Fun with rubber genitalia

Yesterday I watched Antichrist, directed by self-proclaimed biggest director in the world Lars von Trier, and I guess it's an OK movie, but only if you think about it as a sleazy exploitation/horror movie with a really boring hour-long exposition. The film opens with a scene in which Willem Dafoe is sticking it to Charlotte Gainsbourg as their little boy jumps out the window. You can tell that it's a really good and artistic film by how everything is in black and white and in slow motion and with something out of an opera or some such thing in the background, and also by how you get to actually see Willem Dafoe's cock sliding in and out of Charlotte Gainsbourg's snatch. I was so relieved to find out later that they used doubles for that shot, because the thought of those two having real sex on camera is something that could have easily scarred me for life. What follows this is about an hour in which the couple mourns the death of their little brat, which is pretty ridiculous considering that they live in a world where you can create babies pretty much for free, so if one gets smooshed you can easily just make another one, no big deal. For some reason the wife gets so messed up by the whole thing that she has to be hospitalized and put on psychiatric drugs, something which the husband, who is a professional psychiatrist, doesn't really approve of. In order to help her recover he takes her to a crappy little cabin in the middle of the woods, where they argue and do stuff with no pants on and have creepy encounters with various animals, like a mommy deer with a dead baby deer stuck to her ass, a dying baby crow who gets his head bitten off by a hawk, and best of all, an adorable talking fox! Still, as entertaining as watching a fox eat his own bloody guts may be, I was still pretty bored and very anxious to get to the only reason why I started watching this thing in the first place. Gutted animals are all well and good, but I've seen worse at my local supermarket. Please, I begged the movie, please get to the good stuff already and show me something gross that isn't Charlotte Gainsbourg's naked body. When the good stuff finally came I was pretty exhausted, but it was all so hilarious that I almost didn't mind. After a couple of days of psychotherapy the crazy broad finally snaps and crushes her husband balls with something big and heavy, something that undoubtedly happens pretty often with chicks who stay off their meds for too long. She then gives his unconscious body an incredibly sexy handjob which results in him ejaculating blood all over her clothes. Next she drills a hole through his leg and bolts him to a heavy grindstone, so he'll never be able to leave her. Talk about clingy! The really creepy bit, however, is when she finally goes completely mental and slices her own clit completely off with a rusty pair of scissors! Now that's just good wholesome fun for the entire family! Lars von Trier annoys the poop out of me because he's obviously got a really scary torture porn movie somewhere inside him, and yet he insists on making what he considers to be 'art'. Pfft. Whenever I want to look at art I just open the cupboard and pick out at an old can of chickpeas, and if that isn't art, then I don't know what is.

Willem Dafoe has a surprisingly nice butt

When I first read about the VJ mutilation scene in a review of Antichrist I was pretty pissed because I felt it was a terrible spoiler, but then I realized that if I didn't know about it, I probably wouldn't have any interest in watching it at all. What's more important is that the scene was created in such a realistic way that if you're not fully prepared for it you may end up soiling yourself. So in a way I'm sort of happy that the film critic for Maariv is such a dick. And if I used to think that my life sucks, at least now I know that some people have it even worse, like, say, the members of the effects team that was in charge of reproducing Charlotte Gainsbourg's crotch in latex. *shudders*

Turn it off, it'll rot your brain cells!

