacket) Usually, I dislike these trends. Furthermore, I hate being told what to like by anyone. But, being the music geek I am, forcing myself to listen to everything I possibly can (within limits) is something I just need to do. And, sometimes, I stumble upon a band that, despite myself, I kind of really dig. Like Alberta Cross, the NYC-based via London band that just released its debut album, Broken Side of Time. Check out “ATX.”

GALLIMAUFRY

→ THR.com has published a list of the top male TV earners. Tops? Simon Cowell at $75 million a year. No surprise there. Number 10 was a bit of a surprise, though. David Caruso at $9 million per year. All you hammy actors out there have some hope. (Personally, I love watching Caruso in CSI:Miami.)

→ I posted this on Facebook yesterday but I had to share it again here. This is one of the most ridiculous commercials I’ve ever seen. And up here in Phoenixville PA, it’s on like non-stop. It’s for KIA of West Chester and it’s almost making me want to got there and pretend I want to buy a car. Just to see if these dudes are equally hopped-up off camera. My favorite part is when the one dude, Anthony, gets cut off in the middle of the catch phrase, “THAT’S CRAAAZY!” Indeed.

→ The dude who started the Twitter account @shitmydadsays has signed a TV deal with CBS, after signing a book deal recently. Congrats, brother. I love it when stuff like that happens. My favorite tweet of his so far? “Son, no one gives a shit about all the things your cell phone does. You didn’t invent it, you just bought it. Anybody can do that.”

House é o nono da lista

Segundo a Reuters, em Los Angeles, a Forbes soltou a lista dos homens mais bem pagos do horário nobre da TV americana, baseando-se nos lucros de 01 de junho de 2008 a 01 de junho de 2009:

1. Simon Cowell, US$ 75 milhões
2. Donald Trump, US$ 50 milhões
3. Ryan Seacrest, US$ 38 milhões
4. Charlie Sheen, US$ 21 milhões
5. Steve Carell, US$ 20 milhões
6. Howie Mandel, US$ 15 milhões
7. Kiefer Sutherland, US$ 13 milhões
8. Jeff Foxworthy, US$ 11 milhões
9. Hugh Laurie, US$ 10 milhões
10. David Caruso, US$ 9 milhões

Leia mais clicando aqui.

Para os ansiosos pelo crossover entre as franquias de ‘CSI’, vai aqui uma pérola: David Caruso imitando Laurence Fishburne vice-versa!

O crossover vai ao ar no dia 09 de novembro.

Le nom de cet acteur ne vous dit rien ? Allons, c’est le chef de la police scientifique de Miami… en tout cas dans Les Experts à Miami. Horatio Caine donc, est un personnage à part. Physiquement d’abord, il ne réunit aucun des atributs qu’Hollywood a l’habitude d’offrir à ses héros des temps moderne. Pas de musculature travailllée, un peu voûté, roux, pas cascadeur pour un sou, etc. Pourtant, sa personnalité et ses aphorismes reconnaissables à des kilomètres en font un flic attachant. le Net ne pouvait pas laisser passer ça ! Alors que je vous parlais dernièrement du site très drôle dédié à la personnalité de Chuck Norris qui permet à tout internaute d’attribuer au karatéka une réplique typique de ses personnages manichéens, on retrouve un peu le même phénomène autour d’Horatio Caine.

Prenez un strip aux cases vierges et complétez-le en respectant la charte des scénaristes qui doivent eux se creuser la tête pour renouveler à chaque épisode la phrase qui claque avant le YEEAAAAHHHHH…!! du générique.

Le strip aux cases vides

Quelques exemples

…Et une compilation des aphorismes maison… en anglais… désolé. Il faudrait qu’un fan français s’y mette !

Source

It’s hard not to think about people recovering from mistakes these days. Mickey Rourke is back, thanks to The Wrestler. David Caruso came back with CSI: Miami (although, in truth, he was always working – we just didn’t see everything he did). The November issue of Men’s Health has a cover story about Jason Bateman, who has an adult career thanks to Arrested Development. Consider John Travolta’s career before Quentin Tarantino plucked him out of obscurity for Pulp Fiction. Hey, I can go back further than that – Kurt Russell was a Disney child actor until director John Carpenter cast him as Elvis in a TV movie. That led to them teaming up for The Thing and Big Trouble in Little China. Let’s not forget the 86-year drought of the Boston Red Sox!

Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure that work continues to be a struggle for these people. I’m sure that producers and directors (the actors’ equivalent of hiring managers) have misgivings or second thoughts every time one of these men goes for a part. The thing is, we all make mistakes and we can all learn something from people who’ve recovered.

• Learn. If you need to speak with a professional, do it, but learn from the events in your life. Really dig. Ask people to be honest with you about your mistake.
• Apologize. Don’t say “I’m sorry.” Nobody cares that you feel sorry about your mistake. On the other hand, when you say “I apologize,” you’re taking responsibility and ownership. That helps people take the first step to forgiving you.
• Grow. If some part of your life or your psychology is self-destructive, deal with it and overcome it.
• Endure. Never give up. Keep trying. Stick with it. You will succeed.
• Love. Positive energy is catching. It’s engaging and addictive. You’ve got to find a way to put the baggage of your mistake aside and move forward with joy in your heart.
• Deliver. You’re only going to get so many second chances. Make the most of each one. Bring your A-game.

… or inspire you.

I’ve been sketching some of my favorite tv characters to warm up before I start drawing comic pages. I need to work on the likenesses a bit, though.

-Z

The Exorcist trailer - Saw this in a college class and then had to walk home across campus in dense fog. Didn’t sleep a wink that night, nor did most of my friends. Yes, it was a Jesuit college.

Halloween trailer - I saw this screened at a NACA convention in a small classroom with about twenty people. At a critical point in the movie – when you could hear a pin drop - the guy next to me goosed the girl in front of him and she rocketed skyward with a bloodcurdling scream, which made most of us soil ourselves. Then a walk back across a foggy campus where the film distributor hired a Michael Meyers lookalike to drop from a tree. (I’m still washing that pair of shorts.)

The Blair Witch Project trailer - The very last scene makes no sense if you didn’t pay close attention in the beginning. If you did pay attention, it will scare the shit out of you. Kudos to the creators who took a shoestring budget and made one of the best viral movies ever, with special thanks for making that scary ending so subtle. Hope the creators of Paranormal Activity are slipping these guys a few bucks. 

House on Haunted Hill trailer - Where I grew up in NYC there was an afternoon matinee called Million Dollar Movie that aired from around 4:30 until 6:00. Occasionally they would show the same film Monday through Friday. I remember watching this film every day for five straight days and still jumping ten feet in the air every time scene with the “floating woman” came by…god, that still creeps me out! Starring Vincent Price at his smarmiest and featuring the always willing to chew scenery Elisha Cook, Jr. They have remade this movie several times but nothing touches the original.

Session 9 trailer - Contemporary horror movies are mostly gorefests. This was a thinking person’s movie, where the horror was deeper than any axe blade could cut. I thought David Caruso might even have resurrected his film career with this one, but I guess I was wrong. Subtle and pensive but very, very creepy.

The Shining trailer - Ever watched someone go insane right before your eyes? (Married people, step back.) Jack Nicholson channeling palpable dread… tempered only by the fact that I wanted to kill Shelley Duvall myself. Redrum!

Psycho trailer - Alfred Hitchcock’s movie trailers are better than some people’s movies. The screeching score was as much a part of the fright as the visuals. A landmark classic.

Rosemary’s Baby trailer - The scariest films are sometimes the ones with the most plausible characters (apart from the whole Satanic thing, of course). What brilliance to cast condo dwellers as the evil ones? Conspiratorial horror. I never looked at Ruth Gordon the same way again (even in Harold and Maude I wondered if she would snap Bud Cort’s neck and eat him).

Night of the Living Dead trailer - Yep, no big names, cheesey by modern standards, but at the time one of the creepiest movies ever made. You don’t spawn that many sequels and imitators by sucking!

Phantasm trailer - Speaking of cheeseball, some of the sets and (lack of) costumes will make some think it’s a lame movie, but when The Tall Man enters the screen, all bets are off. The last scene of this movie is one of the scariest moments on film. And has there ever been a better horror movie name than Angus Scrimm? Ice cream trucks, ponytails and the sphere.

