I’m writing this to apologize to anyone who was offended by my previous post.

First I want to apologize to Macauley Culkin himself. He was just a kid when he made Home Alone. His parents probably even forced him to do it. He was a victim of that movie just like I was. Sorry, man.

Second, I apologize to anyone who was offended by the implication that rape is funny. Rape is never funny. It’s just not.

However, when the person being raped by a giant lobster happens to know the lobster’s name, and you imagine that this might be a date rape situation, that’s funny, well, because it’s a lobster. (No date rape isn’t funny either. Geez, you’re a pain. Why do you always have to be so difficult? Will you just let it go for Pete’s sake?)

Some of you might respond to this by saying, “Sure lobster rape is funny, until someone loses an eye.” Well, frankly, I think that is hilarious! You are all comic geniuses, and I really hope we can be friends.

Last but not least, I’d like to apologize for this entire post. I should probably just delete it, but if I don’t and you see it, I’m sorry in advance.

Defined by dictionary.com:

camp

1. An affectation or appreciation of manners and tastes commonly thought to be artificial, vulgar, or banal.
2. Banality, vulgarity, or artificiality when deliberately affected or when appreciated for its humor.

John Waters is the King of Camp. Campy comedy is rarely even seen anymore outside of his films, and John himself has toned it down a bit in recent years. You have to go back to 1970 to see one of his stars being raped by a 15 foot lobster. (That was in Multiple Maniacs. If you are not familiar with camp, do not start your journey with this film or you’ll end up screaming in a padded cell.)

I know that this is because it is an under appreciated form of humor. I think that this has a lot to do with audiences being too stupid to get the joke. Shame on you, John, for not just “going there” anyway even if it means only a small audience can follow.

Mainstream is not all it’s cracked up to be. Audiences loved Home Alone, one of the blandest, most inane pieces of doggie doo ever to be put on film. Glorified mediocrity. No, I’m not linking to it. You know the movie. If you want it, find it yourself. (Yes, I’m quite bitter about the whole Home Alone thing. Mostly, because I heard so much hype and, therefore, wrongly assumed there had to be something funny about it.)

But, although John doesn’t do as many scenes as he used to that will actually make you throw up, don’t think for a minute that he has sacrificed his artistic integrity. No, Little Crissy’s sugar coma in Pecker proves that he has indeed kept his sense of the blatantly obscene in recent years. Although, I must admit that Cecil B. Demented, his most recent film, disappointed me greatly. I think it was fluff compared to his other work.

But, my point here is that you should see John’s films. All of them – except Cecil B. Demented. Just make sure you start with something more recent and work your way back. Polyester is the best John Waters film ever. It’s available in “Odorama” on DVD. Apparently, you have to buy the two dvd set to get the “Odorama” card. (It’s a card you are supposed to scratch and sniff at key points in the film. Not surprisingly, all the smells are bad ones amazingly reproduced for your non-enjoyment.)

See Toxic Avenger too. It’s not John Waters, but it’s pretty damn funny.

I think Clint Eastwood made the best western movie of all time. Unfortunately, a lot of folks mistakenly think that the movie is Unforgiven. Uh, those people are wrong. The Outlaw Josey Wales is the best western ever made.

I guess Unforgiven is a good film noir, but it is a lousy western. The Outlaw Josey Wales had just as much depth as Unforgiven without sacrificing any of its’ characters’ dignity to achieve it.

The character Josey Wales loses his family and home to Union Red Legs at the outset of the movie. He had been a peaceful man. But now, having lost everything he loved, he must go to war and ultimately becomes a fugitive who must constantly defend himself from bounty hunters and Union Soldiers alike.

Does he have a conscience? Sure. We see it demonstrated quite a bit. For example, at one point in the movie, he tries to warn a man who is after the reward money on Wale’s head. He says to the bounty hunter, “Dying ain’t much of a living , boy.”

The point of The Outlaw Josey Wales is that life should be respected and cherished. Wales wants to live peacefully with his friends and his freaky blond girlfriend. He offers his “word of life” to the Comanche Chief, Ten Bears. After he avenges the deaths of his wife and son, we know that, if he is ever left to his own devices, he won’t be doing any more killing.

Unforgiven says much the same thing. Sadly, though, Unforgiven seems to say it in the same whiny voice your grandmother might use if you forgot to call her on her birthday.

I know it’s an intentionally sad movie. It’s supposed to make you think. But, aren’t westerns supposed to be fun to watch?

Unforgiven displays the darkness of the human soul. Yeah, ok, sure, but where is my western?

So, here’s an Unforgiven quote for you. Clint’s character Munny says, “It’s a hell of a thing, killing a man. You take away all he’s got and all he’s ever gonna have.”

How thoughtful! He is the quintessential philosopher/gunfighter. Here’s the kicker, though. He’s saying this to another man!

I had never before in my life heard two men just talking about their feelings.
Men, historically, just don’t tell other men about it when they are feeling kinda weepy. They will tell women about their feelings, but most of them need to be coerced into doing even that. (Note: Men also don’t try to get other men to “open up”. You see the problem here? Realism.)

Not that this wouldn’t be totally acceptable behavior to me, except that the first time I ever saw this amazing display of male sensitivity was not on the Ricki Lake Show or even on Oprah. No, it was that conversation between Munny and “The Kid” in Unforgiven where he spouts off that line about what a “hell of a thing” it is to kill someone.

Cowboys are so open about their feelings and so emotional about death and dying. Wait, are we talking about Steel Magnolias? I see a striking parallel here.