Last night I watched Terrorvision on MGM, and I'm happy to report that it happens to be one of the coolest horror/sci-fi '80s comedies I've seen in a long time. Terrorvision is a rather insane B-movie from 1986 about a big scary monster that accidentally gets zapped down to earth and starts eating everything. See, on their native planet monsters are pretty common household pets, but when they start mutating they have to be disposed of and blasted into space. This particular monster gets dumped into the Puttermans' newly installed satellite dish, materializes inside the house through their Television sets and basically eats them all one by one. Now, it doesn't really make much sense in a movie that is clearly not meant for small children, but the main character is an annoying little blonde boy. This typical pedo bait is obviously extremely disturbed and is already on medication, so when he starts talking about monsters nobody really gives a shit, as is often the case with children in horror movies. His parents are pretty awesome role models, the kind that easily shape you into a fine young American with serious impulse control issues. You see, they like to have icky, hairy '80s sex with other couples of similar interests. They even bring one of these couples into their home, the female of which looks pretty awesome in a bikini and the male is a greasy Ricardo Montalbán-type dude, who is very Greek and very into Greek culture. That means he's a manly man. A man's man. The kind of man's man who can take in like a man. And probably give it like one too, I suppose. That part was a little bit confusing, because they didn't say anything about his girlfriend being a muff muncher, so what were the girls supposed to do while the Greek guy is plowing Mr. Putterman's big hairy ass? I guess the chick could have tried to get it on with the kid, as she's pretty much expressed her interest in him from the moment she laid her eyes on the little fucker, but I don't think the mom would've been too entertained. Then again, who knows. Yup, it's just that kind of movie. There's also a sister, sporting an insanely gigantic '80s hairdo, and her borderline retarded metalhead boyfriend. Finally, there's the grandfather, who is a conspiracy theory enthusiast with his very own bomb shelter and lizard tail jerky business (you cut off its tail, and it just grows a new one! it's the perfect business strategy!). All the adults get eaten one after the other, but the monster has this really neat trick where it can extend the severed heads of its victims on a these slimy, meaty stalk things and make them talk! Once the grown-ups are gone, the three kids manage to befriend the creature and teach him all about the three most important things in Earth culture: food, music and TV, all of which seem to fascinate it. There's also this giant tittied Vampira-style TV host called Medusa, who has snakes for hair and can turn any man rock-hard in an instant, which is no small feat considering her mess of a face. Almost the entire movie is set at the Puttermans' home, which is a colorful and tastelessly decorated horror as only the '80s could produce, indoor swimming pool and Roman statue of a chick with water spouting out her nipples included. And the theme song is pretty hilarious too! It truly is a crime that Terrorvision was never released on DVD, even though the assholes at MGM still hold the copyrights for it. The world would be a so much better place if every household in it could have a copy at hand.

Cute!!!

In other news: earlier this week I went to see Avatar again, and it was even awesomer than the first time. I desperately need to see it again. It's pretty fraking amazing to see how many people are still going to see it, even after two weeks, and especially in a country where sci-fi movies usually bomb. I really hope there won't be any sequels after all, because using the technology to do the same thing all over again instead of trying something completely different sounds like a pretty stupid idea. Of course, if it'll mean that in a couple of years the original Avatar will be shown in theaters once again then I'm all for it. I'd hate to think that after my third (or fourth, or fifth) time I'll never ever get to see it again in 3D.

Dybbuks can be so clingy

Today I watched The Unborn, a PG-13 horror movie starring Odette Yustman as a hot chick who finds out that she's actually Jewish (the horror!) and Gary Oldman as a hip rabbi who's really good with demon dogs. I was actually going to see it like ten months ago, but the stupid paper had the theater schedule wrong (I guess papier really is geduldig), so I took it as a sign from Baby Jebus' deadbeat dad and never tried to catch it again. Anyway, today I watched it for the first time, and I guess I would have enjoyed seeing it on the big screen, but I can't really say it's a huge loss that I hadn't. The concept of a Jewish horror movie is a pretty interesting idea, but instead of dealing with the horrors of your typical Jewish family dinner or the weird semi-erotic relationship between the common Jew and their overbearing parents, The Unborn is mostly about the single most famous boogyman of Heeb culture, that creepy ghost/demon type being that possesses the bodies of its unwilling victims known as a Dybbuk. The movie offers a handful of genuinely creepy moments, like a woman whose entire face is a huge mouth full of sharp pointy teeth, a senile old dude with an upside down head and an adorable puppy with a similar affliction, but most of it is pretty much the same old crap we've come to expect from PG-13 ghost movies about good looking college kids. The only real reason so see this movie is the gorgeous Odette Yustman, also known as that really hot chick whose pants that douche from Cloverfield ran through an entire monster infested city just to get into one last time. She was a pretty good distraction from all the usual teen-horror crap I couldn't give a flying poop about. Like, they kept talking about how the Dybbuk is trying to get inside her body, which mostly made me identify with it, because I know that if I were some kind of angry spirit, the first place I would have tried to get into is Ms. Yustman too! I'm pretty sure I wouldn't even have to be angry to want that. Or a spirit. Or, there's this scene where she watches some people wheel a dead baby into an ambulance after it was killed by a mirror or something, which made me think very seriously about whether or not I'd be willing to kill an infant with my bare hands in order to be able to take in a nice deep whiff of her tight little ass, a question I haven't been able to settle so far. There's a good reason why that ass is all over the poster. She also looks pretty sexy with those weird contact lenses that are supposed to make it look like she's got some sort of genetic eye disease. There's nothing too original about The Unborn, but if you think you're the sort of person who could enjoy looking at an extremely attractive young woman whine and moan for about an hour an a half, like I sure am, you just might be able to enjoy it.

