Because I Told You So

Daily Money Shot (And Money Crashers) Reviews Secrets of a Stingy Scoundrel

2012-02-16T12:12:00.000-08:00

Daily Money Shot -- excellent blog title there -- reviewed Secrets of a Stingy Scoundrel last week.

Here's an excerpt:

Just beneath the surface of the sarcasm are actually some pretty good tips. But the way it’s presented provides a sort of caution against being so cheap you actually come across like an ass. No one should ever place money and frugality above ethics, morality and basic common decency. It is possible to take frugality too far, as the book points out in a humorous way, but it’s also possible to be careful with your money.

Update: Money Crashers also checked in with a review.

The Top 5 Reasons The Hunger Games Is Bullshit

2012-02-15T08:57:00.000-08:00

1. The concept is ludicrous. No matter how deranged people get in the future, they'll never think it's cool to watch 12-year-olds claw each others' eyes out for entertainment value. And they certainly wouldn't think it's cool to watch 16-year-olds massacre 12-year-olds. If the competition's minimum age was 16 the story would have been less forcefully melodramatic and more believable.

2. "Katniss" is a stupid name. And now these books are probably inspiring others to name their daughters that, making our world more annoying and unlivable.

3. The writing is distractingly choppy, with horrible transitions between scenes.

4. Its biggest calling card is that it's "better than Twilight." So is dog excrement.

5. Too many people like it.

The 5 Game Systems I've Played The Least Yet Still Own

2012-02-13T08:39:00.000-08:00

1. GameBoy Micro -- A little while before Nintendo release the DSi, it came out with a miniature GameBoy Advance. This thing is so small that I once accidentally washed and dried it with my clothes. Somehow it still works.

2. RetroN 3 -- Plays NES, SNES and Genesis games. Problem is, so does the Wii, which made me re-purchase and download just about every game I had for those consoles and still care about years before the RetroN came out.

3. IXL -- It's a book-shaped system with kids' games with a terribly unresponsive stylists. My kids hate it and it gets buried underneath a pile of Leapster Explorers and LeapPads, but I feel too bad for it to get rid of it.

4. iPod Touch -- I admire its capabilities and its pocket-friendliness, but I just never have a use for this thing. The games are OK and free and it plays movies, but there are always better alternatives available.

5. PSP -- The Vita has rendered this thing obsolete, but the PSP never really was the cutting edge of anything. Instead it was a promising misfit that spent all its time beneath the bleachers, got tatted up and did too many drugs.

Review: Safe House

2012-02-07T23:16:00.000-08:00

Safe House plays out just like a romantic comedy, only with slightlymore explosions, car chases, hand-cuffings, ear-yankings and stabbings withglass shards.

You know how it goes. The leads meet cute, maybe at a parkbench or perhaps in an interrogation room in South Africa. They vow to spendmost of the rest of the movie together, either because they’ve found true loveor because one is constantly pointing a gun at the other’s pancreas. Then comesthe inevitable misunderstanding that separates them, which can be maybe an unwelcomevisit from an ex or an orchestrated diversion complete with disguises and anorchestrated cover story provided by the international media.

This breathless bromance, which arrives just in time forValentine’s Day, pairs People’s Sexiest Man Alive 1996 Denzel Washington withSexiest Man Alive 2010 Ryan Reynolds. Sure,they may rough-house and insult one another a bit – after all, Washington playsa suspected double agent on the loose with sensitive material and Reynolds isthe greenhorn CIA agent sent to track him down – but deep down, you just knowthey really, really like each other in the same way grabby UFC fighters seem towhen they’re writhing around on the ground.

The non-romantic element of attraction is certainly there. Reynoldsknows Washington is a bad boy, but he’s convinced he can change him in waysthat waterboarding could not. In turn, Washington wants Reynolds to come out ofhis patriotic shell and live a little.

Just as in all romantic comedies, there are more than a fewridiculous leaps of faith you’re asked to make in order to buy the charade. Forinstance, it’s tough to buy that the consortium of Western spy networks couldn’tcapture Washington for years, yet Reynolds gets him back in his grasp with theease he delivered one-liners on the show Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place, agreat show which is inexplicably still not available on DVD. Ahem. But back tothe review.

Also, Washington’s fighting skills are a bit exaggerated andbizarrely unbalanced. He can take down a room of highly-trained agents withease, and break out of a car trunk, take control of a vehicle and survive arollover crash, yet is powerless when a rookie agent cuffs him to a wall.

Despite all the silliness, or perhaps because of it, SafeHouse stays interesting as it shepherds you through genuinely surprisingtwists, brutal fisticuffs and some plotting every bit as clever as MAD magazine’srecurring Spy vs. Spy feature.

You can probably finda better way to spend a pre-Valentine’s weekend night, even if you’re alone andjust flipping through channels on TV. But one thing’s for certain. You sure asheck won’t be able to find Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place on, because theworld hates you and refuses to ever let you see that show again.

Starring Denzel Washington, Ryan Reynolds, Vera Farmiga, RobertPatrick, Sam Shepard and Brendan Gleeson. Written by David Guggenheim. Directedby Daniel Espinosa. Rated R. 115 minutes.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

The 5 Funniest Super Bowl Scores

2012-02-06T08:34:00.000-08:00

1. XXIV: 49ers 55, Broncos 10

2. XLII: Giants 17, Patriots 14

3. XLVI: Giants 21, Patriots 17

4. XX: Bears 46, Patriots 10

5. III: Jets 16, Colts 7

My Favorite Financial Tip

2012-02-02T10:26:00.000-08:00

Is included on page 5 of this MainStreet post. It was an honor to be included with this awesome group of money masters.

The 5 Worst Colors

2012-02-01T08:18:00.000-08:00

1. Pink. Women who wear it are just conforming to the stereotype, while dudes who do the same are trying too hard to say that they don't care what others think about them. In doing so, they're proving they care way too much.

2. Brown. By far the most boring color. It's dirt. Its message is "I need to be improved upon."

3. Off-white. If you're going to be white, go all-out. Off-white is just phoning it in and is the epitome of willful imperfection.

4. Neon yellow. Makes your eyes bleed. Should be co-opted as a government weapon.

5. Grey. It's the brown of the off-off whites. Eeyore can keep it.

For the record, the best colors are bright orange and bright red. Both emit power.

The 5 Most Evil NFL Teams

2012-01-30T07:40:00.000-08:00

1. Dallas Cowboys. It's no coincidence all those Satanic ritual movies have the Cowboys' logo with a circle around it. Having the gall to call yourself "America's Team" gets you to to the top of this list right quick.

2. Green Bay Packers. They win too often, and their stupid Lambeau leap is obnoxious.

3. New England Patriots. They never ever ever lose. Well, sometimes they do. They are the football version of entitled, smarmy Duke basketball.

4. Pittsburgh Steelers. They are always mediocre yet nearly always worm their way into the late rounds of the playoffs and sometimes even swipe Super Bowl titles.

5. Seattle Seahawks. It's impossible to take anything sportswise from Seattle seriously, yet I still hate the Seahawks because of their obnoxious color scheme and ability to pull out undeserved wins with semi-regularity.

Review: Man on a Ledge

2012-01-26T22:06:00.000-08:00

Stuff gets real when you're teetering on the ledge of a Manhattan high-rise, having flashbacks in 10-minute chunks to keep the audience apprised of what's going on in your noggin. It's tough to blame you if you're, say, Sam Worthington and you overact a bit. Maybe you let your Aussie accent come in and out as you taunt a pair of police officers inside the window and an adoring crowd below. Maybe you dart your eyes so much you resemble the Hamburglar.

Maybe you just zone out on occasion, as Third Eye Blind's Jumper courses through your mind.

Whatever the case, Man on a Ledge manages to overcome an iffy performance by Worthington to stay riveting throughout its running time. Kudos to the filmmakers for pitching a super-high concept -- 21 stories high, more or less -- and wringing every possible bit of suspense from it.

The film opens in a way that makes you want to tap the back of the head of the guy in front of you, saying "Can you believe that guy just checked into a hotel, jimmied up the window and just stepped out there? I mean, the movie is called Man on a Ledge but holy sh*t, the man is actually on that ledge! Do you think he's really there or it's just a green screen, like what weathermen and Jar Jar Binks use? How do you think he'll get down? The guy's got a secret. What do you think it is? And why does the guy keep talking like Crocodile Dundee?"

Since actually saying all that stuff would get you tossed out by the other 15 people brave enough to pay for a ticket to a new movie that opens in the January wasteland, you've got to twirl those thoughts to yourself as you sit back, grip the arm rests and let Sam's flashbacks fill you in, bit by bit.

Thanks to its unique and convincing plotting, the movie manages to make infinite scenes of a dude just standing there fascinating. The movie is at its best when you don't know what's going on in his head, and you're leaning forward hoping he cuts ties with all the lies that he's been living in. You'd kind of like to see him jump, but then again you totally wouldn't, because that would make the movie far too short, unless the third act consists solely of paramedics doing grisly work with spatulas.

Once the film lets you in on all its mysteries -- thankfully doing so subtle way that respects your intellegience and not in a Scooby-Doo manner -- it drags a little, but manages to pull you back in every now and again by cutting and verifying that THE DUDE IS STILL UP ON THAT LEDGE!

The filmmakers might be on to something here, that could fix just about every boring movie. Bella and Edward keep playing chess? Show Jacob on a ledge! Sylvester Stallone's stumbling through a monlogue? Have him do it on a ledge! There are Chipmunks, Smurfs or Muppets on screen, and they won't do anything entertaining? Put 'em all up on a ledge, then push!

