LAMBlogathon: Digital Cinema

Over at the LAMB, a question has been asked: What do I think of digital cinema?

Aesthetically, I hate it. Economically, I understand it. Inevitably, film projection will be as dead as Pontiac, the Pinto, and the EV-1. That's the way it is, and it makes me a little sad thinking about it, now that every other movie will not only be digital, but blown up to fake-IMAX size and filtered through Real/Disney Digital 3D glasses.

The pros are somewhat obvious - digital filmmaking is incredibly cheap, in all phases of production. If you want to zoom in unnecessarily on the situation, the start of digital filmmaking, Terminator 2 aside, was the dawn of the inkless word processor - the personal computer. The transition from analog to digital made sense - it saved screenwriters time (not to mention ink and paper and white out). Time, as they say, is money.

CGI, as it turns out, saves both time and money. Instead of having to relentlessly plan out stunts, hoping beyond hope that a scene plays exactly as put to paper in the first three takes, you can do basically everything on a computer, if that's what you desire. Some, like George Lucas, do just that. Watching those documentaries on the process behind the Star Wars prequels is somewhat strange - two actors playing at Jedi in front of a green screen like they were children in an invisible park.

And digital projection, it is surmised, means that more movies will be playing in more locations than ever before possible. Roger Ebert, in one of his many posts on the subject, guessed at a future where movies are beamed down to multiplexes from a satellite, which is certainly possible but begs the question: What need is there for movie theaters?

And another question: If you can play more movies in more theaters due to digital projection, how come movies like Synecdoche, New York and Rachel Getting Married (to name two movies I missed because of extremely limited engagements at the local art house, a luxury many don't even have) don't get a chance at the AMC? If one digital projector is running Terminator: Salvation to a half-empty theater at 7:45 and another is playing the same movie to a half-packed theater at 8:15, why can't one showtime get axed in favor of playing some plucky indie comedy that might just win an audience?

The obvious answer is that theater franchises are incredibly lazy, greedy things, but it defeats the argument that there's a chance for more niche movies to play in smaller markets with a resounding "So what?"

The Oscars last year brought in increased crowds for exactly one movie last year: Slumdog Millionare. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button didn't need the help, and while every movie (except Button) played in more theaters post-nomination, the only other movie that enjoyed any sustained Oscar-related success was The Reader. I don't want to guess how many times poor Milk was playing at any given theater, or why it never broke the 1,000 theater mark.(No word on how AMC's one day Oscar marathon ($30 at 99 theaters) went, though it's in it's third year running.) Not only does that speak against the drawing power of the Oscar, it speaks out that the freedom being offered by digital distribution isn't being used to nearly its full potential.

All of that doesn't even speak to my personal preferences. I own more LPs than CDs, the last video game system I bought was an SNES, I like the smell of old books, and when I went to see Dinosaurs Alive! at an Omnimax Theater, my one lasting impression (aside from how headache-inducing the Omnimax format is) was how much I missed the sound of film.

I know that I'm a very strange 21-year-old, but it can't be helped - I just prefer film.

So much so that I think I may respect those filmmakers who still shoot using celluloid more than their digital counterparts.

Maybe I'm a tad misguided, but I consider movies to be a form of art. And while I can certainly accept a digitally shot film like Slumdog Millionaire as artwork, with that has come a bunch of trends that make the Film Is Art crowd look slightly foolish.

Shaky-cam, Michael Bay, Jerry Bruckheimer, Disney movies with computer generated animals occupying real time, Baby Geniuses, McG, Beowulf, Paul WS Anderson's post-Mortal Kombat career, the Alien vs. Predator franchise, direct-to-DVD ripoffs of all of the above, and Uwe Boll.

I don't care how undemocratic of me it sounds: The digital revolution has allowed more shit onto the screen than any other idea in Hollywood history - even the great spec script boom of the 90's.

Of course it has its advocates, Robert Rodriguez chief among them, but the parts of Grindhouse that were most exciting featured real cars smashing into real cars, and his best movie might still be the one where scrambling to complete the thing because most of its meager budget was spent on film forced the guy to rein it in a little.