Mental Floss

On 9-19-09 Ideal Impressions had the opportunity to photograph a the Wedding of Lisette & Donald Blust for Dynamic Events. So Yesterday I made a trip up to the Third Ward to visit David Caruso and drop off a 24×36 Canvas print and album from the wedding.

Delivery anyone?!

To see all the images from our visit CLICK HERE!

with subtitles.

A ratings winner for sure!

Photo source: Punditkitchen.com

Y’all know how we feel about David Caruso and CSI: Miami.  CBS needs to make this happen.

Speed Dial (PG-13)

Incomprehensible, Hollywood remake of the Japanese horror classic: Great Buddha! by Bestowing Most Favoured Friend Status on You, via Phone Function, I Condemn You to a Cruel Death (R).

An attractive blonde teen’s equally attractive teen friends are dying in mysterious and violent circumstances. First the Asian one… Then the black one… Even the disabled one…

With the help of hunky cop (David Caruso), the blonde discovers that they’re being killed in the order in which they’re placed on her speed dial.

Could the killer be teen ex-boyfriend (Matt LeBlanc) in a deranged attempt to regain the coveted No. 1 spot? Yes.

Look out for the lazy sequel ‘Speed-Dial 2: By The Numbers’

Some gems from email, facebook and some of my favorite websites that I came across this week.

“I can’t imagine what he could do that could be so scandalous. Unless he was like, nude with a snake or something.”

- RetroVixen’s Mom on Adam Lambert

“You never know about those glam rockers…..”

- swampmusic on Adam Lambert nude with a snake

At some point during this photo shoot he was nude

“The Cold Truth: It’s a numbers game, and if you date enough, one of them is going to work.”

- Ayn Rant on Online Dating

“Do you have to wear a paper bag over your head when you masturbate?”

- Ayn’s hubby to some unfortunate dude.

“Can I call him Chief Anti-Masturbation Agent next?”

- Nibby’s special request of Ayn’s husband

“That was the worst part of being single: married people giving you advice on how to be as miserable as they were.”

- Ayn

“Ernest Hemingway is a guy that was so manly you grow a beard just reading his name.”

- Cracked.com

Photo source: Warming Glow

“I want to break his shades, shit on the pieces and then launch them into outer space. I am only reacting the way David Caruso would to David Caruso.”

- Nibby

“OMG. WHO CHASES TORNADOES ON A BIKE?”

- swampmusic on Balloon Boy’s Dad’s odd hobbies

“I think the ugly-photo guy is actually cuter in the face than [the other] dude, or would be if he’d shave his head and get in shape. Either way — dinner’s on them.”

- Ayn Rant on Nibby’s dating options.

“Jay Leno’s show is a sign that NBC has quit the gym, stopped shaving her legs, bought elastic-waisted pants, and let herself go.”

- Nibby

“LOOK AT IT. IT’S LIKE ITS OWN ENTITY.”

- swampmusic on Freddie Mercury’s pornstache.

Prince of the Pornstache Universe

It’s not that I like it so much as I like to mock it. I think you get the idea.

Being a former border reporter and an eager student of social media, I am always keeping my eyes open for ways that these two interests of mine intersect. A couple examples from this year demonstrate how social media is playing a role in cross-border investigations.

I previously wrote how a blog called the
The Stalker Chronicles apparently helped Tijuana law enforcement officials find the alleged stalker of actor David Caruso earlier this year. (Read details of the case in this Feb. 20 Associated Press story).

And now a story in The Guardian sums up why it’s a good idea to understand what’s public and what’s not in Facebook – especially if you are a fugitive hiding out in Mexico.

According to the story (which I first read in Mashable), Maxi Sopo fled the United States earlier this year after allegedly getting involved in a fraud scheme and learning that investigators were looking into his possible involvement. Rather than lie low online as well as offline, Sopo started updating his Facebook status with descriptions of the good times he was having in Cancun. One of his Facebook “friends” was a former justice department official who apparently met Sopo at a Cancun nightclub and had no knowledge of Sopo’s fugitive status, according to the story. Read The Guardian for more details, but I would venture to guess that Sopo’s updates from jail probably aren’t so pleasant.