Here's hoping the ledge movement begins here and now, and historians look back on this great moment that started it all.

Starring Sam Worthington, Edward Burns, Ed Harris and Elizabeth Banks. Written by Pablo F. Fenjves. Directed by Asger Leth. Rated PG-13. 102 minutes.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

The 5 Worst Competition Shows I've Had The Misfortune Of Watching

2012-01-26T07:56:00.000-08:00

1. American Idol. If Ryan Seacrest came out today and said "Hey, I'm the antichrist," I would think, "Yeah, that's about right." I hate everything about this show, and Seacrest is the head of the beast.

2. Survivor. They give these people way too many creature comforts and don't starve them or let them suffer from diseases nearly enough. The only thing they're really "surviving" is increasing public apathy.

3. Deal or No Deal. There's no skill involved in this idiotic game, and nobody ever accepts the first deal, so there's no sense in it even being offered. The arcade game rocks, though. Gives out a ton of tickets.

4. Big Brother. At least the people in Survivor have to deal with the elements. People in this show just sit around and complain about each other. I get enough of that at work.

5. The Bachelorette. It's universally understood that dudes, especially dude-bros, which populate this show, hate the idea of marriage and only do so when they're forced to. The idea that dude-bros would compete for the ability to get married is akin to zebras at the zoo competing with each other to see who gets to be roommates with the lion.

The 5 Worst Breakfast Cereals

2012-01-25T08:07:00.000-08:00

1. Cheerios -- I'm pretty sure this is made by the same cardboard they used to make the boxes. Each bite takes you that much closer to depression rather than cheeriness.

2. Special K -- The reason this stuff has brand recognition as something that makes you thin is it's impossible to eat.

3. Shredded Wheat -- Munching on this makes you feel like a horse chewing on hay. I've never tried hay, but it's probably better than this.

4. Kix -- I understand why mothers approve, because they love to torture their children with things that taste terrible, such as vegetables. But I can't comprehend the assertion that alleged kids actually approved of this. Whoever these kids were, they clearly have never encountered sugar.

5. Raisin Bran -- It's like Corn Flakes, only with the added bonus of like seven raisins in the entire box. Bran Raisin should be its actual title, only with the word "raisin" in agate type.

The 5 Dumbest Pizza Toppings

2012-01-23T08:44:00.000-08:00

1. Extra cheese. It's impossible to tell whether or not it's really there. I hope pizza makers punish people who order this by giving them less cheese.

2. Pineapple. This is pizza, not a luau. Get that crap out of here.

3. Anchovies. This is pizza, not a haunted aquarium of dead fish that still have their heads and bones intact. Get that crap out of here.

4. Chicken. You have to eat this garbage in 98 percent of your other meals, so you deserve a break when it comes pizza time.

5. Jalapeños. They improve almost everything, but pizza is the rare exception. Rather than enhance the taste of pizza sauce, they combat it.

How I Stopped SOPA

2012-01-19T08:42:00.000-08:00

In case you were wondering why SOPA got shot down, it was definitely because I refused to post an update here yesterday. This action pretty much single-handedly got Obama to come out three days before and render the bill moot by saying he would not support it.

Yes, my lack of posting was so powerful that it traveled back in time to make that happen. You're welcome. Let me know if there are any other social causes I can single-handedly champion for you, internet.

For the record, I also stopped PIPA Middleton from doing whatever she had planned. The British should stay out of the American lawmaking process anyway. We are independent from you now, dammit!

5 Things The Internet Want You To Hate Right Now

2012-01-17T08:15:00.000-08:00

SOPA.

Suze Orman's Approved Card.

The media for ignoring Ron Paul.

The media for telling you what's wrong with Ron Paul.

Ron Paul.

Review: The Way

2012-01-11T20:53:00.000-08:00

The sugar-sweet father-son team-up turns out to be far more than Martin Sheen doing a favor for the less famous of his sons. Emilio Estevez pours his heart into the script and direction of the travelogue, starring his father as a man grieving over the death of his middle-aged son by going on a cross-country hike.

The film starts off unremarkably, but builds momentum as it goes and gradually becomes something near transcendent. Deborah Kara Unger adds pep as a woman Sheen's character meets along his literal road to redemption. Estevez wisely shows restraint with the character, stopping short of making her the protagonist's sole salvation.

A thoughtful meditation about the way fathers fail to connect with sons, and they way we shoulder regrets that last a lifetime, The Way is a worthy effort and a sign that Estevez may yet emerge as an excellent filmmaker.

Review: We Bought a Zoo

2012-01-11T07:56:00.000-08:00

While We Bought a Zoo isn't exactly Cameron Crowe's grand return to relevance as a film auteur, it does prove that the wheels haven't fallen off quite as badly as they'd appeared to after the Elizabethtown debacle.

The drama, which tries so hard to be uplifting that it nearly gives itself a hernia in the process, tells the story of a wealthy single father who makes the bizarre decision to spend it all on a defunct zoo. It probably doesn't hurt that Scarlett Johansson is the zookeeper that comes with the property.

Matt Damon, finally looking something close to his age thanks to his longish, unkempt hair, keeps the main character relatable, if not quite understandable. There's an endearing, almost Fitzcarraldo-like irrational obsession to his character that keeps you from rolling your eyes as he continues his silly quest to indulge his ego.

It's much the same for Crowe, who decides to adapt a strange, navel-gazing book rather than tell a personal story like the ones that gave him his stature to begin with. Then again, if Elizabethtown is the only type of personal story left in Crowe's tank, maybe it's best that he went off in this new direction.

Review: Pariah

2012-01-11T05:23:00.000-08:00

Director Dee Rees's penetrating, heart-rending film tells the tale of a lost, directionless Brooklyn teen (Adepero Oduye) whose browbeating parents force her to hide her burgeoning sexuality, leaving her to work things out on the streets with questionable influences.

Brutally efficient dialogue and pitch-perfect performances keep the film riveting throughout. All facets of the film work in concert to make you feel the isolation and shame of the protagonist, as she searches for someone, anyone who can understand what she's enduring. Pariah sets a new standard for the coming-of-age genre.

Review: Rampart

2012-01-10T07:39:00.000-08:00

If the play-by-their-own-rules movie cops of yesteryear operated in these PC times, he would spend most of his time filling out paperwork and trying to fight off suspensions in meetings with internal affairs.

Such is the plight of the rogue LAPD officer played with fevered grit and searing angst by Woody Harrelson. Dubbed with the nickname "Date Rape," for his alleged vigilante assassination of a date rapist earlier in his career, he's seen by his colleagues as a man's man who operates the way they'd like to if they had the stones, as well as the utter disregard for the consequences.

Barely apologetically racist and unashamedly womanizing, Harrelson struggles to keep his professional life and family -- whose members are exhausted of his macho act -- together after he's caught on video delivering a brutal beating to a motorist. Unable and unwilling to apologize from his public temper tantrum, he's left scrambling to defend himself as the streets themselves turn against them.

A crackling potboiler with seething political undertones, director Oren Moverman's is fascinating from beginning to end. It's heartening to see Harrelson -- a fine actor who's too often relegated to comic relief -- find such a meaty role. I want to see more of the same of Harrelson's newfound Roman spring.

Review: Undefeated

2012-01-09T05:32:00.000-08:00

Documentarians Dan Lindsay and T.J. Martin have created a Friday Night Lights for a new decade. Their stellar football film captures the struggles of a downtrodden program. The inspirational and moving tale reveals the joys and angst of the game, positing that football reveals character rather than builds it.

The access and footage the filmmakers procure is fascinating, and almost hidden-camera like. A feature film could easily be developed from this material, but I doubt it would touch the essence of what makes this doc superb.

The story unfolds in a genuinely unpredictable way, with heartbreaking, magnificent twists. I'd rank it alongside Go Tigers as one of the best football documentaries I've seen.

Review: Coriolanus

2012-01-04T08:19:00.000-08:00

While period Shakespeare adaptations are usually rote and unimaginative, modern re-imaginings give the work new life and allow it to shine in different ways. Ralph Fiennes's exquisite adaptation of Coriolanus falls into the latter category.

Updating the setting to a potentially apocalyptic war setting. Fiennes is superb as a conflicted warlord, who bristles under the domineering ways of a character played with authoritative excellence by Vanessa Redgrave. Equally outstanding is Jessica Chastain, in what seems to be her 300th standout performance of the year,

Excellent visual and sound design keep the film moving at a brisk pace, and the careful, inspired adaptation by John Logan reshapes the play into a riveting, thoughtful action film.

Off To A Great Start

2012-01-03T08:30:00.000-08:00

It took me all of two days to catch my first cold of the new year. Right now I'm on pace to break Dan Marino's record of 5,084 colds caught in 1984. I'm hoping my kids come through for me by relaying every sickness possible from daycare and preschool by wiping their snot on every surface of my home. Wish me luck.

Frugal Beautiful Reviews Secrets Of A Stingy Scoundrel

2011-12-29T11:45:00.000-08:00

Frugal Beautiful gives the 2-year-old book its first review in ages.

An excerpt:

The writing in this book is hilarious, a little raunchy and totally snarky- you will totally love it. This is the kind of book you want to have in your arsenal and openly displayed on your bookshelf as a “screw the system” book that totally helps you save a few bucks. It’s worth the purchase price, both for applicable tips and entertainment value..you’ll laugh and get a few “OH SNAPS” out of it.