I think Ebert once said something like this, maybe in his review of the finished version of The Brown Bunny: Editing is where a movie finds its soul. I buy that. A reel of unedited footage is like a block of marble. The finished product is the statue. Sure using film runs the risk of releasing something that isn't perfect, but in an era where most movies are scrubbed and polished to the point where I can see a reflection of myself in the screen, movies could use a little more dirt, a little more uncertainty. Besides, a flop is a flop - no matter what computer you rendered the graphics on.

Take risks. Isn't that what art is supposed to encourage you to do?

Pixar vs. Dreamworks

I'm seeing Up today. I haven't seen a Dreamworks Animation film in theaters since The Prince of Egypt. I'd write a big, long essay about my reasons, but this comic (via /film via POE News) sums my feelings up much better than I ever could.


Click to enlarge.

Movie Review: Star Trek (2009)

Sometime around four months ago, my mom and I stopped into Blockbuster Video, looking for something to pass the time. The problem with Blockbuster Video, at least in my estimation, is that their emphasis on stocking 345 copies of the latest Matthew McConaughey movie really limits their ability to have a good back catalog. That night, there was absolutely nothing to rent, so my mom, indignant that I'd never seen a lick of Star Trek, picked up a copy of Star Trek: The Motion Picture and headed to the counter. On the way home, she described the experience for me:

"When they showed Kirk, the whole movie stopped to allow the people in the theater to cheer," she said.

"The whole movie?"

"Yes," she nodded, "and then they did it for Bones, for the ship, for Spock..."

I was very impressed by all of this. As a lifelong Star Wars fan, I understood fandom for specific characters, but even so, not even the cult of Boba Fett could defend his cameo/mugging in the special edition of A New Hope. Trekkies, I surmised, had to be the most dedicated fans there were - dedicated enough to admit their obsession to Stanley Kubrick without a hint of embarrassment.

Boy was I disappointed. While the special effects were great (for 1979), I couldn't wrap my head around it. About an hour in, my mom had to admit how boring the movie was. At the end, when the dad from 7th Heaven merged with a satellite and some bald chick, even she couldn't see why everybody thought it was so damned exciting.

"Wrath of Khan is much better," she assured me.

I never saw Wrath of Khan, but after watching Star Trek, I suspect I will.

I know that this is a reboot (not technically, but it's still too early for spoilers), so J.J. Abrams' vision of the franchise should really have no bearing on how I look at the previous 40 years of television, film, books, comics, and merchandise, but it does. To a Trek outsider, this is a perfect introduction.

Abrams' film, while containing many winks and nods to the original series (a terribly CGI'd green skinned woman, awful accents, the delivery of Bones McCoy's dialog), goes for spectacle, for speed, for kinetic, frenzied action. It delivers, and, in doing so, marks a departure from a series that was known as much for its cheap rubber suits as its human drama.

The first Trek film's problem was that it focused on spectacle, trying in vain to compete with Star Wars, which relished in the possibilities presented by different planets and races, but never paused to let the viewer know that this was a different world. Star Trek ignores the issue by going 120 miles an hour from the opening minute - there is little time to stop and marvel at the Enterprise.

If that seems a bit at odds with the original series, well, it is. Chalk it up to this movie being made for the benefit of a new generation who don't have time for calm, considered plots, captain's logs, dramatic line readings, or slow-as-molasses fight scenes, but shifting the franchise into full blown space opera mode turns out to be a good decision - the final effort is worth more than the three Star Wars prequels combined.

The movie stumbles at points - I never expected to see Sulu draw a sword, and I never expected him to fight like an expert in wire-fu, but I guess those are the perils of appealing to a new audience - but its fun, and it gets enough of the old stuff right while moving the franchise in a new direction...one that may make possible a future where sci-fi isn't a target of sad jokes.

To be honest, I wasn't sure that Abrams could pull it off. I don't watch much TV, haven't seen an episode of Lost or Alias and have walked out from many of his movies (Mission: Impossible 3, Cloverfield) feeling that the hype surrounding him was unwarranted.

