It’s a sad day for the world when Hollywood combines two of my favorite-est things — mythology and movies with giant monsters and lots of fight scenes and also really attractive men — and come up with Clash of the Titans (2010).
(Although I do have to admit, I take a perverse pleasure in hearing Liam Neeson roar, “Release the Kraken!“)
(I also have to admit that I then have to yell, “Release the Kraken!” myself, with the appropriate hand gestures of godliness.)
(But I do have to wonder, if Liam Neeson is supposed to be Zeus, why does he look like a character from Tron? Speaking of, who can’t wait for Tron Legacy?!!!)
(I didn’t start out intending to do this post as a series of parentheses, but I think that’s where we’re heading.)
So Sam Worthington is Perseus, who has to fight a bunch of monsters for some reason that I never saw the original, OK? I had a boyfriend who loved it, but he also had a Winona Ryder fetish, so his judgment is questionable. (Also, he dated me, so that really calls his judgment into question.)
Liam Neeson is Zeus, and he looks kind of ridiculous, and Ralph Fiennes is Hades, and he looks utterly ridiculous.
Pete Postlethwaite is also in Clash of the Titans and, while he looks the same as always, I still can’t spell Postlethwaite right, or pronounce it. I mean, the man deserves a paycheck as much as the rest of us, if not more for his ungodly talent, but I hate to see him sink to this.
Then there’s some scantily clad chicks chained to stuff, because if ancient Greece was about anything, it was about scantily clad chicks chain to stuff and also barely dressed young men. (Ancient Greece was a swingin’ place.)
Then there’s the Kraken.
Also, and this is just me, a major mythology nerd, speaking: The titans are long dead by the time this movie takes place, so it should really be called Clash of the gods vs. the men who are demi-gods and a bunch of average humans.
Then the tagline could be “Gods and men who are demi-gods and a bunch of average humans WILL CLASH!”
Q. Why did you have to go and cast that guy as a villain for season three?
A. Even my favorite TV show hates me.
I want to invent a telephone that shocks stupid people when they ask stupid questions. It won’t make them any smarter, just hurt them.
So … Hot Tub Time Machine, right?
It’s got a lot of things going for it, including the fact that it is named Hot Tub Time Machine, which is a great name for anything, but especially for a movie about a hot tub that is a time machine.
Also, the announcer guy in the trailer says: “Four friends will discover a new level of awesome,” which means someone loves “awesome” as much as I do.
And: “What color is Michael Jackson?” “… black?”
So, yeah, this movie looks pretty cool. Plus, some chick stabs John Cusack in the eye with a toothpick, like, who hasn’t wanted to do that lately, you know? Stop starring in heart-tugging indies and get back to comedy, sir! Toothpick to the eye!
Thus, while I’m not going to actually spent the $9 (or whatever movies are nowadays, since I haven’t seen one in the theater since holy cow WATCHMEN) to see this flick, I also cannot bring myself to say anything bad about it. Sure, it’s not going to be a life-changing event (that is, unless it encourages someone to invent an actual hot tub time machine, which would be all sorts of awesome), but …. Actually, I only wrote that sentence to say the thing about someone inventing a hot tub time machine.
(I put the “Tallahassee” in quotes so all y’all would get that I mean the character in Zombieland and not the city in Florida, unless you don’t get that I know how to use quotes properly. In that case, I kind of hate you.)
I hate things with double letters. Really I do. I never know if I’m doubling too many of those letters or not enough. It’s horrible.
But you know what I don’t hate, “Tallahassee”? Your preternatural zombie-slaying skills. Man, I love those. You’re all like, “Hey, what’s that? A zombie?” And it’s all chainsaw massacre first, ask questions later.
Plus, you look good in a cowboy hat, which not many people do, and I should know, “Tallahassee,” because I live in a state where a large number of people insist on wearing cowboy hats and also working on ranches.
I think we could work as a couple, “Tallahassee,” not least because, were I to survive the zombie apocalypse (which I am pretty confident I will do, “Tallahassee,” what with all the preparations I have made. Can you say “Zombie honey trap”? I am prepared.), I would be of an age-appropriate range for you, which the only other (as far as I can tell) surviving females are far, far, far too young.
What do I bring to the relationship table, you wonder?
I’ll tell you what. In addition to my markedly impressive zombie-slaughtering talents (I’ve been practicing on hobos, “Tallahassee”), I have access to a cookbook with secret famous recipes. What does that have to do with anything, you wonder?
I’ll tell you what that has to do with anything. Baking. Twinkies. That’s what that has to do with anything. Or deep-fat-frying them. Or cooking them over a campfire that was lit with the souls of children, I don’t know. However Twinkies are made.
I would do that for you, “Tallahassee.”
Especially if you let me borrow your car and run over a few zombies with it.
So, it turns out that, today at least, these are the top 10 things that people used to find Hollywood Hates Me. By combining them into one post, I am assuring this will be my most popular post evah. Gods, I’m clever.
1. Amy Adams. I’ve only posted about her once when I was talking about that godawful Leap Year, but I used a really cool photo, so I assume people are coming here for copies of that.
2. Tiffani-Amber Thiessen. I didn’t realize her popularity was so enduring.
3. Tiffani Amber Thiessen. Really. I had no idea.
4. Donnie Darko. I’m actually surprised that I don’t have more hate-filled comments saying I was stupid for not liking Donnie Darko. I guess Donnie Darko fans are a mellow, forgiving bunch.