Review: The Adventures of Tintin

2011-12-20T19:50:00.000-08:00

I can't decide whether I wanted to slap or hug Tintin. He's a babyfaced, relentlessly upbeat British reporter with apparently lax supervisors who don't mind if he takes a few weeks to trot across the globe and hunt for lost pirate treasure. He's got a loyal dog, Snowy, who follows him everywhere, helps him fight bad guys and catch the odd bird of prey that flies off with an important roll of parchment.

Tintin is not one to give up, even when stranded in the Sahara or stuck in an out-of-fuel propeller plane careening into the ocean. Does it make me a bad person to yearn for his swift, grotesque death? Probably. Nevertheless, The Adventures of Tintin is thrilling to watch, even though you've got a strong suspicion Steven Spielberg won't murder his Uncanny Valley-spawned protagonist halfway through the movie.

Filled with improbably races, chases, rescues and fights, the film is a whimsical family adventure that glistens with spectacular animation that's well beyond the likes of Polar Express. More impressive as a technical achievement than a story, the film couldn't possibly be more visually mesmerizing. Characters move with believable weight and nuance, the set pieces explode with believable physics and lighting, and the stylized, plastic-like sheen of the entire package looks gorgeous in 3D.

The tale is boilerplate, globe-trotting wild goose chase, but what's so wrong with that? Tintin is consequenceless, pretty entertainment that doesn't wear out its welcome. It's no doubt leaving that feat to its sequel.

Review: The Ides of March

2011-12-16T08:06:00.000-08:00

Although some of its key plot twists are a bit simplistic and exaggerated, the Ides of March is an incisive political thriller with yet another fantastic performance from Ryan Gosling, in what has turned out to be his breakout year that elevates him to the top rank of actors.

Playing an ambitious but virtuous political consultant to the next wannabe JFK (George Clooney), Gosling gets involved with a wide-eyed intern (Evan Rachel Wood) and flirts with defecting to the enemy camp, led by Paul Giamatti. Gosling's own boss, played by Philip Seymour Hoffman, has an agenda of his own, and the affairs and backroom dealings lead to a cutthroat political endgame that's engrossing to watch unfold.

Although the script has ambitions of hard edges, it seems to be alarmingly naive. There's more nuance in political thrillers as antiquated as the original All the King's Men. The Ides of March could have easily been made in the 30s, but its dated pretenses pack some altruistic charm.

My Top 10 Movies Of 2011

2011-12-15T05:30:00.000-08:00

1. The Artist -- Like all film lovers, I've held my nose and plowed through the silent classics in order to develop an appreciation for the caveman days of the art form. I found all of them, even the "greats" from the likes of Keaton, Lloyd and Chaplin, to be as about enjoyable as salt mining. Frankly, I'm worried about anyone who says they actively watch silent movies for their own enjoyment rather than the need to be educated. The Artist, however, defines the term of addition by subtraction and refines the bare essentials of cinema to tell a run-of-the-mill, A Star is Born-style story with heartbreaking precision while also commenting on the art form and the style it possesses.

2. Moneyball -- This book really shouldn't have been turned into a movie. Somehow, Bennett Miller rescued this thing from development hell and turned it into the best baseball movie I've seen not called Field of Dreams. Every time I think of the film, I think The Social Network, because it's so similarly paced and deliriously brainy.

3. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo -- I can take or leave the Swedish versions of Stieg Larsson's potboilers, but David Fincher works his magic and turns them into brilliant and important films. The transformation he elicited from Rooney Mara will establish her as an acting dynamo who will get whatever role she wants for the rest of her life. The movie is outrageously long but feels almost too short. That's a Tarantino-style sign of sheer brilliance.

4. Midnight in Paris -- If Woody Allen's elegaic tribute to the golden age of intellectual radicals -- which doubles as a sly comedy mocking the very essence of nostalgia -- wins best picture, somehow topping the three movies I loved more -- I would be thrilled. My fear is that it will be damned with the faint praise of a best original screenplay Oscar, but the awards won't be this movie's legacy. Allen bends Owen Wilson like a pretzel to become his avatar, who replicates Allen's heart, wisdom and cluelessness rather than his mannerisms.

5. Super -- Rainn Wilson and Ellen Page make the most disturbed, dysfunctional and alarmingly repressed heroic couplet since Batman and Robin. Everyone gushed over the similarly-themed Kick-Ass, and justifiably so, but I fear that film sucked up all the love and left none for the superior, devilishly written Super.

6. Your Highness -- When my fellow critics rained hell upon David Gordon Green and company for what was supposedly an awful, misfired waste of time, I was disappointed. Surely, they couldn't all be a bunch of morons who just didn't get what Green was trying to do, right? Turns out they were. A sly, Blazing Saddles-style mockery of all things dungeon and dragon, this should have killed in the year that the fantastic Game of Thrones gave HBO a one-up when it appeared to be about out of lives. James Franco and Danny McBride make beautifully awful music together.

7. Straw Dogs -- Taking on the neoclassical tactic of taking an imperfect but potential-filled original and reshaping it into a masterwork, Rod Lurie improves upon Sam Pekinpah's 1971 fever dream meditation on masculinity and lifts it to higher ground. Juxtaposed with the Battle of Stalingrad, the drama commands career-defining performances from James Marsden and Kate Bosworth, who plumb brutal depths to find their darkest places. The movie is defined by the writing and storytelling rather than the performances, but the whole thing would have derailed had the stars not been at their absolute best.

8. Red State -- You know that scene in Walk the Line where the record label exec gives Johnny Cash one last chance to sing, telling him to dispense with the gospel nonsense and sing the song that screams from his inner depths like a primal roar? This is that primal roar from Kevin Smith. The socio-political commentary dressed up as an exploitation thriller marks a hard right turn from anything he's done previously. He's famously said he's about done making movies, and few believe him. Well, I do. I believe he's done making Cop Outs and done bowing to anyone who would dare stand in front of his sadistically witty visions. Smith has shed the cocoon and evolved into a higher being as an artist and commentator.

9. The Future -- Miranda July seems like the universal soulmate -- the off-kilter, zany artist whom anyone would think they've known all their lives. The only time I've spent with July has been in her movies, but I feel as though I know her. She stares into the fatalistic angst of life in your 30s and pulls out the saddest comedy you'll ever want to bathe yourself in over and over again.

10. Rise of the Planet of the Apes -- The acting in this movie is superb, with James Franco and Andy Serkis forming the most unlikely, heart-incinerating father-son bond you're ever likely to see. Very much a Batman Begins for the oft-rebooted and forgotten franchise, I adored the way it focused on relationships rather than resorting to sci-fi silliness in its lowest form. This is very much the film, to borrow from the filmmaker who made the No. 8 movie on the list, in which the monkeys spank us.

Honorable mentions: Young Adult, Source Code, The Adjustment Bureau, We Need to Talk About Kevin.

Worst movie of the year:

Cars 2 -- I've disliked some other Pixar work, including Cars 2, WALL-E and Ratatouille, but this one is so putrid and revolting that it becomes the first film from the studio that I outright despise and refuse to allow into my house. There is no life or entertainment to the film whatsoever. It's a numb cash-in on characters popularized by a mediocre movie. Any film that relies on Larry the Cable Guy for half its entertainment quotient is pretty much dead on arrival.

Dishonorable mentions: No Strings Attached, Zookeeper, Monte Carlo, Crazy, Stupid, Love.

Review: Albert Nobbs

2011-12-15T05:00:00.000-08:00

I've got to hand it to Glenn Close for working so hard to get her dream project made. I'm happy for her for any awards she receives, and wish the movie all the success in can muster.

That said, I couldn't stand to watch it.

All the accolades for makeup the film has received crack me up. Close and Janet McTeer, who play women masquerading as men in order to scrape by in the male-dominated service industry in 19th century Ireland, look nothing at all like men. It's impossible to believe that anyone would be duped by their disguises. Perhaps the poor makeup jobs represent a pinpoint criticism of the upper class's indifference toward the help -- which maybe stretched so far that wealthy wretches refused to even look at their employees' faces. That's too much of a stretch to make, though.

Believability problems aside, the story is as dry and slow as the overrated Gosford Park. I appreciate the themes of survival in the face of repression, but I ached for this thing to end from the halfway point on. The film was adapted from a short story, and perhaps a short story it should have stayed.

Review: Mission: Impossible Ghost Protocol

2011-12-14T23:53:00.000-08:00

Pop quiz. Ghost Protocol is:

A.) The subtitle of the new Mission: Impossible.

B.) Something that sounds too much like the names of 100,000 video games.

C.) What your acting career goes into when you marry Tom Cruise.

D.) The name of the Ghost Busters' ray gun that zaps spirits.

I will never reveal the answer, because to do so would be a violation of Ghost Protocol. But what I can tell you is that the movie is way better than you think it will be, and that this message will self-destruct and peel off its latex mask to reveal that it wasn't who you thought it was all along and is secretly a guy named... Ghost Protocol.

The characters in the movie enjoy saying the phrase "Ghost Protocol," and so do I. You may find yourself walking out of the theater saying "Ghost Protocol" in situations appropriate and not. It's best delivered with a stern look on your face, preceded by an eye-shift, a lean and spoken as a half-whisper. Try it.

What you shouldn't try is the wickety wickety wack stunts in the movie, which include using Spider-Man gloves to scale the Burj Khalifa, crashing a spy car into the ground to use its airbag as padding and staring directly into Tom Cruise's blindingly white teeth without sunglasses.

The film opens in a Soviet prison. I use the term "Soviet" because it sounds more Ghost Protocol than boring "Russia." As Ethan Hunt, Cruise breaks out of a prison cell, thanks to the computer program Norton Prison Break 2012, operated by the agent who will come to be Ethan's wisecracking sidekick (Simon Pegg). Pegg, of Shaun of the Dead fame, is usually funny, but in this movie is about as annoying as someone who won't stop saying Ghost Protocol.