While Star Trek is far from perfect, it shows Abrams ability to balance the demands of fandom and the demands of his audience. There is plenty of style on display, and enough substance to keep it going. For every moment he gets wrong, there are plenty of moments where everything feels right. Considering the way many of 2009's reboots are going, you could do a lot worse.



Far Fucking Out

Glenn Beck thinks that he's hilarious...

But I wish he'd stop making strange noises when he masturbates in public.

What are the odds that we'll see "Jose Canseco's Punch-Out!!!" anytime soon?

Hong Man Choi Jose Canseco Fight Video

Jose Canseco, famous for pointing fingers at pro baseball players for profit after a career that he spent eating cheesburgers, taking steroids, and hitting home runs, decided to enter the MMA game for reasons beyond any sane, logical person's mode of thought.

The results are hilarious.

While Jose does pretty good considering that he's largely untrained and looks like Little Mac going against Yao Ming, the fact that he hurts his knee by running away from his opponent is pretty incredible. I also like his weak Mortal Kombat kicks.

As a baseball fan, my only wish is that the referee would have allowed the match to continue.

Jose Canseco's MMA Career: 77 seconds.

Single-cell organisms lead more fufilling lives.

Movie Review: X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009)

This should have been easy.

Wolverine's origin has been done countless times in the comics. Bit by bit, little pieces of James "Logan" Howlett's 200-year life were filled in. Some bits were as inconsequential as him fighting with Benjamin Grimm (the Thing) during World War II. Some were as monumental as the guy's real name. There was a miniseries published just a few years ago that was "the definitive" Wolverine origin and, by most accounts, it was pretty decent.

The writers, producers, and directors of X-Men Origins: Wolverine decided to take the hard road. Not only did they ignore the countless who, what, where, when, and whys of Logan's life from the comics, they ignored the one from the highly successful film franchise, too.

It's not enough that Wolverine is dunked in a pool, pumped full of metal, and dies for a minute before coming back as a creature of unbridled rage who can't remember his past and has nothing linking him to it but an obscure code name stamped onto his dog tag.

It has to start at the very beginning, in Canada's Northwest Territories, in a time before Canada or the Northwest Territories existed. Little James Howlett (Hugh Jackman) is always sick, which is great because his mutant ability will later allow him to shrug off cannon fire. A traumatic childhood event leads to he and his half-brother Victor Creed (Leiv Schreiber) running away from Canada to the United States, where they fight in every major American war from the Civil War to Vietnam, though we skip the Korean War because that was all golf practice on helicopter pads. "I'm Canadian," Logan says later, when his former commanding officer William Stryker (Danny Huston) appeals to his patriotism, which implies that the 200 years he spent killing people was a barrel of monkeys...at least until Creed screws it up by trying to rape a Vietnamese woman, which leads to a broader incident involving a firing squad that leads to the two being inducted into a special black-ops program featuring seven or eight of the most wooden, generic characters you'll find this side of Blockbuster Video's action section.

Valuable face time is given to each of these mutants, even the one whose mutant power appears to be imitating John Woo movies. Logan, who stuck with Creed even after he tried to commit a horrible atrocity on a defenseless woman, can take no more when he follows through on orders to kill an entire African village for not knowing where a meteorite came from (though their "the sky" answer is actually pretty truthful).

So he leaves the team (which falls apart in his absence) and retreats to the Canadian Rockies, where he gets married and lives in an incredibly cool house. Things go poorly when Stryker shows up to ask him for help, and, the next day, Victor Creed kills Logan's wife. Stryker convinces Wolverine to let him pump adamantium into his body, and the movie proceeds from there with three constants: boring mutants, boring fight scenes, and boring dialog.

The whole thing is an incompetent money grab. Fox made a big deal about the leaked work print being an unfinished product without the full oomph and pow of the real thing. The explosions were huge, but the small stuff they either forgot to fix or figured nobody would notice were unforgivable. The first time Wolverine pops his adimantium laced claws, each one is as large as a machete, rendered for a character model on an outdated video game system. The size and shape of the claws change from there.