Odette Yustman's front side

Odette Yustman's mom in The Unborn is played by the lovely Carla Gugino (of Sin City boob-fame), who is almost 40 years old and still looks totally hot. It's so weird how some women look absolutely fabulous in their forties, while with some 20-something year old chicks, if you look down their tops it gives you that distinct and unsettling feeling of staring at your grandmother's cleavage. Mary's baby daddy sure does work in mysterious ways.

We get it, you have a perineum

Today I finished watching the third season of Californication, and the last episode was sort of a downer, but also really good. The season was mostly about Hank trying to juggle the many many women in his life, and his ultimate failure to do so. In addition to Karen and their teenage daughter there were three different chicks, all three of which he was banging quite happily. There was the dean's wife, who was pretty much your basic posh British broad, very polite and very attractive and very classy. She also kept trying to get into Mr. Moody's pants in an extremely charming and English way in order to get back at her dean husband who kinda looks like that Jewish guy from The O.C. and at one time had supposedly banged some student chick. There was also Hank's teaching assistant, which was a character I didn't get at all. I mean, I'm pretty sure I've seen her playing the mother of a teenager in Roswell like ten years ago, so now I'm supposed to believe she's a desirable woman in her early thirties? Pfft. And what's the deal with the boob-double? Even if her own aren't nice enough, or if she simply didn't want them exposed on camera, we don't really need to see some anonymous woman's bare torso, do we? Not much point in that. Finally, there was Hank's voluptuous student, played by Susan Sarandon's daughter, which I guess would make her Tim Robbins' half sister or something. I liked her better in Saved, where she had short dark hair instead of long blonde stripper-hair. Pretty awesome boobs though. It really annoys me how most strippers on TV get to keep their tops on the entire time, so this was a welcome surprise. Anyway, Hank did a crap job at sleeping with all three of them while the mother of his child was out of town, and it all blew up in his face in a pretty entertaining way. The final episode, however, was all about his little indiscretion from the first episode of the first season, a little over two years ago. He got beat up and arrested and yelled at, and all because of this one little time he accidentally slipped the ol' noodle into a very mature 16 year old girl, played by the little girl from The Nanny, who had since managed to grow herself a pair of absolutely magnificent breasts. He didn't even know she was underage! Like any middle aged man could ever say no to that, had the opportunity presented itself to him. Poor Hank. Not to mention Becca's confession near the end of the episode, which gave me a pretty awful flashforward to when my own future daughter (who will never actually exist) will tell me that she let some greasy disgusting asshole into her innocent little peepee. Poor old Hank. Oh well. Californication has already been renewed for a fourth season, so I guess that in about nine months his hangover should be starting to subside.

Madeline Zima. Bitches be crazy

And speaking of tragedies involving attractive young women. There's this one porn chick that I really really like, though I should probably say used to like, even if I really don't want to. She was a gorgeous little thing, with flowing red hair and the prettiest, tiniest little vagina you'd ever see on a legal caucasian girl. She was Jewish and not at all shy about it, she mostly just did solo and girl on girl stuff, and according to her MySpace page she was a pretty interesting and not too unintelligent person, the kind you'd actually want to have a conversation with before she gives you a sloppy handjob behind a dumpster in some dark alley. Well, I guess she still is most of these things, only according to recent photos of her posted last week, these days she looks more like an x-ray of a methhead with a couple of oranges bolted to her chest under the skin. Why do these young women do that to themselves? Is it so hard to not wear any clothes for a living that you have to turn to hard drugs? I mean, she's only in her early twenties, and she already looks like she's had more spunk pumped through her than me. I really do hope she gets better soon. What a fraking tragedy. Um, yeah. I've finally started watching Battlestar Galactica.

Keep your filthy mitts off my Dexter!

