I don't have to find a reason to post an old picture of gorgeous Ann-Margret but thanks to the past activities of her parents, now I have one.
I don't have to find a reason to post an old picture of gorgeous Ann-Margret but thanks to the past activities of her parents, now I have one.
Who knew gymnastics was so...counterculture?
I ask this as a joke, of course, though there's always been something different and, dare I say, weird about female competitive gymnastics. Those hard-nosed, nutty coaches; those girls giving up regular social life for perfecting a bouncy floor routine and running 50 mph towards a pummel horse; those teeny weenie muscle-bound bodies, which often appear stunted from excessive exercise. Gymnastics, though beautiful and inspiring, is definitely not the norm for young, growing girls.
Which is exactly what Jessica Bendinger attempts to tap into and, in the end, bust apart with her directorial debut, Stick It. A teen movie in which the rigid rules of gymnastics will be shaken by a brash but talented outsider, Stick It works its pseudo radical message powder-puff light. Extending a very ladylike middle finger to rules and coaches and controlling parents, the movie is well meaning, but too fluffy to be taken seriously.
But that's part of the point—this isn't Chariots of Fire, it's a cute, "spunky" comedy about gymnastics. And often, in some of the film's extended and entertaining tumbling sequences (the best inspired by Busby Berkely--very sexy), too cute for words. Leading the procession of cuteness is the film's heroine, Haley Graham (Missy Peregrym), a mixed-up teen whose considerable talent for gymnastics has been squandered by rebellious behavior and run-ins with the law. After choking and walking out on the World Championships two years ago (leading her team to lose), she's been, as one gymnast states, a "Pariah Carey." So when a court order forces her to re-enter the sport via the training school of the legendary Burt Vickerman (Jeff Bridges), no one's especially excited to see her.
But her "punk rock" attitude (as seen in her parade of Black Flag, Bad Brains, and Motorhead rock T-shirts--thank you Hot Topic), though frustrating to her coach, eventually wins over and influences her teammates. Yearning to express themselves past the rigid, outdated guidelines created by "jealous" gymnastic judges, the gymnasts will turn the third act of the film into a declaration of personal victory.
Though the film's twist is an entertaining jolt to the standard sports story, its vision of integrity over points is executed with a surprising lack of finesse. And though the performances are all likable (Peregrym will be a much bigger star after this picture) and Jeff Bridges is his usual endearing self, the movie often feels forced. Unlike the clever punch of Bendinger's cheerleading comedy, Bring It On(which she wrote), Stick It tries too hard. The film isn't really "sticking it"; it's wearing it—like a tiny T-shirt that says "Girls Kick Ass." And what would Black Flag think about that?
Some great DVD's released this week including Classic Musicals from the Dream Factory, the The Emilio Miraglia Killer Queen Box Set, Fists in the Pocket: The Criterion Collection, Guys & Dolls: Deluxe Edition (Brando sings!), The Robert Altman Collection, Crumb: Special Edition (review up soon) and Three Extremes 2 (you can read my review here).
As for now, three obsessions:
1. Holly Holy by Neil Diamond What is it about this song? It should be supremely cheesy, a kitschy spiritual journey via Mr. Crackling Rosie himself (I mean, look at the above picture). But when the song builds to Diamond-esque gospel cries of “Yeah! Yeah!” I become all moved and happy and dear God, dare I say inspired. I love Neil Diamond but this song makes me think he’s some kind of magical genius.
2. Nightfall Here’s a story that’ll prove how insanely obsessed I am with this movie. Years back, this brilliant Jacques Tourneur film starring Aldo Ray, Brian Keith and Anne Bancroft had a rare showing during a Noir Festival in Portland. After the movie, I was so thrilled about it that I looked all over for a VHS copy. It was out of print. But sneakily, my boyfriend at the time discovered a copy and didn’t tell me. He knew I’d be pissed because I was all a twitter about the thing. When I found out, I was a little annoyed but he was my boyfriend and, well, I could watch it anytime I wanted. But then we broke up. So during a night of anger I stole the movie out of his house when he was gone. Bad...I know. But, to be fair to myself, I was returning a bunch of his crap and knowing how to get into his house, I dumped all the stuff and then browsed his movies and thought…this belongs to me. OK, so I kinda sorta broke into his house (jimmied a lock, etc.) but…still. And we’re friends now so it’s all fine. He also got the movie back (dammit). And he still has my original Japanese film poster for The Outlaw so really, he doesn’t deserve to have Nightfall back. Anyway, I was able to watch it again last week during the American Cinemateque’s Noir Festival and the 1957 picture remains as fresh and mean and stunningly photographed as I remember. Brian Keith is his usual fascinating, relaxed, natural self (even when playing evil) and the strapping Aldo Ray is something—pity his career couldn’t have been bigger. If you find a copy of this movie (it's still out of print and never released on DVD), I urge you to buy it. Or better yet, send it to me.