Gavin Hood gets nothing from his actors, but throwing him under the bus is pointless. Will.i.Am is the fourth-billed actor, and the young mutants who appear later in the movie are unknowns. Hood himself is somewhat new behind the camera - this is his third feature, and he received no help from his screenwriters, whose script is something like what a William S. Burroughs devotee would come up with given a two week deadline, twelve stock characters, and a crate of rejected Stallone/Schwarzenegger/Segal scripts.

The effect is something like a wrecking ball, smashing the continuity established by the previous three X-Men films, which weren't in need of a reboot so much as a new director. To the best of my knowledge, this isn't a reboot, so a story that was supposed to explain the beginning of things leaves us with nothing more than questions. The biggest one: With so many witnesses to the event that resulted in Logan's losing his memory, why can't anybody simply fill him in? The answer, unless there's an X-Men 4 to answer it, is that Charles Xavier is an incredibly narrow-minded, forgetful telepath, an asshole, or both.



Shut the Fuck Up, Donny

---

Previously...

Wolverine and Why He's Your Favorite X-Man

The View is a confusing show...

I guess I don't understand the appeal of The View. It's a bunch of b-list celebs sitting around a table talking about things that most would assert are somewhat above their pay grade. From its inception, the thing was made out to be a sort of brunch discussion before a live studio audience, but I can't imagine many brunches breaching the topic of waterboarding and "enhanced interrogation."

The reason why I find The View so confusing is that the show often finds ways to be entertaining, in train wreck fashion. Elisabeth Hasselbeck, former Survivor contestant and wife of an ex-NFL benchwarmer, is all the gloom and doom of Fox News, only she is outgunned by the personalities of four women who would, were this Roman times, rip her to shreds on the Coliseum floor.

Maybe it's not fair. Maybe I shouldn't derive any pleasure from this. But I do. Especially when a guest comes on the show, one with more knowledge and expertise, one who knows how to argue a point, and makes poor Mrs. Hasselbeck stammer and stutter for some brilliant counterargument. Above, she suggests that President Obama's ordering in the troops against Somali pirates was murder if waterboarding was torture. She does so with Jessie "the Body" Ventura, who, aside from his storied political career and life inside the squared circle, was a Navy SEAL during Vietnam - he knows a bit about "enhanced interrogation."

She's also contested that women would stop having abortions if their children were given $5,000 savings bonds, and in the process has made Whoopi Goldberg look like an asshole. She's even made Barbra Walter's look like an angry, condescending schoolmarm. It's amazing:



I'm firmly convinced that she's only on the show to give the women in the crowd somebody to hate. For that, Mrs. Hasselbeck has replaced Michelle Malkin as my #1 Crazy Conservative Heartthrob.



Congratulations, Elisabeth.

Movie Review: Lakeview Terrace (2008)

Lakeview Terrace is a victim of poor advertising. The trailer depicted a Training Day style bad cop thriller featuring Samuel L. Jackson cranked up to 11 as a cop with a God complex. While there are elements of that as officer Abel Turner (Jackson) tries to terrorize his neighbors into leaving his neighborhood, Lakeview Terrace goes beyond typical bad cop fare to explore the issue of racism from a rare angle - Sam Jackson plays the racist.

So the film's climax, the "I'm the police, you have to do what I say!" bit from the trailer that caused a spontaneous eruption of laughter in every theater that played it, comes after an incredibly long game of cat and mouse that starts because Turner doesn't like the idea of living next to an interracial couple - Chris (Patrick Washington) and Lisa (Kerry Washington).

He has his reasons, but don't all racists? He doesn't like that Chris listens to gangster rap. He doesn't like that a white man is married to a black woman. He doesn't like that the two of them publically display affection for each other, albeit unintentionally. Simply put, he doesn't like them.

The film goes into great detail about Turner's quirks, how he patrols the neighborhood at night (despite some protest), how his wife died, how strictly he raises his children, how bad his beat is. Turner needs to be a hard ass - it's the only way he can get through life - but one gets the sense that he has no clue (or desire) to switch off.

Turner is a master of psychology, a sociopath who is able to drive a wedge between the newlyweds. At first, they try to understand Turner, try to patch things up. Eventually, they hate him. At the capitulation of the movie, they hate each other.