The rest of the spy team includes Brandt (Jeremy Renner), who lugs around dark secrets from the past as well as extra consonants at the end of his name, and Jane (Paula Patton), who is part of the Barbie DreamSpy collector set. In what must be a budget-saving maneuver because the spies will not be paid or acknowledged, the government tells the spy crew to go off the grid and complete a rogue mission to stop a Soviet nuclear missile from Ghost Protocoling the hell out of America.

The race is on, and this time it's impersonal.

The movie is as fun as it is dumb, and trust me, it's as dumb as it is Ghost Protocol. The stunts are ceaseless thrill rides, the story moves at the pace and rhythm of Cruise's Cocktail-pouring exploits in the movie Cocktail, and Pegg even stops making idiotic jokes occasionally. What I adored most about the movie was its gadgets, as well as its characters' uncanny ability to use them ineffectively. These secret, unpaid spies show that you get what you pay for, and watching them continually screw up and risk their Protocols becoming Ghosts is much more entertaining than watching a Bourne or Bond type skate through without a scratch.

The movie makes me feel so good that I've decided to break Ghost Protocol and give you that quiz answer anyway. It's C.

Starring Tom Cruise, Jeremy Renner, Paula Patton and Simon Pegg. Written by Josh Appelbaum and Andre Nemec, based on the TV series by Bruce Geller. Directed by Brad Bird. Rated PG-13. 132 minutes.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

Review: Straw Dogs

2011-12-14T07:54:00.000-08:00

James Marsden plays a Hollywood screenwriter who goes with new wife (Kate Bosworth) to her backwoods hometown in the Deep South to sell the home in which she grew up. They hire some of her old friends to do some contracting worth, and they terrorize the couple in increasingly bold and disturbing ways. A remake of Sam Peckinpah's 1971 thriller, which starred Dustin Hoffman, Rod Lurie's film equals the original and surpasses it in many ways.

Subtle character shading and more convincing motivation for the sordid characters makes up for the performances, which can't match those of the original.

Lurie is a severely underrated filmmaker, whose The Contender (2000) is one of the finest political dramas ever put to film and Nothing but the Truth (2008) was unfairly left out of that year's awards chase due to distribution problems. His Straw Dogs remake is riveting, challenging and thought-provoking, and I hope he continues to show his unique brand of skill.

Review: Like Crazy

2011-12-13T07:07:00.000-08:00

There are few things more annoying than two people who are meant for each other. Like Crazy pairs Anton Yelchin and Felicity Jones as too-young lovers who are inconvenienced with the fact that they feel an overwhelmingly biological need to spend the rest of their lives together, despite not having enough independent experience to recognize their love for what it is.

The film takes the path of a formulaic romantic comedy, sans laughs and star power, acting as though the story is compelling enough to pull us through. But it amounts to a slog, with several scenes in which both characters stare off into space during intimate moments, wondering if there is more than this. The leads lack personality and much of the dialogue is juvenile to the point of inanity.

The roadblock subplot of visa troubles separating the couple is an insignificant hurdle, and only draws things out. I like the way the film ends, bypassing the easy way out to stay contemplative and indecisive. The filmmaker and writers show flashes of brilliance but in this film stay mired in mediocrity.

Our 2011 Christmas Letter

2011-12-13T07:00:00.000-08:00

Dear friends, family and Guy Who Empties Recycle Bins,

It was a fantastic year of knowledge and development in our household. Four-year-old Luke has started to read and serve the galactic good by helping Star Fox defeat the evil Andross on 3DS, two-year-old Emma has nailed her letter sounds, as well mastered Jessica's technique for getting what she wants via incessant nagging and a refusal to negotiate. Murphy, our dog, has also taken an interest in literature. Whenever we leave him alone with a book, he sinks his teeth into it. Meaning, as a dog toy. He remains an illiterate derelict with the propensity for inhaling board books, but his advances in potty training do far outpace Emma's at this point, so we'll keep him for now.

The year was a good one in terms of business ventures. I've taken on a lot more freelance work. Freelancing is great because it keeps you from unnecessary wastes of time such as "sleep" and "free time" and allows you to make a bunch of extra money, some of which the IRS is kind enough to let you hang on to for a few days before taking it away.

Jessica was the house's financial MVP for figuring out a brilliant way to earn extra income -- shatter her knee. Thanks to her wise decision to turn her ACL into confetti while on school grounds, disability insurance covered all the costs and also made us $1,500 richer.

Things were tougher on the economic front for the younger members of our household. Luke and Emma continue to fester among the rates of the bitter unemployed. Emma took her inability to score gainful employment particularly hard, and has become a fervent political activist. A crazed right-wing extremist, she blames Obama for her failures and has started her own daily tea parties to bring attention to a government that refuses to roll back its child labor laws. She's also started a side protest called Occupy Mommy and Daddy's Bed, in which she rises at 5 a.m. to shove aside her family's version of the 1 percent when they're at their most vulnerable and most willing to negotiate.

We look forward to more knee injuries in 2012, and hope you're able to enjoy more of the same. Except for you, Recycle Bin Guy. We don't know you and are frankly disturbed that you're reading this.

Review: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

2011-12-13T00:00:00.000-08:00

The Top 10 Games Of 2011

2011-12-12T08:30:00.000-08:00

1. Mario Kart 7 -- I guarantee you this will destroy my thumbs from overuse. Absolute perfection.

2. Uncharted 3 -- If I ever have another son I am going to try to name him Drake. Probably won't succeed, but will sure try.

3. Portal 2 -- I am so proud of myself for beating this without using a walkthrough, which is the opposite of how I beat the first one.

4. L.A. Noire -- It's a shame the studio that did this game closed down. Fantastic detective yarn.

5. Batman: Arkham City -- I think this game was made by Batman himself, based on actual footage of his daily life.

6. The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim -- If you don't think you're an evil person, play this to prove to yourself that you really do enjoy slaughtering innocent villagers with magic spells.

7. The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword -- Looks ugly, but proves that the Wii is still worthwhile. Probably the most innovatively designed Zelda in a decade.

8. Super Mario 3D Land -- Along with Mario Kart 7, makes the 3DS a must-own.

9. NBA Jam: On Fire Edition -- Way better than last year's release, which was frikkin' fantastic itself.

10.Marvel vs. Capcom 3 -- The fighter so nice it came out twice in 2011. Buy the second version, which lets you play as Galactus.

Honorable mentions: You Don't Know Jack, Gears of War 3, Dark Souls, LittleBigPlanet 2, Deus Ex: Human Revolution, Mortal Kombat, Professor Layton and the Last Specter

Review: We Need to Talk About Kevin

2011-12-12T07:33:00.000-08:00

With mass shootings that mirror the Columbine catastrophe becoming more frequent, it's fascinating -- if frightening -- to examine the way these crazed shooters were raised. It's all but impossible to find a satisfying answer about whether delusional assassins are created by nature or nurture.

The question weighs heavily on the mind of a mother played by Tilda Swinton, who recounts key moments in raising her son (Ezra Miller) -- who has just been arrested after slaughtering students at his school -- along with her husband (John C. Reilly).

There is always something off about the child. Even as a toddler, he refuses to conform to social norms. It's easy to second-guess the way Swinton handles the child, especially when she reacts with blind anger, and we're left, like her, to imagine the implications of her child-rearing methods.

It's a credit to the fascinating film, told with economy and speed, that it promotes such analysis and discussion. This is a fine drama that is sadly a sign of the times.

Review: Martha Marcy May Marlene

2011-12-08T23:08:00.001-08:00

Just as Junebug was Amy Adams's introduction to big-time filmmaking, MMMM -- could the movie's title be any more difficult to remember? -- will serve as the coming-out party for Elizabeth Olsen, who appears to have inherited double the acting ability of a standard-issue Olsen sister.

The remarkably expressive and penetrating Olsen plays Martha, a former member of an abusive cult who's gone AWOL for two years before crashing with her sister (Sarah Paulson) and brother-in-law (Hugh Dancy). Lacking a purpose or sense of self, Martha struggles to conform to social boundaries, as well as to discover her sexual identity.

Given to spontaneous, bizarre actions such as stripping bare to go for a swim or leaping atop a counter, Martha annoys the hell out of her hosts, but earns sympathy because she's never quite worthy of the scorn she receives from either. Director T. Sean Durkin juggles Martha's hellish flashbacks and visions, working in tandem with Olsen to create a tantalizing psychological smorgasbord that dares the audience to piece together its mysteries. A bold and daring film, MMMM -- I will never remember that damned name -- is one of the indie gems of 2011.

Review: The Iron Lady

2011-12-08T07:57:00.001-08:00

My only significant gripe against The Iron Lady is that it's nota sequel to Iron Giant, nor Iron Man. Can you imagine how cool either of thosewould be? A massive robot played by Meryl Streep, stomping the Soviet Unionwith her feet and snuffing out the troubles in the Falkland Islands with herlittle finger? Or an ironclad, jetpack-equipped Streep, blowing away governmentspending with a laser blast from her hand while blasting away gender barriers witha smart bomb deployed from her hip?

As it stands, The Iron Lady is no slouch. If the British aregood at anything, it’s navel gazing. The incestuous tabloid culture and brainyBBC documentaries spawns self-analysis at a staggering level, approaching thatof Terrell Owens. Thus the film industry produces fantastic introspections ofits great historical figures, with recent examples being The Queen and The King’sSpeech.