3. Clifton's Cafeteria I love downtown Los Angeles and venture there nearly every weekend. I’ve had people who live here tell me they never go downtown—they think it’s depressing. Too bad for them. Sure, there’s scores of homeless people, crack addicts and creeps but there’s also, well, nice people, lots of bizarre shops, cultural flavor (you don’t see many fake boobs downtown), historic architecture and of course Clifton’s Cafteteria. Opened in 1935, the three story cafeteria located on Broadway (amidst all the beautiful old movie theaters) showcases a redwood forest, a chapel, waterfalls, babbling brooks and an entire upper level adorned with red velvet wallpaper. The food (that I always eat entirely too much of) ranges from yummy to so-so (their deserts are delicious) but it doesn’t really matter. Finding this kind of old Los Angeles ambience is rare. And I love the Moosehead—it reminds me of my childhood.
Getting intimate with the bear...
If you've ever wanted to watch pop chanteuse Björk as she dresses and primps before revealing yet another one of her elaborate outfits, here's your chance. And if you've ever wondered what she'd look like with a nifty human blowhole, this is the movie you've been waiting for.
As an actress/co-conspirator in Matthew Barney's latest contemporary art installation/inflated-budget avant-garde film, Drawing Restraint 9, Björk (who provides music for the film as well) is a weirdly calming presence. Love her or hate her, there's something impishly mysterious about her face and demeanor. As demonstrated in Lars von Trier's Dancer in the Dark, and some of her more inspired music videos, the Icelandic pixie was made to be photographed.
Which fits perfectly with the enigmatic segments in Barney's film. He's an artist notable for his much-hyped, much-praised (and much-despised) art-theater installation, The Cremaster Cycle which like Drawing Restraint provokes questions. Is this art, as in so-called profound high art? Or is this an elaborately filmed fashion spread with an ever-hip Japanese edge? And, if it is the latter, why can't a fashion spread be considered art?
Putting such questions aside (I don't have the space to discuss the current state of contemporary art), what of the more filmic aspects? Does it contain impressive, evocative cinematography? Is it interesting to watch? Is it saying anything? Do we care?
For the most part, no.
Drawing Restraint 9 is a nearly wordless film that contains no plot, is occasionally poorly edited, and runs two and a half hours. Barney (whose presence I found irritating) and Björk board a Japanese whaling ship, where workers cut into what appears to be a large slab of Tofu. The "Occidental Guests," Björk and Barney, sit in rooms engaging in ritualistic behavior that's both fetishistic and confining. Fussed over by their Eastern hosts, the two dress in elaborate Japanese costume, complete with fur cloaks and shells tied to their backs. They walk, rather uncomfortably, one presumes, down narrow ship hallways to enter a room where they drink tea. They rarely talk, and they dutifully wear or take whatever their hosts provide In the meantime, the seamen craft a grand yet simple sculpture from Vaseline.
Does this have something to do with whaling? Not really. This is about human relations and art. Barney writes in the press kit that the heart of the piece is "the relationship between self-imposed resistance and creativity." Okay, fine. But do we care? Not this viewer. The only time I felt anything was during the film's beautifully gory finale, in which Barney moves into the territory of Japanese and Korean horror. But even as he showcases the film's most exciting, engrossing moments, I can't help but wonder what filmmakers Takashi Miike or Ki-duk Kim would have done with this material.
Or rather, what they've already done with this material. Only as a movie—and most definitely as art.
I'm willing to suspend some serious disbelief when it comes to glamour in politics—and really, it's not that tough. I live in a state where my governor is himself a movie star.
But Kim Basinger as First Lady of the free world? And Eva Longoria as an, ahem, Secret Service agent? Why not Jessica Alba as a Supreme Court Justice? Pam Anderson as a wizened Speaker of the House? Condoleezza Rice donning black leather fuck me boots?
Wait. That already happened.
