Controversial Cover Angers Roaches, Old People p.1 - The Beast

y Michael Gildea michael@buffalobeast.com
Your Your Guide guide to what What sucks Does and what Not Suck doesn’t on on the silver Silver screen Screen
Assault on Precinct 13 ✪
Here we are. Three weeks into the new year and we
get hit with a unnecessary remake of a cult classic. A
cult classic that, under an objective viewing, wasn’t
that great to begin with.
If you’re unfamiliar with the plot of the original: a
small band of criminals and cops in a soon-to-beclosed-down
precinct are overrun by faceless gang
members who stick it to the man by surrounding the
building and opening fire with silenced weapons at
anything that attempts to make a break for it.
So now, decades later, some unneeded rationale is
added to this zombie premise without the zombies.
Gang members are replaced with rogue cops trying
to kill a mobster (Lawrence Fishburne), sending the
whole thing straight to hell.
If all of these things don’t break the deal for you,
Ethan Hawke is in it. The fact that he’s starring with
another commanding black actor in another dirty cop
movie cements my belief that Hawke is only convincing
as the shitty punk ass white boy next to an ebony
monolith that will play the bride to Hawke’s bridesmaid
at the Oscars.
Presuming he can find his way there.
To be honest, I was so distracted by Ethan Hawke
when watching this movie that I couldn’t really get
into it, much less pay attention to it. I kept thinking of
how incredibly stupid he is. I’ve accepted the fact that
he doesn’t wash his hair. I can deal with the fact that
he thinks he’s a really interesting director and a brilliant
author who can only write about an angry and
confused young artist. I’ve come to terms with that,
and I’ve never been happier. But what I can’t get past
is the fact that a donkeydick like Hawke managed to
land a goddess like Uma Thurman, convince her to
have his children, and then cheat on her.
That’s like walking off a $75,000-a-year job on a
whim. I mean, who the hell does that? Especially in
this town.
Long story short, rent the original. Or wipe your ass
with your money and flush it. I don’t care.
14 The BEAST, January 26-February 9, 2005
Are We There Yet?
Ten minutes into Are We There Yet, three little words
kept spinning around in my head like a mantra: Fuck
Ice Cube. Fuck him in the ear.
I understand that everything one of my adolescent
heroes does cannot and in all likelihood will not be
just as good as The Predator. Torque and both Barbershop
movies have proven this to me and I’m okay
with that.
But Cube’s not even trying anymore. The PG rating is
the biggest red flag here. The man who once wanted
to slaughter white devils everywhere is now the
organ grinder’s monkey as he entertains their spawn.
The black dude who tap-danced for Lawrence Welk
has more street cred than Ice Cube will after dropping
this turd, and I’m pretty sure that poor son of a
bitch is dead by now.
Are We There Yet is nothing more than a Home Alone
rip-off with fewer redeeming qualities, if you can
believe that. At least the smug little bastard in the
Home Alone movies was fighting for his life. The rotten
little shits that Ice Cube is babysitting, for some
chick he’s trying to cornhole, are just mean for the
hell of it and no other reason. They should be castrated
and left in solitary for thirty years and beaten
regularly. And so should Ice Cube. The only reason I
could think of him doing this movie is that he needs
the money.
Elektra
67
If you’re one of the sorry sons of bitches that saw the
tragedy put onto film known as Daredevil, you know
what a clunky piece of shit it was, and you are also
partially responsible for this awful spin-off.
You brought this on yourself, ass rod.
I don’t know about you, but every time I see Jennifer
Garner, I zoom in on those beady little black eyes,
and once she starts talking (you know it’s going to
happen anyway), she blasts away any vestigial remnants
of sexual attraction that I may or may not have
had for her. Then I start thinking of the Canadians on
“South Park.” You know, the ones with the beady eyes
and the flapping heads?
The fact that she dates Ben Affleck doesn’t help matters
any.
Elektra doesn’t even make mention to Daredevil or
the only saving grace of that film, Colin Farrell as
Bullseye, who killed Jennifer Garner’s character.
Between this, The Punisher, and the upcoming Fantastic
Four film coming out, the comic book movie
scene should finally sputter and die in 2005. Keep
Spider-Man, X-Men, and Batman going. Give The Hulk
and Superman one more shot. If they don’t make
good, I won’t stand in the way of their deaths.
But if you feel the same way I do, we have a responsibility
to end the Daredevil/Elektra thing right now. If
anyone ever mentions either film in a favorable manner,
punch them in the head. I don’t care if you have
to chase them down for six city blocks. If you don’t
want to see any more shit like this, you know what
you have to do.
Coach Carter ✪
I can sum up Coach Carter in four words: Wrong
place, wrong time.
You go see a movie about thugs playing basketball in
downtown Buffalo and you’re asking for trouble.
Nothing terrible happened, provided that not being
able to hear a movie can be a good thing.
No, really. I love hearing cell phones go off every thirty
seconds. Have a ten-minute conversation with
Tiny. I don’t mind. Go ahead; I’m sure it‘s important.
Oh, your baby daddy’s on the phone? He’s going to
be on “Cheaters?” Get out! When’s it on? Ask him!
Please, talk to the screen. It’s really going to have an
impact on the plot of the movie. I mean, it always
does when you yell at a horror movie. They can hear
you and they will listen to you.
Yeah, that bitch is pretty fly. I’m not a booty man
myself, but yeah, that would look good with some
cole slaw slapped up on that shit. I’ve never been
freaky with the mayo before, but I’ll give anything a
shot, you know?
That shorty is spending all the child support on her
new man. Let’s go fuck his shit up RIGHT NOW!
White Noise
I can’t decide which is worse, these dull and lifeless
horror movies that work off of a lukewarm plot—the
ones that pretty much sum up the whole story in it’s
snoozeville trailer and try to give you your money’s
worth with a donkey turd of a twist, or the sad bastards
who go and see these things and convince
everyone they happen to come into contact with just
how great it was.
Are they trying to convince us that it was good or is
it themselves, in an effort to rationalize that they really
didn’t just piss away more than eight dollars and
the 300% markup on the popcorn they gave to the
theater.
Run-on sentences aside, White Noise is just another
orbit in the downward spiral that is the modern
American horror movie. Maybe it’s the sort of film
that will be appreciated in fifteen to twenty years on
cable. You know, when nothing else is on and “Yes,
Dear” on UPN loses the coin toss.
I’ll bet that Michael Keaton (the biggest star in this
turkey) is really glad that he stopped doing those
career-ruining Batman movies.