The biopic on Margaret Thatcher belongs in thoseregal ranks. I’d have settled for a straightforward tale of a feminist andhumanitarian icon who led England through geopolitical and economic challenges,providing skilled leadership and symbolizing strength and solidarity. But thismovie is far more than that, bookmarking Thatcher’s political exploits withshattering scenes of Thatcher in old age, coming to terms with the fragmentsleft of her life. To succeed as a politician, she had to fail on some level asa mother and a wife. The great woman wrestles with her perceived inadequaciesand lingering ghosts that haunt her fading mind. It’s here that Meryl Streeptruly shines in the role.

Directed by Phyllida Lloyd, the film is ahandsome, robust and multifaceted portrait of the political figure, bolstered bya superb performance by Streep, who immediately shakes off any second-guessingabout the casting. Unlike her lauded yet single-note performance of Julia Childin Julie and Julia, Streep shows formidable range and depth. She capturesThatcher's political dynamism, as well as her late-life physical and mentaltroubles. The result is not only a vivid portrait of a political force whofought for her vision with might and enthusiasm, but a tender reflection of awoman coming to terms with her mortality.

The film could have been plodding, handsome and stately andstill worthy of a measure of praise. But The Iron Lady echoes its protagonistby shattering expectations, leading you through a breathless escapade andleaving you staring into the sad, desperate void of mortality. Neither Iron Mennor Iron Giants nor Iron Lions in Zion have anything on this stunning movie.

Starring Meryl Streep and Jim Broadbent. Written by Abi Morgan.Directed by Phyllida Lloyd. 105 minutes. Rated PG-13.

Review: My Week With Marilyn

2011-12-07T08:21:00.001-08:00

Portraying a slightly less good-looking Marilyn Monroe, Michelle Williams overcomes her miscasting to melt into the persona of the ill-fated screen goddess. As My Week With Marilyn argues, all she ever wanted was to be treated and loved as a regular person.

Excellent performances help overcome the limp, movie-of-the-week style screenplay, in which a wananbe filmmaker (Eddie Redmayne) becomes Monroe's shoulder to cry (and sometimes smooch) on as she wilts from unceasing pressure from the public, as well as domineering male forces in her life in the form of Laurence Olivier (Kenneth Branagh) andhusband Arthur Miller (Dougray Scott). The cypherlike protagonist becomes Monroe's unlikely soothsayer who, if the film is to believed, played a major part in magically turning her into a more stable, reliable performer.

It seems like oversimplified hogwash, but that's how films like this go. The movie is most interesting as a character study of Monroe, and Williams delivers on most fronts, capturing her sense of despair and adoration of the limelight if not her screen radiance.

Review: Young Adult

2011-12-07T00:01:00.000-08:00

Diablo Cody seems incapable of writing realistic dialogue or giving characters believable motivations. Or giving them names that don't seem like they came from pro wrestling, for that matter.

And that's exactly what makes her movies so much fun.

Did Shakespeare write the way people talk? Did Woody Allen? Or Kevin Smith? When it comes to film, and especially comedy, realism is overrated.

Go into Young Adult with your logic detectors on high alert and they'll explode your brain, especially in the third act. Although Cody, the Oscar-winning screenwriter who penned loved-by-most Juno and hated-by-most Jennifer's Body, no longer tries to make everything that comes out of every character's mouth seem like it belongs on a bumper sticker, she's still very much her rambunctious, challenging self. And the comedy of manners, under the careful guidance of director Jason Reitmen, is all the better for it.

Charlize Theron play Mavis Gary, a ghostwriter who cranks out Young Adult yarns about the drama and insecurity of high school life. Although she's 37, she's so good at what she does because her maturity level is stuck back in high school. On a whim, sparked by raging jealousy over a birth announcement from a former flame, Mavis heads back to the one-Chili's town that spawned her for a drunken, half-cocked attempt at stealing her ex away from his wife and baby.

At a bar, she runs into Matt Freehauf (Patton Oswalt), a pudgy geek who lives with his sister and action figure collection. Mavis is the type of girl from high school that everyone remembers and doesn't expect to remember them. She co-opts Matt as a fallback friend for the trip -- the one she calls when plans A through D fall through, and he willingly complies. Disapproving of her plans to run away with Buddy Slade (Patrick Wilson), he becomes her conscience -- Jiminy Cricket with an unrequited crush.

Mavis is a walking grease fire; the type of narcissist who, if called a hot mess, thinks it's a compliment on her looks rather than a comparison to dog poop. Mavis hurls herself at Buddy with the aggression of a bowling ball, convinced that she'll have him forever -- or at least until she gets sick of him -- if only she can pry him away from that damned baby, whom she refers to as "it," and that agonizingly cheery wife (Collette Wolf).

Being a device and construct rather than a person, Mavis has a knack for saying and doing all the wrong things at precisely the wrong times, making an ass of herself and then blaming everyone but herself for the results. If you saw Bad Teacher, this is the Cameron Diaz character without as much tact or demureness.

Theron rarely gets to sink her teeth into a role like this, and has a disgusting amount of fun making us hate her while becoming as obsessed with her as poor, hapless Matt.

Because this movie is being tossed out to the Oscar-time wolves, people may dismiss it because it's so slight. There are no great truths here. Just a bunch of laughs, quotable lines and a lifetime supply of awkwardness. It's a vintage example of the better angels emerging from the demented mind of a Diablo.

Starring Charlize Theron, Patrick Wilson, Elizabeth Reaser and Patton Oswalt. Writted by Diablo Cody. Directed by Jason Reitman. Rated R. 94 minutes.

Review: The Artist

2011-12-06T08:29:00.001-08:00

The great secret of film appreciation is that silent movies are generally no fun. They're medicine. Homework. Caveman-style works you have to force yourself to sit through just to be able to tell yourself and others that you've done the time in order to build credibility. There are exceptions to the rule, but in general, even the greatest silent movies -- the comedies by Keaton, Chaplin and Lloyd -- are easier to appreciate and analyze than enjoy.

Along comes The Artist to demolish that line of thinking. A masterwork from writer-director Michel Hazanavicius, it presents silent film as a valid modern entertainment medium by using the construct as a device to comment on film history. Although his story is nothing spectacular -- basically a reworking of the A Star is Born mold -- the eloquence and artistry with which he delivers his film steal the show.

His actors take on the exaggerated styles of their cinematic ancestors, exaggerating emotions and gestures in order to spark the audience's imagination, much like well-written descriptive writing. Jean Dujardin is superb as a stand-in for Rudolph Valentino, a silent star who sinks into the figurative quicksand of changing times. Berenice Bejo is his equal, as an up-and-coming flapper who winds her way to success, only to suffer internally as her former idol falls. John Goodman, as a high-powered tycoon, and James Cromwell, as a dignified assistant and driver, effortlessly fall in to supporting roles, lending a solemn regality to the proceedings.

The Artist is a spectacular achievement and a bold new direction in filmmaking. Instead of cheering, I'll keep my mouth shut and give a silent nod of approval.

Review: London Boulevard

2011-12-03T14:47:00.001-08:00

Colin Farrell and Keira Knightley make a dynamite pairing in London Boulevard, the uneven but compelling directorial debut of acclaimed screenwriter William Monahan.

Farrell plays an ex-con with a soft heart who tries to go straight by working as a fix-it guy. That's how he pairs with Knightley's character, a somewhat fragile starlet. Farrell's past has a way of catching up with them, plunging the pair into more than they bargained for. Both leads stay squarely in their comfort zones, with Farrell offering his brash cool while Knightley doesn't find much in the character to ignite palpable passion. Still, their chemistry blends well together, making scenes that would otherwise be dull start to sizzle.

The hardscrabble writing and gritty direction keep the film moving at a brisk pace. The plot is filled with twists and turns and never bores. The whole enterprise feels like a been-there, done that affair though.

Review: The Muppets

2011-12-03T14:45:00.001-08:00

Let me begin with a disclaimer that I've never really gotten the Muppets. I stood by as my parents watched and loved the Muppet Show when I was a child, but I always found it a bit dry and drab. The films ranged from tolerable to unwatchable in my eyes, and re-watching them as an adult did them no favors. As far as these characters go, the Muppet Babies was more my speed. Maybe the puppet show aspect disconnects me from the attempts at absurdity.

So I'm a tough-to-please hater. I heard the raves about the new film and wanted to like it, but suspected my lifelong problem with the live-action characters would stifle me from falling in love with it. It's less than ideal to go into a film with baggage, but I'm just being honest here. As a good luck charm, I took my wife and two kids to a Saturday morning show for which I paid my own way. I hoped that being surrounded by the joy and innocence of my family would melt my defenses.

Those hopes went largely unfulfilled.

That said, The Muppets is by far my favorite Muppets movie, but that's not saying all that much given how I feel about the series. I liked the way the film acknowledged that the time for these characters has passed, and in doing so scrambles for a way to make them relevant again. I cracked up during two or three scenes, including that fantastic musical number in which the chickens clucked their way through Cee-Lo's "Fuck You."

What bothered me was the lack of charm in the Muppets characters. Kermit is supposed to be the everyfrog you identify with, but he's too much of a whiner for my tastes. Fozzie is just pathetic, Gonzo can be interesting as an outsider -- as in Muppets from Space -- but has nothing to do in this movie, Miss Piggy is shrill and agonizing and Animal has always scared the hell out of me. Jason Segel and Amy Adams are game human straight men for the Muppets' antics, and both ham it up marvelously during production numbers, but there's only so much they can do.