OK, so the ladies looks aren't really that important in the newest presidential imbroglio, The Sentinel. A middling picture that at best, reveals some interesting inner workings of the Secret Service and at worst, plays like a boring night of TV watched at your mom's. You know, when there's no cable and you actually sit through an entire episode of Law and Order.
Only it's not as good.
Directed, sans personality by Clark Johnson (who made the lukewarm S.W.A.T), the film stars Michael Douglas as Pete Garrison, a veteran Secret Service agent who stopped a bullet for President Reagan in 1981. Now the legendary and apparently virile Garrison is assigned to protect the First Lady (a toned-down, spaced out, but still gorgeous Basinger), with whom (scandal!) he's secretly sleeping.
Meanwhile, another agent is killed, and his former protégé, David Breckinridge (Kiefer Sutherland), is put in charge of the investigation. On top of working on the case and schooling a new partner (Longoria, who, come to think of it, would make for a good agent because no one would believe she was one—they'd think her earpiece was a cell phone), Breckinridge begins suspecting a mole within the ranks who's plotting to assassinate the President. When Garrison fails a polygraph test for hiding his affair with the First Lady, he's suspect Numero Uno.
What to do? Well, he's a gentleman, of course, so he runs and hides and attempts to clear his name and gets in big shouting matches with Kiefer Sutherland, which would be fine if this movie allowed these two fine actors any depth or engaging cat-and-mouse wordplay and action. Instead, a handful of incompetent Secret Service agents constantly eludes Garrison, who is, according to Breckinridge, "your worst nightmare."
Really? Who knew nightmares could be so lame. And tediously shot. Nabbing ideas from both The Fugitive and In the Line of Fire, The Sentinel never reaches those films' level of intrigue and tension. It just grows more preposterous and silly (the real bad guys are ridiculous) and, even worse, tiresome. It could have at least given viewers some fun pulpy action melodrama, but it doesn't, which is really a shame, since there's something pretty juicy about a Secret Service agent having an affair with the First Lady. (Did this ever happen with Jackie Kennedy?) Sadly, The Sentinel is a standard, cliched action thriller, not a bodice ripping Danielle Steele novel adapted by Clint Eastwood.
And, yes, I did just say "sadly" because a Danielle Steele adapation by Eastwood might be something special. Then again it could be The Bridges of Madison County.
OK, here's an idea. Though I'm not at all a fan of the show, maybe a little more input from Longoria was needed. Desperate White House Wives?
Nick and Jessica, Britney and K-Fed, Brangelina, TomKat...yes, I become irritated by these names. Especially the cutesy celeb combinations (what's the new one for Aniston--Vaughnifer? Vaughniston?). Such monikers and scandals and catty smack are thrown around with such regularity, you'd think we'd tire of it.
Guess what? We don't.
But honestly, we shouldn't be so hard on ourselves since celebrity scandals have been a national pastime for decades. Even Humphrey Bogart remarked years back that everyone secretly read that 50's celeb scandal rag, "Confidential," they'd just blame their maid for supposedly bringing it in the house. And you should read what rests within those salacious pages. Lesbians! Hopheads! Homewreckers! And the ever favorite, Commies!
So like today and without the internet ("Confidential" just wire-tapped people) loads of celeb couples of yore endured the same kind of "Brangelina" scrutiny back when our grandmothers were sock-hopping and dating sailors. So why am I writing this? To report on the current celebrity situations that mirror those of the past. Some things just never go out of style.
Then: Poor Debbie Reynolds. No Oprah, no Vince Vaughn, no Vogue, GQ or Vanity Fair photo spreads. But like today's "Team Aniston," the perky actress and singer touched the hearts of America to acquire her own "Team Reynolds" for playing abandoned wife to the hilt. After her crooner/actor husband Eddie Fisher fell for and married Reynolds' pal Elizabeth Taylor (the new couple later made Butterfield 8 together — have you seen what Liz looks like in that movie?), public opinion labeled gorgeous Liz a man stealer.
Now: A similar "Bermuda Triangle" (to quote Jennifer Aniston) manifested itself in the association of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie when the genetically blessed duo hooked up after filming Mr. and Mrs. Smith (have you seen what Angelina looks like in that movie?). Though Pitt and Jolie swear no affair took place (uh...yeah), a very Reynolds-like Aniston endured her crown as the most jilted woman on the planet. But if Jen knows her Hollywood history, she should secretly assemble a movie re-make for Jolie that would cause sweet, sweet revenge. What movie? Cleopatra.