.

This gets tired after 30 seconds, but if you are one of the horrible people who have contributed to CSI Miami’s ratings then you deserve to have to sit through all 7+ minutes of this ‘brilliant’ acting.

I want to break his shades, shit on the pieces and then launch them into outer space.

We regret to inform “All the Single Ladies” out there, but Jared Leto is gay. Like, really, really gay. He’s got his hair flared-up. He’s wearing sunglasses without the full tint, and he’s wearing leather. On a regular day, in the summer, he’s wearing leather. Come to think of it when is Leto not wearing leather?

However, there still is no actual “proof” that Leto likes the cock as much as, say, Lindsay Lohan, Cameron Diaz, or even Tila Tequila (although he dated them all), but we’re on to him.

But why do we even begin to think this, you ask? Well, we answer that with another question: What’s gay-er than gay? I mean, short of naming your emo rock band 30 Seconds to Mars.

How about firing your band team management a month before you release your new album? With a tour in the work, Leto went balls-out into an “I’m the boss” tirade, citing artistical difference (he actually didn’t cite anything. we’re just saying that.), and complaining about the direction and focus of the CD.

I know, I know, we’re not actually talking about the whole gay thing. Well, before we just always thought he was a beautiful little actor who also jumped around in front of his playful, wrist-cutting band. But after being made aware of the fact that he once said he was “Gay as a goose”, we just had to take it one step further.

So, no, we don’t have any concrete evidence. But we get a feeling this guy will uncover the truth:

This was the last thing Leto had up his ass.

(Editor’s Note: We doubt Leto is actually gay. But it’s funny to ponder about it.)

With episodic season in full swing, now is the best time to be meeting primetime casting directors.  Actor’s Ed is offering workshops with some of the brightest including Dorian Frankel from PARKS AND RECREATION and CURB YOUR ENTHUSIASM, Sara Issacson working on the hit FOX series FRINGE, Kendra Castleberry working on both CASTLE and THE GHOST WHISPERER  and the legendary Nan Dutton working on the long running CSI: MIAMI starring David Caruso.  While the New York Yankees, LA Dodgers and Angels and the Philadelphia Phillies battle it out for the chance to play in the World Series, actors on both coasts strive to succeed in the primetime television arena.  The workshops offer the actor not only an opportunity to network with a casting professional but to get educated about the  primetime casting process. For more information, e-mail actors_ed@yahoo.com

I wasn’t planning to make Session 9 the ninth instalment of my exploration of my horror movie DVD collection. It just worked out that way.

This movie absolutely nailed me, strapped me down and hurt me badly. I wasn’t expecting it. All I knew was what the label on the back of the DVD box told me, but that was enough for me to rent it (and, later, buy it). It didn’t say much. A crew is brought in to clear the asbestos out of an abandoned mental hospital that might not be as empty as they think. That’s all I knew.

I am an easily distracted person. As I type this, I am listening to a live podcast and keeping track of the world on two different computer screens. And I’m focused on all those things. It’s an odd facet of my mental makeup, something that helped me in my career as a reporter and editor, but also something that drives me crazy when I’m stuck somewhere dull without a book or laptop.

Session 9 made me stop and watch. From the opening scene to the closing credits, I didn’t look away. I couldn’t. The mood is set from the beginning, a combination of gritty camera work, haunting, understated music and the kind of excellent editing I rarely notice. I could not take my eyes away from the screen as the powerful, frightening, tragic tale unfolded.

The main character, Gordon, is played by Peter Mullan, an actor I don’t know well. He’s a troubled family man with a new baby. Gordon leads the team, which also includes David Caruso, Josh Lucas and Brendon Sexton III as Gordon’s nephew, who is learning the ropes. The hospital they’re sent to is a real place, the ruins of an old psychiatric centre in Massachusetts, a sprawling, gothic pile with tunnels, outbuildings, lost rooms and decaying cellars.