It is Turner's catharsis that makes the movie. A great, ten-minute scene in a bar between the cop and the husband, where Turner reveals why he hates him and his wife, but makes no apologies. Turner, who is forced to turn in his badge like many a bad cop before him, is about to jump into the deep end. How many movies give their chainsaw-wielding psychopath an opportunity to explain themselves? How many of those movies do it successfully?

And all of that is just one facet of the story. There are other issues the couple has to deal with - one of Chris' friends wants to know what it's like to be with a black woman, Kerry's father doesn't approve of Chris, Kerry wants to have children but Chris isn't sure - that are more subtle, but have a tremendous impact on the proceedings.

The movie would be divisive, if anybody had bothered to go see it. The trailer painted Lakeview Terrace as generic, b-grade, late-afternoon on HBO stuff. Director Neil LaBute has instead turned in a complex, challenging thriller that doesn't cop out on hard questions. One of 2008's most underrated movies.



I Like Your Style, Dude

Movie Review: Vicky Christina Barcelona (2008)

Up until the opening scene of Vicky Christina Barcelona, I was a Woody Allen virgin. While a pubescent obsession with James Bond led me to watching Casino Royale - the original, 1967 "adaptation" of Ian Fleming's first go-round with 007 - I'm not going to count that, simply because it really isn't a Woody Allen film - he's just in it.

"My God," a teacher of mine exclaimed. "You haven't seen Manhattan? Annie Hall?"

Nope. Regretfully, I still haven't. Maybe there was some inhibitor blocking me from seeing Hannah and Her Sisters. Maybe I actually did mentally punish Woody Allen for his role in Casino Royale. I don't know. Half of his filmography is now in my Netflix queue - thanks to Vicky Christina Barcelona.

As far as modern Woody Allen movies go, I couldn't have picked a better one to end my obliviousness with. This is, if I've been hearing correctly, his "comeback" film. It's hard to have a comeback when you release movies at a pace like Allen's, but after reaching career lows with movies like Curse of the Jade Scorpion and Anything Else, this movie has been touted as a late-career breakthrough that is the capitulation of Allen's shifting focus from New York to Europe and finding a new muse in Scarlett Johansson.

My thoughts?

Vicky Christina Barcelona is a beautifully shot, wonderfully written movie about two women, Vicky (Rebecca Hall) and Christina (Johansson), and their time spent in, as you can probably guess, Barcelona.

Of course, if the movie was just about a getaway to Spain, there wouldn't be much to talk about. Vicky is a responsible woman, months away from getting married to Doug (Chris Messina), who, in the grand tradition of all romantic movies featuring a lead who is close to or already married, may not be the right one. Christina is an emotional, impulsive woman who goes through love and hobbies like shoes. While out to dinner, Vicky flirts with Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem), an artist who invites the two to Barcelona, an offer that they accept.

Immediately, things get screwy. Juan Antonio has an ex-wife, Maria Elena (Penelope Cruz), who is, like Juan Antonio himself, an abstract artist. They are still crazy in love with each other - operative word being crazy. Maria Elena and Juan Antonio can't seem to be in the same room with each other for five minutes without a shouting match, or worse (Juan points out that one of them may have tried to kill the other).

Christina, who has fallen in love with Juan Antonio, also falls in love with Maria Elena, acting as a base for their combustible personalities. Meanwhile Vicky, who may or may not be falling for Juan Antonio (who does want to sleep with Vicky), must contend with Doug and his wish to move the wedding forward and have it in Barcelona.

The acting is, as you've probably heard by now, the true highlight of this film. Plenty of hype (and an Oscar) was directed towards Penelope Cruz's performance, Javier Bardem minus an awful bowl cut, and the kiss between Cruz and Johansson that is not quite the landmark in Hollywood sapphism that pre-release, adjective-laden buzz wanted it to be. All of that is well and good and award-winning, but poor Rebecca Hall got lost in the shuffle. Being one of eight women nominated for Best Actress across two categories is nice, but she shines in her first lead role, holding her own against much bigger stars.