Overall I found the movie a bit too cloying and self-aware to distinguish itself from the mass of kiddie flick pap. The plot walks a fine line between straight-up awful and making fun of awfulness, and too often veered toward the former by trying so hard to let me in on the joke. The relentless celebrity cameos jab you in the ribs as if to say, "Hey, laugh just because I'm famous and I'm here," failing to go to the next step by actually giving the stars much of anything entertaining to say or do before they vanish.

I don't think it's gonna work out between us, Muppets. Get back to me when you're animated babies again and maybe we'll talk.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

Review: Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy

2011-12-02T08:30:00.000-08:00

With their gadgetry, sexploits and one-liners, the bombastic likes of James Bond tend to trivialize the spy "game" of the Cold War era. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier Spy proves decisively that the cloak-and-dagger maneuverings between Soviet and Western spies don't need exaggerated silliness to make them engrossing.

Based on a 1974 John le Carre novel, which was previously best known as the basis for a British TV show from the era starring Alec Guinness, Swedish director Tomas Alfredson's effort deftly maneuvers through a complex whodunnit. A game cast of Mark Strong, Toby Jones, John Hurt, Colin Firth, Ciaran Hinds and David Dencik play key roles in an ever-shifting shell game of moles, cheats and divided loyalties bought and sold in backroom deals.

The plot is a mess, and not easy to understand in a single viewing. The pacing and performances help keep you involved even if the circuitous storylines lose you. Superb ensemble acting relays the mounting stakes as the tide ebbs and flows in and out of the offices of MI6, which its operatives appropriately refer to as "The Circus."

Although the dense material would probably be better suited to an HBO series treatment in the vein of "The Wire," the film does an excellent job of racing through mental chess matches between formidable foes. It convinced me that the Cold War provided the hidden playing field for one of the greatest shows on earth.

Review: Happy Feet Two

2011-12-01T07:07:00.001-08:00

Animated sequels rarely work, and Happy Feet Two is business as usual. Unable to capitalize off its daring, rule-breaking predecessor, this one is as stupid as it looks, which is saying something.

Although there are token efforts to call back to the freshness of the original -- a couple scenes in which the computer-animated penguins are spliced into real-world footage -- the plot is a rehash of the self-actualizing message of the first film at its best. At its worst, it's an endlessly irritating succession of Alvin and the Chipmunks-style squeaky-voiced cover songs underlined with slapdash choreography.

Sidelines involving undersea creatures only detract from the main plotline, introducing unnecessary characters that are hard to care about.

Movie Review: Shame

2011-11-30T22:39:00.001-08:00

Apparently, being dead for 31 years makes you really horny.You want to claw your way out of the grave, grab a shaky handheld camera andstart filming people doin’ it and doin’ it and doin’ it well.

Anything goes if you’re Steve McQueen and you’re making yourzombie porn film called Shame. You’ll throw in male full-frontal nudity, femalehalfway-upside down nudity and shots of flesh pressed so close together youcan’t tell what’s what.

Wait, I just checked it out and confirmed that the movie isnot directed by the Steve McQueen who starred in Bullitt (1968) and died in1980. Instead, it was made by the McQueen who was born the year after Bullittwas made and generally eschews bullitts or bullets in his movies, insteadfocuses on brainy art fare, including this and Hunger (2008), which starredMichael Fassbender as an Irish Republican Army volunteer who suffered in ahunger strike.

Fassbender is back for this film, and his hunger is forbooty.

Playing a well-off New Yorker who houses his brooding loungesinger sister (Carey Mulligan) and entertains a series of high-class hookersinto his penthouse, Fassbender did his part to spare the movie’s costume budgetby going naked most of the time. His character tries to fill the holes in hislife with bitter, self-loathing sex, and his obsession creeps into all facetsof his life, suffocating him in sloppy misery.

Fassbender is so convincing in the role – especially in rareclothed moments when he comes to frantic realizations of his misery – that yougenuinely ache for him. And for his flexible partners.

Mulligan, whose fragile character dances around her brother’srage in a submissive slow burn, is equally mesmerizing.

The release of Shame is something of a holiday for filmbuffs, because when an NC-17 rated movie wins a bunch of festival awards andearns Oscar buzz, it gets movie geeks excited because they know they’ve got anironclad excuse for going out and watching porn.

Although McQueen’s camerawork is pervy and lurid, it’sanything but sexy. His sex is miserable and sad, with the nudity used to exposethe raw, unfulfilled vulnerability of his characters rather than excite.

There’s also probably a purpose for the scene in whichFassbender relieves himself in the toilet as the camera standing at attentionto make sure he shakes out every last drop. Or not.

Starring Michael Fassbender and Carey Mulligan. Written byAbi Morgan and Steve McQueen. Directed by McQueen. Rated NC-17. 99 minutes.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

Tap Dancing Class

2011-11-29T08:52:00.000-08:00

I imagine that training for tap dancing goes like this: The teacher stands up in front of the room, sizes up his students, then declares "Spread your arms out and keep clicking your feet on the ground."

That's it, class over. From then on, tap dancers can continue spreading this fantastic art to others.

Review: J. Edgar

2011-11-25T06:11:00.001-08:00

While far from perfect, J. Edgar is a perfectly valid investigation into the secret and public lives that the tyrannical FBI despot led. Director Clint Eastwood's take on the story is that Hoover, played with a soft touch by Leonardo DiCaprio, channeled his repressed homosexuality into obsessions with fame, seizing undue credit and violating the civil liberties of his countrymen under the guess of better protecting them.

DiCaprio again proves to be a chameleon capable of tackling any task set before him. The makeup department did him no favors in crafting him a ghastly deathmask as the older, plumper Hoover, though. No matter what DiCaprio does, the late-life Hoover scenes equate to a puppet show.

The actor excels as the younger Hoover, somehow making a near-unlikable character seem relatable. The humanity he infuses into the character shifts my perception of the figure. Eastwood has made better films, but this biopic stands as a solid, technically sound execution of his talents.

Review: Hugo

2011-11-22T22:53:00.001-08:00

A slow starter, Hugo gradually evolves into a grand celebration of the art of filmmaking that rivals anything of its ilk, including Cenema Paradiso and Day for Night.

The casting is uniformly superb. Martin Scorsese makes a spectacular find in Asa Butterfield, who plays the title character, a plucky orphan who is obsessed with resurrecting a mechanical robot, which he believes will bring himself spiritually closer to his departed dad. Chloe Grace Moretz continues her momentum from Let Me In, playing Hugo's partner in adorably lighthearted crime.

Sacha Baron Cohen nails a note of delightful incompetence as a station agent who serves as Hugo's Javert, while Ben Kingsley casts a penetrating figure as a patriarch who looks upon Hugo with scathing, bitter disapproval. The film takes the tone of a Miyazaki movie, in which the villains are usually misunderstood egomaniacs who are overcompensating for their own pain and insecurities.

Going in knowing little about the source material, I was sure we'd be in for a paint-by-numbers journey of magic and whimsy, but I loved the way the story stayed grounded. Instead of dreaming up gobbledygook, Scorsese has Hugo discover his magic internally, as he uses the idea of filmmaking to alter his bleak life. You get the sense that Scorsese found a similar vivaciousness inside himself as he stretches to bold new territory in his own career.

Review: The Descendants

2011-11-21T23:20:00.001-08:00

Evil land developers are the most determined of movievillains. You can’t escape them no matter where you turn, even if you’rewatching The Descendants, a prime slice of Oscar bait that’s supposed to beabove such tired story devices.

George Clooney stars as Matt, a lawyer, who because his lefteyebrow is Hawaiian, has inherited what looks to be the entire island of Kauai. The trustee in charge ofselling a massive parcel of pristine land due to a little-known tenet of realestate law that forces families to do so, called The Law of Plot Constructs,Matt needs to decide whether to ruin Hawaiiforever or do the right thing. Matt cocks his Hawaiian eyebrow throughout,wondering whether to pave paradise and put up a parking lot.

As far as moral dilemmas go, this is something like decidingwhether to pet a baby kitty or blast her in the face with a shotgun.

The land thing is tough, but Matt has even greater problems– females. He’s got two daughters, a rebellious teen, Alex (Shailene Woodley)and a rebel-in-training tween, Scottie (Amara Miller). No explanation is givenfor the first girl in history to have been named Scottie, but it’s a reasonableassumption, given her age, that Matt must have been a huge Scottie Pippen fan.

Even an unconscious woman, his comatose wife, manages togive Matt problems. Her ultimate silent treatment makes him feel guilty foravoiding her for the loving arms of legal briefs. He takes solace in hangingout with his hateful offspring, who treat him the all the respect the ProblemChild gives the dad in the movie Problem Child, figuring years of neglect isnothing two acts of movie time won’t change.

Matt attempts to solve his female and island problems bytaking his brood, as well as Alex’s friend-zoned sidekick, Comic Relief (NickKrause) along on a madcap adventure of telling friends, loved ones and a malemistress that they’re about to pull the plug on Mommy.

While the movie has its sharp moments, it’s nowhere near thelevel of mastery usually demonstrated by Alexander Payne (Election, AboutSchmidt, Sideways). Take a Hallmark movie, throw in some swear words andintelligent dialogue and The Descendants is what you get. I kept expecting itto get better, but it just sort of did its thing and called it a day. Clooneyis great in the film, but he’s great in pretty much everything, so hisperformance is a wash.

Being a fan of Rocky movies, I’ve got nothing againstpredictability, but I was really hoping that since Payne chose to use the evilland developer angle, he’d think of something to do with it.

I won’t spoil things by revealing whether or not Payne wassuccessful. But I will say that I’ve always longed to see the evil landdevelopers get his way in a movie – build his parking lot or shopping mall orgarish resort or whatever – just to see how things would shake out.