Now: Oh, to be fashionable, beautiful, glamorous and ... addicted. Lovely Kate Moss ran around with the drug addled ex-Libertine, Babyshambles frontman Pete Doherty, until, well, technology caught up with her. Snorting lines of cocaine around people with camera phones is clearly NOT a good idea. But Ms. Moss wasn't the first runway superstar to show bad judgment, and you could say she was channeling the '60s and '70s drug excess of another gorgeous model/actress ...
Then: That's when Anita Pallenberg and Rolling Stone Keith Richards toyed with their reputed substance of choice, heroin, further sharpening the bad-boy image of Richards' band. Still, Kate wins the rock-star decadence award by her rumored method of concealment, one-upping Keith: Richards reportedly hid drugs in his children's stuffed animals, but Kate allegedly stashed contraband in a $70,000 Faberge egg. Which, sorry, fucking rules. It only makes me love her all the more. Some girls, indeed...
Now: Unless you've been living under a rock, you know Tom Cruise can't get over how "amazing" that "woman" Katie Holmes is. The superstar has even found the young actress with child (well, he had something to do with it) and reportedly indoctrinated her into his funky belief system — that little religion called the Church of Scientology. Though we may think this is seriously wacky behavior now, dig the shenanigans of another guy famed for Bringing Up Baby.
Then: Though Cary Grant never "jumped the couch" (yeah, yeah, sick of that phrase) for Dyan Cannon, he did hook up with, marry and impregnate the much younger actress, the fourth of his five wives. He also shocked the country with some far-out, uh, "therapy" with his own personal Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. That's right folks, Cary Grant dropped acid. He openly discussed the benefits of LSD (taken under a doctor's supervision, of course), claiming the drug aided him in confronting unresolved problems and controlled his drinking. And get this: The megastar dropped acid more than 100 times. You hep? 100 times. That's, like, more trips than our Deadhead friend Sunshine Rainbow Peace Explosion. It also makes him 500 times cooler than Tom Cruise.
Tweaked from my original story, read the rest of my list here.
Cinematic satire is always a slippery comedic slope. But going after your own? That takes some finesse, sophistication and stupid, stupid humor to pull off. For that reason, I have to admit that I'm looking forward to David Zucker’s Scary Movie 4.
It also got me thinking about all others who've tried and succeeded in cinematic lampoon-ery, resulting in a list of my favorite movie parodies. And keep in mind, these are films that include parodies of movies (hence, no Spinal Tap or Waiting for Guffman — two of the greatest satires in cinema history) and again, they're my favorites. Which may not necessarily mean the best. Although, I'd like to thinks so.
10. Scary Movie (2000)
Though Scream already played with the “rules” of the teen horror slasher genre, Scary Movie loaded a harpoon gun and nailed the sucker down. Directed by Keenen Ivory Wayans (no stranger to the parody with I’m Gonna Git You Sucka and his TV show, In Living Color) and co written with brothers Shawn and Marlon, Scary Movie works in the best tradition of the Zuckers and Abrahams’ Airplane! When it shoots, it scores. And when it misses, well, it just keeps chugging along with another zinger, making us forget the other second we didn’t laugh. And laugh we do—no matter how inane—as the film pokes fun at Scream, I Know What you Did Last Summer, The Sixth Sense and the ubiquitous ness of Carmen Elektra (who is quite funny). It even veers into non horror when taking on a sista watching Shakespeare in Love during which she shouts “that ain’t no man!”
9. Shaun of the Dead (2004)
Released the same year the terrific Dawn of the Dead remake graced theaters, director Edgar Wright and co-writer and star Simon Pegg’s Brit zombie flick Shaun of the Dead is a snappy and smart bit of Gen-X satire. Not mocking George Romero’s classic Night of the Living Dead series, Shaun of the Dead reveals what funny fan-boys would do if a Romero-like situation was happening in present day England. The answer? Well, at first, not a whole lot since they’re not even noticing the walking dead among them (everyone’s walking around like zombies anyway). But when the zombies are all too obvious (as in, you have to kill them with a Sade record), hero Shaun (Pegg) must save his friends and family while proving he’s not just a slacker loser. Though filled with exploding zombie heads and gore, the film is disarmingly sweet.