Speaking of new names, credit to cinematographer Javier Aguirresarobe, who manages to capture Barcelona and the characters in it as the beautiful places and people they are, but does so without turning the proceedings into a Hollister catalog. His first major production (depending on your definition of major, I guess), look for Aguirresarobe's star to rise as he captures barren wastelands in The Road and lush green forests in The Twilight Saga: New Moon.

Finally, praising Woody Allen for his ability to write snappy dialog is old hat, but it must be done. He has written and directed over 40 movies and, with a few exceptions, has maintained a firm grip on sly, charming, sexy wit. He may overindulge (the narration in this film was a bit much), but he's certainly never boring.



I Like Your Style, Dude

Cleaning Out My Closet

For a blog that has a ratings system, I haven't really rated many things lately. There's a simple reason for that - we're five months into the year, and I've managed to go to the theater a whole four times. That's right - four times. It's not that I've magically gained a life. I haven't. It's mostly a money issue. So while reviews of Adventureland and Observe and Report are forthcoming and my new, swanky job means that I'll be seeing movies at an amazing, breakneck pace once my Bonnaroo tickets are purchased, I've really had nothing to talk about.

So I may as well talk about the movies I saw, but never finished a review about, right?

Right.

So, before I throw myself headlong into Star Trek, Wolverine, Terminator: Salvation, or (*shudder*) Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, I'm going to be clearing out the drafts tab in this here Blogger thing, hopefully at a pace of two reviews a day, until I'm done.

While I'm doing it, I hope to make several major, absolutely needed updates to the way this blog is organized.

I hope you don't yawn and unsubscribe or something. I'll try to make it interesting.

Norris-Gate: The Ghosts of 1787

The Ghosts of 1787

Read the column here.

I want to protect not only the pastries but also the posterity of America and the world.
-Chuck Norris

If you can believe it, the above sentence is how Chuck Norris transitions into a big, long, depressing list of statistics relating how the Millennial generation faces challenges that not even a roundhouse kick could solve. I'd post them up, but the point is much easier to get to - the youth of America are in deep trouble.

Between high school drop outs, teen pregnancies, violence, obesity, and bad parenting, the future of the nation is peril, peril so perilous that it puts the perils of the Castle Anthrax look tame in comparison. This is so bad that even Ben Franklin, inventor of the future, couldn't comprehend it:

Our Founding Fathers simply never could have imagined such rampant degradation and utter disarray among younger generations. Proof of that is seen in Ben Franklin's 1787 pamphlet, "Information to Those Who Would Remove to America," which was a guide for Europeans who were considering relocating to America.
In it, Ben said, "Hence bad examples (of) youth are more rare in America, which must be a comfortable consideration to parents." Can you picture a present-day politician saying, "Bad examples of youth are rare in America"? He or she would become the ridicule of pundits and politicians alike.

Fine, but there are a few problems.

First, something that bugs me about Chuck Norris: He's like a high school debater with an unusual fetish for 300-year-old opinions. If Chuck were actually standing at a podium across from somebody else, and all he had was a rolodex of quips and quotations from the Founding Fathers, he'd be screwed. The government of the United States of America stopped functioning in the way it was envisioned by the Founding Fathers about six minutes after the Constitution was signed and, if we're to believe what history professors and political theorists, the Founders envisioned an ever-changing future in the first place, hence why it has the power to change.

The logic of using the Founding Father's at every turn is just daunting. You could literally say the same thing about every wise person, were they to look at the future. Aristotle probably couldn't imagine a future where small children were forced to work in shoddy factories, making shoddy clothing, producing little more than the means to an early death. Besides that, Franklin's 1787 letter probably wasn't addressed to the people who would eventually come to make up much of America's white constituency - America wanted the rich. There were few bad examples of children, as long as you had the money to get your children away from them. The children of Irish, Scotch, and German immigrants were doomed to roam the dirty backstreets of whatever city they landed in. The children of slaves were doomed to slavery. Great point, Chuck.

Second, Chuck's bemoaning the state of Gen Y serves little purpose besides serving as a soapbox for his opposition to S.909, the Local Law Enforcement Hate Crimes Prevention Act, otherwise known as the Matthew Shepard Hate Crimes Prevention Act. The act, according to Norris, will "criminalize opinions" as well as "provide elevated protection to pedophiles.