Today I watched the final episode of the fourth season of Dexter, and was instantly shattered into a million tiny little pieces of meat by the last three minutes. I really like Dexter, in a rather intense and emotional way. He may be a little warmer and fuzzier than your average serial killer, but his adorable social inadequacies and quirky homicidal tendencies have completely captured my cold raisin heart. He's just so hopelessly damaged, you just want to stuff him full of cotton wool and make a big leathery teddy bear out of him. Definitely the sort of guy I'd like to have a beer with, maybe later beat a teenager or two into a bloody pulp for being too loud and annoying. The first season of Dexter was really cool, and pretty traditionally structured. There was the whole Ice Truck Killer plot, but mostly it was about the kill of the week, which was just fine by me. The second season, however, is where it really started to get to me. There was the police finding all the neatly chopped-up body parts he's been dumping at sea all this time, and that mean ol' detective dude who's always had it in for poor little Dexter, and that crazy British broad ("pardon my tits") he was banging behind his boring girlfriend's back, and it was all so intense that I could physically feel every bit of stress he was under in my own private bones. The third season was also really good, with that dude from L.A. Law playing a lawyer or something in which Dexter finds a friend of sorts. Among other things it has taught me that even when you're utterly desperate for companionship it is sometimes better to be on your own, and that you should never trust anyone with your deepest darkest secrets, unless, that is, if it's really really funny. The season ended in a wholly heartwarming scene, with Dexter getting married and fathering a child and finally coming to terms with his place in the world, so as I was watching the last episode of the new season today I was expecting pretty much the same thing. Boy, was I wrong. The fourth season was all about the Trinity Killer, portrayed by the awesome and mighty John Lithgow. I'm pretty sure I've only seen him before in 3rd Rock as a goofy alien with a scary old witch for a girlfriend, but now I'm totally convinced that he is fully capable of bludgeoning me to death with a stainless steel hammer. We got the usual cat and mouse bit between Dexter and him, which was just as fun and effective as anything I've come to expect from the show, but absolutely nothing could have prepared me for that one final scene, after which nothing in Dexter's world will ever be the same. It was utterly heartbreaking, but also kind of exciting, because I can't even begin to imagine what the next season is going to look like or what this new Dexter, forged once again by this overwhelming tragedy, is going to be like. I really do hope he finds a way to get over it and move on some day, somehow. *sniff*

Darla will indeed be missed

Dexter is based on a series of novels by Jeff Lindsay, two of which I've read a couple of years ago, Darkly Dreaming Dexter and Dearly Devoted Dexter. I guess they were sort of OK, but the TV show is just so much better. The problem is that Book-Dexter comes across as somewhat of an obnoxious dick who thinks he's hilarious even though he obviously isn't. Not nearly as adorable as TV-Dexter. Also, by the end of the first book Dexter's sister finds out about his true nature, and it doesn't really seem to bother her all that much. Are we going to get something like that in season five, now that Debra knows where her brother came from? I guess I'll have to wait about nine months to find out. Ugh.

All bow down before the mighty Washing Machine

Today I watched Franklyn, yet another film I could've seen at the Icon sci-fi and fantasy film festival but hadn't, and I'm not completely sure, but I think I've enjoyed it quite a bit. Franklyn is a British drama about a scrawny little dude who gets jilted at the altar by his bitch of a fiancee and somehow manages to reunite with this chick he used to want to bang back when they were both little kids. It's also about this pretentious art student slash drama queen who sort of looks like Eva Green and is really into making lame video art and even lamer suicide attempts. Franklyn is also about some old guy who's out looking for his long lost son, who I guess got kinda screwy after visiting the sandier parts of the smelly Middle East, something I can totally relate to. The thing is, that's not all. The only reason I even watched this film is because Franklyn is also a sci-fi/fantasy fable about this guy in a creepy scarecrow mask who narrates his own actions with an American accent and keeps fighting these dudes who wear freakishly high top-hats in a dark gothic city known only as Meanwhile City that's set in an alternate universe where strange people in strange costumes wear strange masks and practice an endless variety of strange religions, as everyone has to choose a religion and anyone can start their own. It all comes together quite nicely in the end, but I couldn't help but feel sort of cheated as I was watching it, because while the trailer showed mostly scenes from the one cool storyline, there's actually very little of it in the final film. I would've really liked to see an entire movie set in this strange and beautifully dark world, and it seems like such a shame that so much time and effort went into creating it when I'm pretty sure it didn't get much more than 20 minutes of screen time. Oh well. It's still a pretty good movie that looks really cool and still manages to be quite original, which is no small a feat in this era of big screen adaptations, sequels, remakes, reboots and reimaginings. People are so lazy these days. No wonder everybody's so thrilled about finally being done with this whole stupid decade in just a little over a week.

