It is weird, being here in the year 2013, and seeing what’s happened to Joss Whedon — see a man whose name was synonymous with “cult not-really-a-hit” no less than three years ago play puppet master with one of Hollywood’s biggest, most profitable franchises.
The Whedon-directed Avengers grossed all those billions! ABC picked up the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D TV show he’s executive producing! He signed up for Twitter and got over 100,000 followers in like no time! Frank, Joss Whedon is en fuego!
Which is why it’s fun to look back at Whedon during his slightly more humble days — you know, when he had only three shows on television at one time–
Hmmm. It’s fascinating, isn’t it Frank, how Joss Whedon always seems like an underdog? Read the rest of this entry
When my brother and I were growing up, we LOVED the movie Independence Day, directed by Roland Emmerich. LOVED it. We had it on VHS, and we would just watch it over and over again, chanting along with our favorite lines of dialogue — we could even re-enact Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum’s final escape from the alien ship word for word, one of us taking Will Smith’s lines and the other playing Jeff Goldblum. (I forget who would play which more. I think, because I was a nice older sister, I let him be Will Smith the most.)
Then, you know, things happened and watching buildings explode stopped being fun for a few years — however, Roland Emmerich appears to have never lost his taste for ending the world. Which would be fine, except for this one time when, to destroy destroy the planet (especially Los Angeles), he fucked up a real disaster instead of using a fictional one.
The Day After Tomorrow is one of the stupider movies I’ve ever seen, Frank (and remember that time I watched Zardoz?). This is largely because it takes the issue of climate change and instead of raising real awareness about how badly we’re fucking up the planet, makes it seem as real as a giant lizard that breathes fire.
So the first time I read Transmetropolitan, I was visiting Whitney, one of my oldest friends, in New Jersey. It was 2005, I was on a very random cross-country trip, and Whitney had a day job, and so spending the better part of 48 hours reading her trade paperbacks made sense.
Then, Transmetropolitan BROKE MY BRAIN.
By which I mean I loved it. Even though it BROKE MY BRAIN. And gave me nightmares. And did…
It did some other things, Frank. They mostly involve shouting. I shall explain.
Transmet, as it’s conventionally know, is writer Warren Ellis and artist Darick Robertson’s magnum opus for Vertigo Comics, a five year odyssey through an imagined future where genetics are easily manipulated, technology is something you swallow as pills, and we just call New York City “The City.”
If you read it in less than two days on a futon in New Jersey, it’s really intense. If you reread it in two weeks on an actual bed in Los Angeles… Actually still really intense. Read the rest of this entry
For a while now, I’ve been hearing that I should check out Lost Girl, a Canadian fantasy import featuring sexy people, makeouts and magic. I normally am not a straight-up fantasy fan (due to the lack of space battles) but the voices called out, Frank. They demanded that you know about Lost Girl. And who am I to deny them?
Thus, fade in on a girl– Ugh, Frank, I’ve been watching too much Smash. Point is, meet Bo! She is a bartender, and she is hot, and while working she manages to dodge a creep who tries to force a roofied drink on her.
However, said creep then targets a sassy pickpocketing teen at the bar, cornering her in an elevator just as the roofie kicks in. Uh oh! Things do not look good for our sassy pickpocketing teen!
Until, of course, Bo shows up! Read the rest of this entry
Book-exclusive entries include Mass Effect 3, The West Wing, Tucker Max’s I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell and The Courtship of Princess Leia. And it’s only $0.99! Perhaps take a look.
I’m not saying knowing what happens in I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell will change your life. But it just might.
An embarrassing fact about me: After 17 years, I forget how many movies, and no shortage of ridiculous antics, I still kinda love Kevin Smith. I’m not sure why. Maybe I have a hard time letting go of things I loved in my adolescence, or maybe there’s just something about his familiar patter that I find comforting — the point is, while I haven’t seen Red State or whatever else he’s been working on lately, I’m still deeply fond of him.
I say this because I stumbled into rewatching Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back yesterday — Hulu Plus didn’t even bother putting commercials on it, Frank! — and it was like finding a musty old afghan in the back of the closet, curling up in its familiar comfort, and trying to ignore the smells.
Jay and Silent Bob, Frank, is Kevin Smith’s fifth film in the so-called “View Askewniverse,” a universe of interconnected characters largely residing in suburban New Jersey but truly united by their love of big words, gay jokes and nerd references. Two of these films were grounded indie fare (Clerks, Chasing Amy), while Mallrats went the Porky’s-esque route and Dogma… Yeah, I’m not really sure what Dogma was.
The point is, Smith wanted to move on from writing films heavily dependent on catchphrases and drug glorification, and so he declared that Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back would be his final “Askewniverse” film.
He decided, Frank, to go out in style. By “style,” I of course mean “gross overindulgence.”