Slight problem: It does neither.

The bill's stated purpose is "to provide Federal assistance to States, local jurisdictions, and Indian tribes to prosecute hate crimes, and for other purposes." While the "other purposes" part may seem a bit nefarious (if not earmarkish), that has more to do with the appropriation of grants to law enforcement agencies that follow an already existing program, outlined by the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act, which, along with banning automatic assault weapons, included provisions to protect against hate crimes. The legislation was the first of its kind to recognize the GLBT community in its language. It was signed by George H.W. Bush. Point being, it's been there.

Second, the bill, which was brought before Congress in response to the Matthew Shepard tragedy, deals with hate crimes. It seeks to protect minorities, not pedophiles. The definition of hate crime, from the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act (which is the same used by the Matthew Shepard Hate Crimes Prevention Act):

"Hate crime" means a crime in which the defendant intentionally selects a victim, or in the case of a property crime, the property that is the object of the crime, because of the actual or perceived race, color, religion, national origin, ethnicity, gender, disability, or sexual orientation of any person.

While the above doesn't discern between beating up a black man and calling somebody a faggot, the Matthew Shepard Hate Crimes Prevention Act does. For somebody to be punished by it, the crime in question must be (A) one of violence, (B) a felony, and (C) motivated by prejudice - any prejudice, not just against gays.

The big problem, and I may be reaching here, is that certain members of certain religious organizations see this as an encroachment on their ability to say awful things about homosexuals without recourse. The "it criminalizes opinion!" argument sounds a lot like the one where religious Californians were concerned that gay marriages were going to be forced in their homes, churches, and elementary schools.

Is that is the case, then Chuck Norris seems to be saying two things. First, that pedophiles should be stoned Deuteronomy-style, and second, that homosexuals have a high propensity for being pedophiles. Now that may seem like reaching, but I've read the bill. The word "pedophile" appears a grand number of zero times, and I don't think Norris would apply the word to race, color, religion, national origin, or gender (all covered by the bill). That leaves the gay and transgendered men and women the bill seeks to protect.

While I won't go into how sad I think it is that that view of the GLBT community still exists, I will point out something a bit more troubling:

Norris links to a Focus on the Family webpage, asking supporters to tell their Congressmen to vote against the bill. While I'm all for that aspect of Democracy, Focus on the Family is something that the world would probably be better without. While founder James Dobson is no longer with the organization, his principles are still those of the group. A choice quote: "Homosexuals deeply resent being told that they selected this same-sex inclination in pursuit of sexual excitement or some other motive."

If you're not familiar with Focus on the Family, consider this: They supported Mike Huckabee. Then they supported nobody. Then they supported Sarah Palin (John McCain was just kind of there). Before the election, they sent letters and paid for television ads that equated the United States to Nazi Germany. They published an almost funny "letter from the future" that detailed of a world where we have no basic freedoms due to Obama's packing the Supreme Court chock full o' liberals.

They're not right in the head, to put it bluntly.

So the short blurb on FOC's CitizenLink website. It's short, sweet, and miserable. Two choice cuts from that, if you can't be bothered to have your web browser's history reflect a visit:

"There is no evidence of an epidemic of sexual-orientation 'hate crimes' in this country," said Ashley Horne, federal policy analyst at Focus on the Family Action. "So, what's the real reason for this bill? Gay activists want to silence those who speak out against homosexuality."

Oddly enough, the government has been keeping a record of hate crimes committed since hate crime legislation was passed in 1994. In 2004, some 7,649 hate crimes were reported. That's not an epidemic, certainly, nor is the 1,197 crimes committed specifically because of sexual orientation, but arguing that the law isn't needed is like arguing that the act doesn't happen - it does, and more often than not, it goes unreported.

If the legislation passes, pastors could be prosecuted under the federal inducement statute for preaching the biblical view of homosexuality. For example, a person could commit an act of violence against a homosexual individual and blame it on the pastor's sermon.

And back to the religion thing. It's strange that an evangelical group would paint themselves as the victims of a vast conspiracy of gay, black, Jewish liberals hell bent on robbing people of their personal freedoms by granting a bunch of personal freedoms. It's also strange to note that the FBI also keeps track of hate crimes committed against Protestants. The number? 38.