Eva Green, dressed like a high-class hooker

I didn't used to like Eva Green all that much, but I kinda do now. Her performance here is pretty impressive, and I totally dig her near-flawless British accent, which is much better than the one Ryan Phillippe assumes in the film. It almost made me forget all about how weird her boobs looked in The Dreamers, a film that had I bothered to watch would have taught me the shocking truth that people used to have sex in the '60s. I mean, they're not bad looking boobs in any way, they're just very... um... European. You see, it's her nipples. They're just too damn big. Which isn't to say that that's what a European woman's boobs are most likely to look like, but that European films are where you're most likely to encounter those kinds of natural, slight imperfections. Pretty good color though, areola-wise. And a very nice looking vagina too, if a little on the fuzzy side. I guess it was a pretty normal thing for men in the '60s to cough up a hairball or two every once in a while.

Woman, feed me!

Hanukkah is finally over, so today I went to see Where the Wild Things Are, and I really really liked it! As a child I've never read Maurice Sendak's book, which I think is pretty sad. I was definitely aware of the book and the whole Where the Wild Things Are phenomenon over the years, but the first time I've actually read it was about a year ago, when I was supposed to meet someone at the Tel-Aviv art museum and had some time to browse around the museum shop. They had this stand with a bunch of children's books, so I picked up a copy of Where the Wild Things Are and flipped through it to pass the time. It may not have taken too much time to read it all, as it's only got like ten sentences, but the cute story and imaginative artwork had definitely made me feel all warm and giddy on the inside. The film version takes the book as its basic premise and builds on top of it a story that is both sad and exciting. It cost about $100M to make, but it looks and sounds and feels like a quaint little indie film. Well, a children's indie film. With big shaggy monsters. Which you have to admit is pretty damn awesome. The Wild Things all look absolutely fantastic, and they're all played by big guys in gigantic suits with part animatronic and part CGI faces. They jump around, they have dirt fights, they sleep in one big furry pile, they destroy things with boundless joy, but most of all they seem to really like spending their time talking about how unhappy they are, which is exactly what Max, the little boy in the silly costume, is expected to fix. like, there's a Wild Thing that's upset about how another Wild Thing keeps wandering off to meet her other, non-Wild friends. And there's a Wild Thing that's upset because everybody keeps ignoring him and pushing him around. And there's a couple of Wild Things where the guy is a big gentle marshmallow of a Thing, while his girlfriend is a whiny, depressing bitch that sounds exactly like the ever-obnoxious Catherine O'Hara (more about the voice work after the photo of the ridiculously hot redhead). I'm not quite sure how all that constant bickering is going to appeal to the common child viewer, but I really enjoyed it. It's exactly the kind of awkward tension I'm used to in real life. The music in the movie, composed by Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, is also really good. Not the kind of stuff I'd listen to on my personal MP3 player, but as a soundtrack it fits the material perfectly. The main difference between the book and the film is that while the in the book the Wild Things live in what looks like a jungle-type place, the film looks like it's set in the brown and depressing Australian outback. Oh well. I suppose nobody's perfect. It's still an extremely well made film, and I only wish I could have seen it as a child. I'd like to think I would have liked it just as much back then, though I'm probably wrong. Kids are generally stupid little brats, and I'm pretty sure I was no exception. Odds are you weren't either.

Lauren Ambrose is a total toe sucker

As I was sitting there in the theater, once again all by myself with no one else around, I couldn't help thinking that one of the Wild Things' voice sounded awfully familiar. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I was convinced that later today I was about to post here a photo of a really pretty chick. And what do you know! As soon as the credits came up, Lauren Ambrose's name flickered on the screen right in front of me. I've once read this line in a Philip K. Dick book (I couldn't tell you which one to save my life) that said that redheaded chicks tend to be either dreadfully ugly or unnaturally beautiful. That seems about right to me. Not to mention the whole fire crotch issue, which is like the hottest thing ever. Ms. Ambrose may have been Claire for five seasons of Six Feet Under, but to me she'll always be that mentally retarded teenager from Law & Order who got an empty beer bottle stuck up her little VJ and didn't seem to mind it one bit ("I've got a flat tummy", she said). Cute!