8. The Naked Gun (1988)
Working from their ultra uproarious TV show Police Squad, the creators of Airplane! and Top Secret cemented Leslie Nielsen as comic god—a unique combination of wacky straight man. Though Naked Gun mocks cop TV shows, it takes aim at plenty of cinematic police dramas with Lieutenant Frank Drebin (Nielsen) contending with an assassination plot against Queen Elizabeth II. There’s much to love here but a moment that gets me every time? When Queen Elizabeth II passes a hot dog to another patron sitting next to her at Dodger Stadium.
7. Fearless Vampire Killers (1967)
Roman Polanski may be well respected for his moving, harrowing picture The Pianist as well as the enduring classics Rosemary’s Baby and Chinatown, but the director clearly loves B movies. Sending up all those wonderful Hammer vampire films, the silly spoof finds a bumbling Polanski as assistant to a vampire hunter, wandering through the castle of evil Count Von Krolock (Ferdy Mayne) and his son Herbert (Iain Quarrier). Only problem is, the vampire is Jewish and that crucifix is useless. Slapstick, bumps in the night and a lovely Sharon Tate contribute to a movie in which the vampire says: "You got the wrong vampire girl!" Terrific, funky fun.
6. Team America: World Police (2004)
Though noted for its ribald attack on a certain liberal actor’s political involvement and well, I’ll just say it, puppet sex, South Park creators Matt Stone and Trey Parker’s Team America: World Police offers more than political lampoonery. It’s also a send-up of all those high-octane Jerry Bruckheimer/Michael Bay-inspired action pictures—one that earns its own song— Pearl Harbor. In a roundabout way, it also sends up the “important” political message of Michael Moore’s famed documentary Fahrenheit 911 by including a scene that depicts a hot dog guzzling Moore blowing himself up. Yes, that’s an easy target but much of the film’s point is how casually we can take our screen action—I mean come on—“America! Fuck Yeah?”
5. Wet Hot American Summer (2001)
David Wain and Michael Showalter's Wet Hot American Summer works as a parody of all those early to mid ‘80s teen camp movies like Meatballs or Little Darlings but it also works as a parody satirizing itself. Get it? If you’ve seen the absurdly hilarious movie, you’ll know what I mean. With loose, dumb, sometimes weirdly sophisticated humor mocking ‘80s flicks (from training sequences to teenage summer romance); Wet Hot American Summer is not for those who like their parodies obvious. Honestly, this film is way ahead of its time.
4. Cat Ballou (1965)
A movie that always makes me smile, Cat Ballou is a charming, sexy take on Western clichés parodying everything from the noble gunfighter to the feisty gal saving her daddy’s ranch. Jane Fonda is spunky and gorgeous, Lee Marvin (as a drunk) is brilliant, well earning his Oscar win and both Nat King Cole and Stubby Kaye as banjo playing balladeers are a decidedly virtuoso touch. It’ll take you days to get their songs out of your head.
3. Singin’ in the Rain (1952)
Wait. This is a beloved movie musical during which Gene Kelly famously taps through a downpour and Donald O’Connor runs straight up a wall to perform one of the most skillful back flips in movie history—right? Well, of course, but what many forget is that the film is a continuous spoof of the movie business—specifically that monumental time in 1927 when silent films made the unsteady turn to talkies. Sending up everything from silent screen acting (a lot of bug eyes and dramatic surprises--which, of course, wasn't always the case in silent cinema) to the screaming, Jodhpurs-wearing Cecil B. DeMille-like directors to the inability of some stars to actually talk on screen, the picture is a seamless mixture of musical genius and sophisticated satire. Sure, every musical sequence is unforgettable and Kelly is brilliant but so is Jean Hagen’s vocally challenged Lina Lamont, whose attempt at elocution lessons result in “An I cand stan’ ‘em!” Truly inspired.
2. Airplane! (1980)
Lampooning the ‘50s melodrama Zero Hour and Airport 1975 (Karen Black has to land the plane! Helen Reddy is a singing nun!), Jim Abrahams and David and Jerry Zucker’s hilarious Airplane! mixes movie humor with flat-out absurdity to a degree that almost seems funnier than it should be. Why funnier? Because it’s often just so stupid and yet…you’re laughing non-stop. This is where formerly “serious actor” Leslie Neilsen used his stiff B-acting chops for comedic purposes and became a comic legend. This is also where Barbara Billingsley (AKA Mrs. Cleaver) talked “jive,” Peter Graves talks about naked gladiators, two girl scouts get in a bar brawl and Ethel Merman hollers in a memorable cameo. Airplane! is a movie where you can actually dare someone not to laugh twice—and they’ll lose.