What I will spoil is that if you’re hoping to see a surefireOscar sweeper-upper, you’ll need to continue that search after the creditsroll. A filmmaker who usually operates in the realm of The Spectaculars hascome down with a middling case of The Decents.

Starring George Clooney, Shailene Woodley, Amara Miller,Matthew Lillard, Nick Krause and Judy Greer. Written by Alexander Payne, NateFaxon and Jim Rash, based on a novel by Kaui Hart Hemmings. Directed by Payne.115 minutes. Rated R.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

Review: The Twilight Saga: New Moon Part 1

2011-11-16T23:32:00.000-08:00

This is it, Twihards. Here is the moment you’ve been achingfor since sparkly vampire Edward Cullen first laid eyes on Bella Swan, the one personon earth paler than him. Following a 3-movie courtship in which the106-year-old immortal demonbeast seduced the shy 17-year-old in a totally legalway since Edward looks young for his age, it’s time for them to marry and getit on.

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn – Part 1 wastes no time insetting up the rendezvous you’ve read about on the blogs. Well, it does waste alittle time – maybe 20 minutes – to show necessary things such as Bella (KristenStewart) getting dressed for her wedding, Bella thinking about the wedding,Edward (Robert Pattinson) trying to talk Bella out of the wedding, Bella’snightmare about the wedding and finally, the wedding. But after that, directorBill Condon gets right down to the good stuff.

There they are, these two fangs-crossed lovers, staring intoone another’s lack-of-souls on an exotic beach, when finally the momentarrives.

Chess.

Yep, they play chess. All night long, like animals. Youshould see the way Edward uses his rook. Long, strong, and down to get thefriction on. Tireless and full of board game lust, Bella and Edward play chessagain. And then again. The third time – get ready for an aww, cute alert –Edward lets Bella win!

Oh, yeah, and they also have sex in between. Or at least itlooks like they’re about to have sex before it fades out and Bella’s lyingthere with that same look she’s always got on her face whether she’s beingchased by a werewolf or served lunch in the school cafeteria. Pillow feathersare everywhere, the headboard is broken and Bella’s all bruised up in ways sheassures a guilty Edward hurt so good. Guess she loves the way he lies. It musthave been quite an event, but just as in the pages of Stephenie Meyer’s tome,the play-by-play is left mostly to our imaginations.

That’s right, people. Vampire sex is so intense that it makesthe movie camera black out and cut to the next scene. And it also gets girlspregnant with Miracle-Gro babies that pop out within weeks, rendering themom-to-be bedridden with broken ribs and a longing to slurp down Big Gulps ofdeli blood to keep the fetus happy.

The only guy who’s less satisfied by the viewer by thispresentation is Bella’s doormat, werewolf-man transformatron Jacob (TaylorLautner), whose pre-wedding pep talk includes an attempt to shake theEdward-obsession out of Bella. The guy thinks it’s not cool that a vampiredemon behbeh is tearing up his unrequited love from the inside out, but hestill stands guard on the off-chance that she’ll pop out a behbeh that willfall in love with him.

Since this movie has no villains – a post-credits sceneshows that the bad guys are being saved for next year’s Part 2 (subtitle: Bellaand Edward Play Parcheesi) – Jacob bickers with his wolfpack, who are convincedthe behbeh will be a danger to their tribe and want to kill it. Or kill Edward.And/or maybe kill Bella. But really, just kill time.

What sets up to be an entertaining, UFC-style vampire-werewolfbattle stops short of just that, ending up being just a bunch of growling andfang-baring for naught.

That’s just the way things go in this film, which is reallya half-film, and the boring half at that. Such is the nature of things dubbed“Part 1.” It’s a film about things that will inevitably happen, but don’t untilthe next, more important part. If it were all the same to the studio, I’drather it have just given us the full movie rather than stretch it out t h i s m u c h. But it’s not all the same to thestudio, because Meyer is fresh out of Twilight novels, and making a Part 1 addsan extra payday. It’s too bad that fans require the patience of a 106-year-oldvampire to sit through it.

Starring Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson and TaylorLautner. Written by Melissa Rosenberg, based on a novel by Stephenie Meyer. Directed by Bill Condon. 119 minutes. Rated PG-13.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

My New Literary Venture

2011-11-15T18:55:00.000-08:00

Is a rhyming children's book I based on a conversation with my 4-year-old son about why he's not afraid of various monsters. It didn't take long to write and in the worst-case scenario I will provide stick figure Microsoft Paint illustrations and print it up myself.

I have no idea how to get a kid's book published — judging from my track record with traditional publishing, and given the ratio of completed manuscripts and proposals to actual publications, I barely know how to get a regular book published — but am starting to try to learn.

Review: Jack and Jill

2011-11-09T23:21:00.001-08:00

Decades and decades ago, all an actor had to do to makeaudiences fall over with laughter was put on a dress. This is a major reasonthe in-no-way-funny Tootsie and Some Like it Hot are remembered as classics.Adam Sandler pulls out the old gag for Jack and Jill, in which he plays a jadedcommercial director and his identical twin. In this post White Chicks andSorority Boys era, the device has all the edge and freshness of “Take my wife…Please!”

Jack and Jill is as full of old-timey humor as your grandpaafter a few swigs of gin. A screwball comedy with a set of extra balls, ittrots out proven standbys in hopes that that some spacetime wormhole in betweenthe screen and audience somehow warps the jokes into something resembling funny.Among the artifacts the yuk-yuk factory cranks out are a Blazing Saddles-likefart symphony, goofy beards and given-up-for-career-death Katie Holmes as aromantic lead.

That said, the movie is a lot better than what Sandler hassubjected his fans to in recent years. By no means a Grown Ups or The LongestYard remake style debacle, Jack and Jill is a half-chuckle funnier than Just Gowith It and I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry. This is mainly due toself-mocking product placement, a dancing Al Pacino and an inspired sequence ofSandler-in-drag accidentally pummeling an old woman.

The presence of Pacino is probably the most importantgame-changer. Since Sandler’s dual roles cancel each other out, Pacino ispretty much the star of the show. He parodies his performances in The Godfatherfilms, Scarface and Scent of a Woman, making such a fool of himself that it’salmost certain that he lost a bet to Sandler that made him his slave for amonth.

The plot calls on regular Sandler – annoyed by a visit fromhis overbearing, inappropriate-acting twin Sandler – to hook his sister up withPacino in order to get him to star in a Dunkin Donuts ad that will save hiscompany. Pacino is so convincing as he puts the moves on Sandlerette that hetruly deserves that Golden Globe nomination his handlers will probably buy forhim.

Anyone who follows the actor absolutely has to see thismovie for the inexplicable spectacle, especially for his song and dance numberat the end of the movie that will haunt your nightmares for years to come.Pacino’s critics have said he’s turned into a parody of himself over the pastdecade, and he takes that accusation and runs with it here, going so far thatyou almost feel bad for him – like an overweight comedian who keeps telling fatjokes at his own expense.

Also making the movie fun to watch is an overflowing amountof cameos. Johnny Depp wearing a Justin Bieber shirt, David Spade’s faceattached to someone else’s body and Subway’s Jared holding court at a party areamong the strange sights that will be forever scarred into your mind.

The more I think about the movie, the more I like it, but Istill don’t like it enough to recommend you expose your recession-drainedwallet to its particular brand insanity in a wig and dress.

Starring Adam Sandler, Katie Holmes, Al Pacino and Nick Swardson.Written by Steve Koren, based on a Ben Zook story. Directed by Dennis Dugan.Rated PG. 91 minutes.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

Learn to Speak Geek is Dead

2011-11-09T20:55:00.000-08:00

The final publisher who was looking at it -- the one that very nearly decided to make it happen -- backed off, so I'm burying the project and moving on.

Pixar Movies From First To Worst

2011-11-08T07:34:00.000-08:00

1. Toy Story 3 -- Nearly made me cry twice, sitting in the theater with my 3-year-old son, to whom it almost did the same. Lotso, that cruel bastard of a teddy bear, is just that cruel. The movie takes some characters we'd began to take advantage and yanks them out of their comfort zone into a story that questions the meaning and purpose of life, religion and family, touching the void with a fiery-tipped sword.

2. Finding Nemo -- Until last year, this was the vintage Pixar film, allowing the studio's talent to flex its creative muscles to the fullest extent. A great film by any definition, which philosophizes without smacking you over the head with its messages, the movie's beauty matches its brains.

3. Up -- The first 15 to 20 minutes of this movie, which describes how the main character evolved from a spirited young lad to a beaten-down old grump, make up some of the finest wordless storytelling I've ever experienced. Eventually the film stops reaching for the stars and settles into routine to wrap up the story, but the first act leaves you with enough of a high to float on through.

4. Monsters, Inc. -- The world it creates is vibrant and fascinating, and John Goodman and Billy Crystal deliver some of their finest work, in tandem with a lightning-paced script. Thoroughly enjoyable with just the right bittersweet touch at the end.

5. Toy Story -- Takes a brilliant concept and runs with it. While the animation is no longer mind-blowing, the story holds up, and the voice casting is perfect. Somehow, for once, Tim Allen is not annoying.

6. Toy Story 2 -- Also great, but doesn't step out of its comfort zone like 3. A fun movie that you can watch endlessly -- there aren't too many out there like that.

7. The Incredibles -- Rivals Wall-E and Ratatouille as the most overrated Pixar flick. I liked the Saturday morning cartoon vibe, but don't understand the over-the-moon love for what everyone would see as a run-of-the-mill action flick if it had been made by DreamWorks.