5. Zachary Levi. Now that’s more like it! When am I not talking about Chuck, right? When I’m talking about Burn Notice or Death Note, that’s when.
6. Lollipops. This has been a pretty consistent top 10 search since I did my Leap Year post. I find that kind of odd. What’s the fascination with lollipops, Internet?
7. Jake Gyllenhaal. I’m especially surprised by this one, since I keep spelling his name Gyllenhall.
8. Raccoon. I used a photo of a raccoon one time when listing things that would be better Spike Spiegels than Keanu Reeves could ever possibly hope, but I also used a photo of a mynah bird, so why no love for the mynah?
9. Hockey mask. Thanks to Halloween week, I have mentioned hockey masks on this blog.
10. Tinkerbell. I would prefer it if the search was “Tinkerbell is a stone-cold killer,” but whatever.
I want the possessors of my two absolute favorite last names to marry and become hyphenates.
They would be the Hairless Beaver-Comes at Night family.
That would be so godsdamned awesome, you don’t even know.
Is there a spoon?
So, this weekend, The Bounty Hunter opens. What can I say about The Bounty Hunter? My mother never bothered to teach me “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all,” so I could say lots of things. But why?
I mean, you’re not gonna see it. I’m not gonna see it. Do I have to say that it looks like poo? Poo on a stick, even? I don’t think that I do.
But what I do have to say is: Has Gerard Butler ever been in a good movie, ever? In fact, I had to say it twice, since that is the post title. (I’m assuming you read the post title already and are like, well, DUH, Lokifire.)
Now, we all know that Jennifer Anniston is, like, never in good movies, and we’ve come to expect that from her. And that’s all right.
But for some reasons, hearing the name Gerard Butler makes me think (abstractly) of quality films. And then I think some more and I go, wait …. Wait. Wait. And then I look at his imdb page, and I go, what the hell made me think he’d been in good movies?
I think it might be his classy name. Gerard Butler. That sounds classy, right? The Gerard part, mostly, although “Butler” does make me envision guys in tuxedoes. But they’re holding doors open for you and calling you “sir” or “madam,” and they’re wearing little white gloves to check for dust, but whatever. Or maybe it’s the way he reminds me of Clive Owen for some reason, who actually has been in some good movies, though not that many lately.
300 was kind of good, right? I never actually got around to seeing it, but it was based on a Frank Miller comic and had a bunch of nearly nekkid guys, so that sounds awesome. Does that count? Was 300 good?
What about RocknRolla? Did anybody actually bother to see that? It was Guy Ritchie’s ninth try directing the same frakking film, so maybe he got it right this time. Was it any good?
How ’bout all those rom/coms? I’m not a fan of the rom/com, so I wouldn’t know if they were any good. Were they?
Has Gerard Butler ever been in a good movie, ever?
(I guess I had to say it three times.)
Please marry me.
Now, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. This is a marriage of convenience, not anything like love or passion or unplanned pregnancy.
What makes it convenient, you ask? (I’m glad you asked that, Gregory House, MD. Can I call you House? I would feel uncomfortable calling you Greg, ’cause even your best TV friend doesn’t call you Greg.)
What makes it convenient, you ask, House? Well, here’s the thing.
I’m not a great person. I mean, sure, I’m charming, witty, beautiful, a great singer. But I’m a bit of a jerk. I mean, have you seen the things I’ve said about Matt Damon? I’m sure, that if he cared about my opinion whatsoever, his feelings would be totally hurt. (On a related note, Vince Vaughn is still a big fat gross slob and get the hell off the movie screens already.) I’m not that pleasant to be around, House, and people know that.
But — and this is the reason for my proposal here — in comparison to you, I am Mother Frakkin’ Teresa. (Does it kind of dull my point if I insert frakkin’ in between Mother and Teresa? Also, is she a saint yet? Should I have said Saint Frakkin’ Teresa? Is it spelled Theresa? Crap!) I think that if we were to wed, I would look like a bed of roses. I would be a shiny polished brand new car and you, House, would be the clunker that spits black smoke in your face. I would look that good. (Figuratively speaking. Literally speaking, I think you’re really, really hot, and we would look so great together it’s not even funny. Unless laughing at attractive couples is your thing, and I don’t know if it is.)
People would be all like, “Man, that Lokifire is such a bitch,” and other people would be like, “Yeah, but have you met her husband? Sure, he’s a genius doctor and all, but he’s a bit of an ass.” And then they would meet you and boom! I look ever so much better.
Now if you’re wondering what I would bring to this relationship, as it seems I’m reaping all the benefits here with the hot husband who is a jerk so I seem nice in comparison, this is what I bring to the table, House (whom I just can’t get comfortable calling Greg): No interest whatsoever in discussing feelings (yours or mine, House, because, ech, feelings) or not making fun of stupid people, because, Gods, House, what good is living if you can’t make fun of morons? And if that’s not enough to sway you, I promise I will totally not judge your Vicodin addiction and, indeed, might even contribute to your problem. (I’m aware you don’t have a painkiller addiction this season, House, and to that I say: I stopped watching your show several episodes after it became apparent that Olivia Wilde was not going anywhere.)
Anyway, please consider my offer.