1. Young Frankenstein (1974), Blazing Saddles (1974) and High Anxiety (1977)
Mel Brooks uttered “It’s good to be the king” in History of the World Part 1 and, in terms of the cinematic spoofs— he should know. Brooks, whose three classic spoofs top my list as the holy trinity of movie parodies, is the reigning monarch of the genre. First off is Young Frankenstein (1974) Brooks' finest achievement and one of the funniest and most endearing movie spoofs ever made. Brooks pokes loving fun at James Whale's ‘30s horror pictures with a crazy-haired Gene Wilder playing Dr. Frankenstein to Peter Boyle’s inspired monster. Their rendition of “Putting on the Ritz” is absolutely genius. Next up is Blazing Saddles (1974) which tuned into the term “politically incorrect” before it was a part of our national lexicon (and comedic consciousness). A clever blending of western spoof with race relations, the movie finds mayor Harvey Korman (named Hedley Lamarr—a tweaking of the gorgeous 1940’s movie star) recruiting Cleavon Little as town sheriff—only he’s black—a major concern for the bigoted residents of Rock Ridge. Hi-jinks and lots of classic movie jokes ensue, one of the best encapsulated in the Marlene Dietrich-spoofing performance of Madeline Kahn as Lili Von Shtupp. Also look for Gene Wilder as the drunken Waco Kid. A few years later Brooks continued his movie love with High Anxiety (1977), an incredibly underrated parody of Alfred Hitchcock classics. Favorite moments? When Brooks is chased down by a flock of excitable, bowel-challenged birds and his lounge act performance of the title song. To this day, I can bust out— “Ooooh ziety! It’s you that I fear!” with the best of them. Did I mention Nurse Diesel? No one, not even Brooks himself, makes them like this anymore.
I am always behind on this column. It's such a standard that I don't even know why I bother to point it out. Needless to say, loads of DVD’s have been released since last post and I don't have time to list them but here's some of note. The Mel Brooks Box Set, The Busby Berkeley Collection, South Park's Seventh Season and...more and more and more.
Also, remember to buy Don't Deliver Us From Evil--a film that almost makes me both sapphic and satanic.
As of now, three obsessions:
1. Luficer Sam Syd Barrett penned it for Pink Floyd's 1967 Piper at the Gates of Dawn and it remains one of the bands hardest rocking singles. With a driving surf riff overlaid by dashes of Syd psychedelia and Rick Wright's whirring organ solo's, the song reminds us why Pink Floyd was so bad-ass and wonderfully elliptical with Barrett as driving member. And yeah, I know, I know, Syd Barrett is the true genius but, really, he is. Bat-shit bonkers or not. The song's also about his cat which, hate to use the "c" word, is cute. Cute and crazy.
2. Black Christmas I know it's way past the holiday and I've watched, worshipped and wrote about this 1974 movie before but re-visiting the bloody marvel is worth it any time of the year. It's just so goddamn good. Director Bob Clark (who would later craft that little subversive yuletide favorite A Christmas Story) made a first of its kind--a sorority house slasher flick, complete with deranged lunatic (whom you never see), extra crazy obscene phone calls and sexy girls--especially Margot Kidder and the gorgeous Olivia Hussey. Atmospheric, gorgeously shot, intriguing and filled with genuine fucking scares, Black Christmas is a masterpiece in any genre.
3. Rob Corddry This morning I interviewed The Daily Show correspondant, Curb Your Enthusiasm guest star (he was the sweet sex offender) and star of the hilarious, endearing and talent packed, Blackballed: The Bobby Dukes Story--a mockumentary about a shamed Paintball champion returning to the sport--and one you should definitely watch when it hits DVD (opening in New York April 13 and spreading to other cities through April and March). Not only is Corddry just plain nice but, not surprisingly, funny and super smart. Topics of conversation? Charles Bronson movies, cleaning the apartment while on drugs, Herman Hesse and in an admitted moment of gettin' pretentious, Ingmar Bergman--though he confessed he only appreciates the Swedish director via Woody Allen's movies. But I did convince him to check out The Virgin Spring since Max Von Sydow breaks out all kinds of whoop ass, even throws a kid across the room, smashing and killing him. Because that's how we should appreciate our Swedish movies--intensely violent. Which was wholly appropriate when Corddry confessed to watching both Transporter films the night before. Which made me like him even more.
When it comes to Paintball, don't ever wipe.