Oh yeah, they need a lot of protecting.

Third, I'm not even sure how much impact any of this has, considering Chuck's propensity to plug himself and his various Good Deeds at every given turn. If Chuck loves something more than the Founding Fathers, it's himself. I gave you a small taste of his transition from funny internet story to awful, depressing statistics. Here's the full thing:

This past week, all over the Internet news and in the inbox at my Web site (http://www.ChuckNorris.com) were reports about a bakery in Croatia that is using a life-size photo of me to ward off burglars who were ransacking the business weekly. The message under my photo in the store's window says, "This shop is under the protection of Chuck Norris."

First, I am very honored to help reduce crime anywhere on the planet, even from a photo. (How we all wish it were always that easy!) But I want to protect not only the pastries but also the posterity of America and the world.

HE PLUGS HIS WEBSITE! Then, after suggesting that all gays are pedophiles, he goes on to plug his work with children, and that he "gets" us kids, all thanks to Chuck Norris Facts:

I've felt honored to be reconnected to the younger generations through the "Chuck Norris Facts" proliferation. I hear from thousands every year, listen to their concerns, and do my best to carry their concerns to appropriate parties to implement change.

Who in their right mind contacts Chuck Norris for his advice or opinion on personal issues? Who? What could he possible have to teach us? How many of those thousands of e-mails aren't just total hoaxes perpetrated by anonymous little assholes like me, and how many of those fly over Chuck's head because he wants another five minutes of self-aggrandizement?

FROM: CHUCK NORRIS
RE: HELP ME CHUCK

Hey,

It's me, Chuck Norris. You might have emailed me because you saw my hit show Walker, Texas Ranger on the Hallmark Channel or because you came across a list of Chuck Norris Facts on the internet.

I understand you're having problems, Johnathan, and it's normal for any young, teenage boy to have feelings that may seem...unnatural. As you'll find out if you buy my book BLACK BELT PATRIOTISM, it's best if you fight those urges, ignore who you are, and marry and procreate with a woman you may or may not ever truly love.

For more tips, please visit my website.

Yours (no homo),
Chuck Norris
WWW.CHUCKNORRIS.COM

Next time I'm being mugged or mauled by a bear, I'm going to flash my copy of Good Guys Wear Black and hope for the best.



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This has been Norris-Gate, the weekly feature that treats Chuck Norris like the political genius he thinks he is, because somebody has too.

Careful With That Axe: The Story of Ricky

This clip is 1:47. In that 1:47, the audience is exposed to naked ass, eye patches, fat people, disemboweling gut shots, a guy pulling a shiv from his hand, a one punch explosion, and, I'm guessing, the crippling realities of Japanese prison life.

Silly Lung's reaction to being disemboweled (half horror, half Sloth being denied food) may be the greatest thing ever filmed.

Nominated for Two Lammys

Readers of this blog who didn't come here because you knew who I was before I started talking about stuff on the internet probably looked at the somewhat written upon banner for this blog were probably all like "what the hell is a LAMMY?", probably followed by a few choice comments about how funny it was that I was asking people to nominate me as "best" something-or-other.

Well, to answer your question, a LAMMY is an award given out by the Large Association of Movie Blogs, which I've been part of now for some time. Yeah, pretty self-explanatory. I've been nominated for two awards. If you are a member of the LAMB, I encourage you to vote {for me) early and vote as many times as Misterpoll will let you (once).

The categories I'll trumpet about on the eventual Criterion Collection release of this blog:

BEST BLOG NAME



BEST RATINGS SYSTEM



You have until May 31. Get to it.

Another poor, celebrity inspired photoshop image

Am I the only one totally nonplussed that Hulk Hogan said that he understood OJ Simpson's motivation for becoming a total fuck up ten years ago? Maybe it's because I spent a good part of my childhood adoring Hulk Hogan, or maybe its because he seems to require surgery just to get out of bed in the morning, but I can't imagine the Immortal Hulk Hogan, small gloves, and a white Ford Bronco being one of this decade's defining moments.