Stephen Gevedon (who also co-wrote it) plays worker Mike, who wants to quit to go to law school. Day after day, he sneaks away from his work and hides in the basement, listening to the old reel-to-reel patient interviews he finds. And as he does, he awakens something in the hospital. Is it supernatural? Is it a forgotten patient, hidden away? Mysteries and secrets build as the story whips forward.

Sometimes you can see a cast loving their work. You can see that they believe in their project. Session 9 is one of those films. You can see the actors buying into writer/director Brad Anderson’s concept of a different kind of horror movie, a different kind of thriller. This is most evident in Sexton (who was memorable in Welcome To The Dollhouse) and Caruso, an actor I usually cannot stomach. Caruso proves in Session 9 that he is, at least, a two-note actor, and one of those notes is pretty good (not the one on TV). Anderson takes chances with camera work, with story, with horror cliches, and it works every single time. This is a rare example of a perfect film, and an even rarer example of a perfect horror film.

It’s tragic that so few people have seen this. That should change. It has to.

WORD

recondite [rek-uhn-dahyt, ri-kon-dahyt] adj. 1. dealing with very profound, difficult, or abstruse subject matter: a recondite treatise 2. beyond ordinary knowledge or understanding; esoteric: recondite principles 3. little known; obscure: a recondite fact

BIRTHDAY

Kenny Baker (1912), Buddy Rich (1917), Truman Capote (1924), Elie Wiesel (1928), Angie Dickinson (1930), Johnny Mathis (1935), Frankie Lymon (1942), Barry Williams (1954), Fran Drescher (1957), Eric Stoltz (1961), Crystal Bernard (1961), Trey Anastasio (1964), Kathleen Madigan (1965), Jenna Elfman (1971), Kieran Culkin (1982)

STANDPOINT

There’s a bunch of things drawing my ire today, but nothing I’m prepared to expound on. In the meantime, check these out.

CSI: Miami’s David Caruso’s endless opening one liners.

From 1959, an interview with Jack Kerouac from The Steve Allen Show.

A video that should convince of Eric Lindros‘ ultimate prowess in the NHL.

QUOTATION

An ordinary man can… surround himself with two thousand books… and thenceforward have at least one place in the world in which it is possible to be happy. ← Augustine Birrell

TUNE

Sometimes, you can listen to a song 405 times. Obviously, you dig the song. Or, at least, that’s what the Play Count on your iPod is trying its best to indicate. But then, you’ve got your earbuds in while  sitting on the back porch during your favorite time of day. You’re thinking about a certain aspect of your life, pondering what’s happened and what the future might have in store. And the song comes on. For the 406th time. Due to your mindset, and the particulars occupying your brain, you hear that song again, but, also, for the first time. That happened to me about a week back. I finally heard “Turn On Me” in the exact right context. The lyrics are really kind of awesome. Truthfully, I’d kind of soured on The Shins, but I’m back to thinking James Mercer got the goods.  

GALLIMAUFRY

→ I love reading stories about people who, in the face of adversity, do things I don’t think I’d be capable of doing. Here’s the story of Ken Green. Dude was in an RV, driven by his brother, riding with his girlfriend and his dog. The RV crashed. He was the only survivor and had to get his leg amputated. And, still, the man wants to keep golfing. The human spirit can be inspiring from time to time.

→ Despite my cynical bluster, I’m a perpetual optimist. Even so, I thought, after Donovan McNabb went down in Week 1, and the Philadelphia Eagles announced Kevin Kolb would be the starter in his absence, no good would come from it. I was wrong. Kolb only managed to become the ONLY NFL quarterback to throw for over 300 yards in his first two starts ever.

→ Often, like all of us, experts can be wrong. “When Pounds Go Away, Sleep Apnea May Improve” seems to be an article making complete sense. In the past year and a half, I’ve lost 50 lbs. But my sleep apnea has gotten worse. My doctors are a bit baffled/tickled by it. I’m glad it’s something novel and out-of-the-ordinary for them. Guess it breaks up their days to wonder why. However, last week I slept next to someone who struggled to get herself air about 80% of the night. Kinda scary shit. Just give me the CPAP machine all ready. I don’t care how “unsexy” it is.