Two big openings this weekend, each living up to the hype. I won’t say much–no need to prod you, as infotainment about these films is at a fever pitch. They’re both damn fun. (more…)

wtf?

The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai. Someone give me an objective view. I remember loving it in grad school, but I just tried to watch it with the kids, and they were distinctly unimpressed (”Daddy, Daddy, let’s go see Night at the Museum 2 instead; We hear Reynolds loved it”). In fact, they became quite abusive. Was it that bad? Why did I enjoy seeing Jeff Goldblum in chaps? Why did the lines “don’t be mean” and “no matter where you go, there you are” seem profound to me? Was it the drugs? Or is this a lost masterpiece?

20 years on… So many great lines in this thing. A movie I loved then, and appreciate more and more as time goes on.

And how’s this for an image? Though like great lines, this one has ‘em to spare.

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I saw this movie.

Night at the Museum 2 made me want to punish all the children in the theater. To sneak up behind each, and as they expressed some moment of pleasurable engagement with the film, just to scream “What the fuck is wrong with you!” into their ears so that they jumped, or cried, and forever after hated Ben Stiller. Or, rather, to punish all children, to stand outside of every theater in the country, and as children came out, to box each upon the ears. A hard box–a Dickens box, not one of those wussy tv ear-pats but a good Mr.-Gower-making-the-ears-bleed kind of smack. Or, if they looked particularly satisfied, to punch them. The happier they look, the bigger the smile, the more painful the body part targeted. Fuck you, children, for making this movie possible. And fuck you, parents, for actualizing this movie. There’s a reason children don’t have disposable income–they’d waste it on shit like this. So shame on you. You all get kicked hard, in soft tissue. Or maybe I just take one kid hostage, one poor hummel-eyed waif, and I set up a website, and I vow to make that kid watch Takashi Miike with me until gangs of children hunt down Shawn Levy, blood-crazed with fear for my webcammed hostage to rip Levy into unrecognizable bits that’ll never work with Steve Martin or any funny people ever again.

I’d punish myself but sitting through it was penance enough. Ah, shit, I probably deserve more.