But, I honestly got the impression while watching Unforgiven that the women of Steel Magnolias could have taken out the whole lot of Unforgiven “cowboys” without breaking even one manicured nail.

I can see it now. The Unforgiven “cowboys” are sitting around the saloon, reading some existential philosophy like Sartre and brooding as they so love to do. The Magnolia Gang just comes through the door and breaks every whiskey bottle in the place over their heads. Julia Roberts’ character Shelby has to give herself an insulin shot half-way through the fight, because she is diabetic. But, she goes back to kicking ass soon enough. In the end, the score is Magnolias 7, Unforgivens 0.

Clint, if you want to make a chick flick, make a chick flick. No one will judge you. Jus
t please don’t dress up a bunch of women in hats and boots and try to pass them off as cowboys. I’m not buying it. I didn’t bury my copy of Unforgiven, and I’ll tell you why. “Buzzards gotta eat, same as worms.”

My criteria for judging a movie’s merit is based on actually being entertained by it. I do not like movies that are so artsy I am constantly having to wonder, “What is the point? Where is the point?… Did I already miss the point when I was in the restroom earlier and now I’ll never even know if there was one?…Am I just stupid?… Wait. I think I get it now….No. Never mind. That’s not where it’s going…Is it over yet?”

So, what does make for a good flick? The simple answer is this: Arnold Schwarzenegger’s butt.

Does anyone else remember fondly how awesome Arnold’s naked butt looks in the first Terminator movie? They only show it for a second. But, that’s all it takes. You know that his is truly an ass to be feared. They show the good guy’s butt, too. His butt is sad and uninspiring. But, showing it right after Arnold’s is brilliant movie-making, and I’ll tell you why.

When we watch a horror flick, what scares us most? Vulnerability. (The example that comes to mind immediately is Jamie Lee Curtis trying to run from Michael Myers in Halloween II. It’s that much scarier, because her leg is already injured. Therefore, she is slower than normal and – bingo – vulnerable.)

Anyway, in Terminator, they demonstrate the vulnerability of the protagonist by showing Arnold’s rock-hard, beautiful butt. The good guy’s ass is scrawny and pathetic. The Terminator has buns of steel. As an audience, we can only fear for the poor bastard who must try to protect Sarah Connor in spite of his obvious inferiority to the machine that is just too damn sexy.

I’m looking forward to seeing T3: Rise of the Machines. What can I say? They should show Arnold’s butt again in this one.(Duh.) However, since he is one of the good guys in T3, they can’t show it right away or we’ll know there is nothing to fear. They should reveal it at the end (no pun intended) as sort of a secret weapon.

Look for more slightly horny movie reviews here this week. Tomorrow I’ll discuss Outlaw Josey Wales versus Unforgiven for best Eastwood flick. Hint: Younger, less grizzled Clint wins my vote.

About halfway through The Lizzie McGuire Movie, I screamed out, “Stop! I’ll tell you what you want to know! Just please don’t hurt me any more!”

I have a nine year old daughter – I have had to sit through a lot of really bad movies. The Lizzie McGuire thing was exceptionally bad. Someone must have really needed the money for that flaming piece of doggy doo to have been made.

But, while I was suffering through it, at least deep down, I knew that if I really couldn’t stand it any more, I could just take my daughter and leave the theater. I could make it up to her easily enough, and no one would have to suffer.

That’s also the great thing about being tortured for information. When you absolutely can’t stand the pain anymore, you can always tell the bastards what they want to know. Sure, you’ll be judged harshly by people who have never been tortured, and therefore, imagine that they could have withstood the abuse for much longer. But, hey, no matter what anyone says, it’s sticks and stones that break bones, not words and side long glances.

I think I could withstand torture quite well – I get migraines. I can’t count the number of times I have asked my husband to kill me. He won’t do it, of course, and I guess that’s a good thing. But, I really do mean it when I say it.

Naturally, all of my headaches aren’t that bad. Sometimes if I catch a migraine at the start and take an Imitrex, I never have to say those three little words that say so much, “Kill … me … now.”

But, when I let one of my more intense migraines go too far, I begin to see lovely auras around everything, which might seem like a neat effect, if it weren’t accompanied by a stabbing yet all consuming pain throughout my cranium. Everything is way too loud and much too bright, and every little detail of my life becomes too intense to endure. Did I mention the throbbing pain in my head so severe that I pray for death? I think I did.

So, it was with this type of migraine that I found myself at the Immediate Care Center, begging in my firmest whisper for a shot . I was sweating like I had just run a marathon, I smelled of vomit and I was wearing my fuzzy green grinch slippers. Sometimes life takes you places you never thought it would!

An explanation might be in order. I was wearing the slippers, because I couldn’t bear the thought of bending over to put on real shoes. I smelled of vomit, because I managed to throw up twice during the two block drive there (and once again in the parking lot for good measure). I don’t quite know why I was sweating. Maybe my body was desperately trying to excrete the pain through my skin.

But, in the end, it didn’t matter how pathetic I looked or how bad I smelled. The center was on a three hour wait. Although the people behind the desk seemed very sympathetic toward me and maybe a little grossed out by me, there was nothing they could do. They suggested I go to the emergency room at the nearest hospital.

I crawled back out to the car.

There is a moral to this story: You are better off dealing with thugs or enemy agents than health-care professionals. The thugs will usually make it quick after you tell them where to find the money. But, it doesn’t matter how much cash you show them at the Immediate Care Center or even the hospital, it’s still going to be a three hour wait.