8. A Bug's Life -- Pixar was just starting out and didn't know what it was doing. This is the movie equivalent of a first kiss as a teenager. Exciting, but looking back at it, could have been a lot better.

9. Wall-E -- Pixar as shameless Oscar bait, abandoning efforts to entertain in the wake of attempting to be important and thought-provoking. Also, Wall-E is a total creeper and robo-necrophiliac whom the gorgeous Eva never should have given the time of day.

10. Ratatouille -- If you're going to be stuffy, pretentious and dull, just go all-in.. The part where the rat pulls the hair of the kid cook, turning him into a marionette, is something straight out of Tom and Jerry, the epitome of numskull idiocy. You can't have it both ways.

11. Cars -- I originally despised this, but then I had a kid and when he was 1 and 2 he liked it a lot and watched it 15 times a day and made me buy all the toys and bedsheets for him, which made me halfway respect it. Then he turned 3, hated it just like I do so that softness toward the movie went away.

12. Cars 2 -- An irredeemable mess and a blight upon humanity.

Grand Theft Auto V trailer

2011-11-02T11:20:00.000-07:00

Surely poised to be a landmark achievement in gamedom, Grand Theft Auto V has popped onto the horizon. Is that an aged Tommy Vercetti I spy in the trailer?

Review: Tower Heist

2011-11-02T00:31:00.000-07:00

Tower Heist is the Occupy WallStreet movement’s idea of a porno. A group of ritzy apartment complexclock-punchers who’ve had their pensions plundered by a master of the universeband together to storm the tower and take back what they believe is rightfullytheirs. And just like the protests, there’s not much of a point to the wholething, but it’s fun and exciting and you get to see a bunch of people getarrested.

Another parallel between the movieand movement is that one percent of its cast draws 99 percent of the laughs.The one-percenter in this case is Eddie Murphy, who used to be funny wheneveryone in the world was a kid before he decided to take a couple decades offbeing Norbit, Pluto Nash, Dr. Dolittle and Bitter Oscar Loser.

Murphy is back in Axel Foley formas an obscenity-spewing cat burglar who grudgingly joins the cause. PairingMurphy’s suddenly re-animated corpse with ultimate straight man Ben Stiller isa masterstroke of casting that’s just like putting Penn with Teller or that hungrytiger with Siegfried and Roy.

A filmmaker not usually renownedfor his restraint, director Brett Ratner seems to realize he has something potentin Murphy and Stiller, but holds the pairing back for fairly distant intervals,leaving them to explode together at crucial moments when the momentum starts todie down a bit.

Similarly successful in jugglingthe movies’ many other stars, Ratner and his screenwriters accomplish whatOcean’s 12 through 27 didn’t quite pull off: Introduce a not-so-merry band offun-loving criminals and make us halfway care about them. Casey Affleck is theconstant between those similarly-themed strike-outs and this ground-ruledouble, working with Matthew Broderick and Michael Pena to set up an intriguingsideshow in between Murphy-Stiller outbursts. Alan Alda is delightfully pompousas the Bernie Madoff-like villain, and Tea Leoni, who like Murphy has beenmissing in action for far too long, is also sharp as an FBI agent who’s a few hundredsteps behind the heisters.

I don’t want to oversell the movie,which has its share of groan-inducing one-liners, and a propensity for throwing around the word“vagina” seven-or-so times and hoping it’s funny enough on its own to drawlaughs each time, unaware that vagina is only funny the first two times.Vagina. See? No longer funny.

But the film is at least a littlebit magical, because it proves Murphy is funny again rather than a punchlinehimself. Hopefully this is the start of his next great act. If this turns outto be a one-time thing and Murphy plays DJ Lance Rock in the Yo Gabba Gabbamovie and storms out of the Kids’ Choice Awards after he gets slimed, that willbe cause for a protest indeed.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

Review: I Am Better Than Your Kids

2011-11-01T09:30:00.000-07:00

I've started freelancing at GuySpeed, and here is my first post: A review of Maddox's I Am Better Than Your Kids.

An excerpt:

‘I Am Better Than Your Kids’ could end up as the single most important work for the publishing industry. The author, whose 2006 literary debut, the bestseller ‘The Alphabet of Manliness,’ took it upon himself to handle much of the design and formatting of this book. That is crucial because the book is 90% style and 10% substance. That’s not a knock against it. It speaks to the very nature of what it felt like he was trying to accomplish, which was to critique the self-righteous, often resentful and bitter field of criticism as a whole.

Celebrating The Geekiest Halloween Costumes

2011-10-31T08:59:00.000-07:00

Over at Engadget, they're celebrating the geekiest of all Halloween costumes. My personal favorite was the gentleman who dresses himself up as a giant, cardboard Game Boy.

I still say my Green Man is the best of the best, but I guess I may be a little biased.

25 Things You May Not Know About Me

2011-10-31T08:33:00.000-07:00

1. My ultimate goal is to travel to another planet and conquer it, rectally probing most of the planet’s residents, enslaving the others and stealing all their water for my personal use.

2. When I was a baby I got drunk hit the bars and things got a little crazy. One thing led to another and before I knew it I was a a father-to-be, and thus was forced to raise the resulting baby about my own age – Tyler, who would one day become one of my best friends – as my own. I gave him away to the circus because he was worthless.

3. I used to think that people who liked 30 Rock better than The Office were morons. I am now also a moron.

4. I am a whore in public but a churchgirl in the bedroom.

5. One of my more depressing shortcomings is that I am 11 wives short of attaining a quorum in the Celestial Kingdom.

6. I didn’t land on Plymouth Rock, but Plymouth Rock landed on me.

7. I would have been able to play in the NBA if I hadn’t been discriminated against back in high school for my lack of size, speed and intelligence.

8. I try to work the phrase “You dun smoke yourself retarded” into one conversation per day.

9. I don’t understand the fashion concept of “matching.”

10. Abraham Lincoln was actually a reincarnation of me. The explanation for how this happened is too long to get into here, but bear in mind it includes a time-traveling DeLorean as well as several voodoo rituals.

11. I was Time Magazine’s 2006 person of the year. Look it up.

12. I believe all country love songs by dudes are sung with farm animals in mind.

13. My greatest fear is being buried alive.

14. I believe golf columnists are the most fetishistic and pathetically stalker-like of all sportswriters.

15. I feel sorry for dolphins that live in the wild because they don’t get the chance to jump through flaming hoops.

16. I still own every baseball, football and basketball card, as well as comic book, I ever purchased and keep them stored in shoeboxes in a closet for no reason.

17. I am too lazy to write 25 things about myself, so I must stop at

18. And yet I persevere anyway, deciding that it’s better to half-ass eight more to conform to the demands of the format rather than cut myself off in the name of artistic integrity.

19. When I was a kid I had an imaginary rival named Jacques Jejajeun. I’d play him in paddle ball, Nerf basketball and Rad Racer.

20. When I was in fifth grade I convinced myself that if me and my friends played recess basketball well enough we’d get a chance to play against UNLV in a nationally broadcast exhibition game.

21. I hate yet am in inspired by people with no talent who have lucked into successful careers. (i.e. Kevin Kolb, Robert Pattinson and the Black Eyed Peas).

22. I have no sense of direction. This affects me the most when I play first-person shooters.

23. I like reading about video games more than playing them.

24. When I was a freshman in college I would recycle my excess cereal milk and use it the next day. Yep, I went green before it was cool.

25. I’m not even trying anymore and haven’t been after the first seven in all honesty. But I still count this as one so now it’s over.

Review: Bossypants

2011-10-27T19:50:00.000-07:00

Bossypants by Tina Fey

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Tina Fey is brilliant, and proves it at times in this book, which sometimes feels like a miscalculated rush job. It was pretty lazy to include a script of a sketch, as well as a sequence of jokes from 30 Rock. Her observations on life and growing up, as well as her smack-talking about Lorne Michaels and Sarah Palin, make the book worthwhile.

View all my reviews

Books Geeks Love

2011-10-27T08:37:00.000-07:00

Wired, that bastion of celebrating geekdom, put together a post suggesting the essential geek reads.

I love the list, which includes such masterpieces as The Hithchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Watchmen and The Lord of the Rings. Did I enjoy the post simply because it consisted mostly of books I've read -- and if not read, have at least heard of and read enough about to fake like I have -- because it made me feel like a well-read geekology professor? Probably. But that's beside the point.

If you want to be a real geek, or be able to hold a literature-based conversation with one, you need to read these books. Or at least their Wikipedia pages.

Review: The Rum Diary

2011-10-26T00:20:00.000-07:00

If they ever make a time travel tourism film about 1960 Puerto Rico, it will be the opposite of The Rum Diary. Hunter S. Thompson’s vision of the setting is as bleak as the Miami Dolphins’ playoff hopes, with thuggish, resentful locals fuming at mainland interlopers, rathole apartments with water that walks rather than runs and a kangaroo court legal system geared to either run English-speakers off the island or lock them up indefinitely.

Yet these are the places in which legends are made. Thompson drew upon his experiences as a young writer who placed his dreams on hold to toil at a mediocre newspaper job in an exotic location to pen the novel, which he wrote at age 22 but didn’t publish until 1998. In a booze-swilling haze, the writer formed his moral code, honed his participatory journalism technique and found his voice.

Pushing 50, Johnny Depp would seem to be too old for the part, but that would only apply if the actor wasn’t the love child of Dorian Gray and Benjamin Button and either gets younger or ages backward as the years pass. Depp easily passes for a guy in his early 30s. And thanks to nearly a decade toiling as Captain Jack Sparrow, he has ample experience playing a drunken fool who can barely walk.

The movie captures Depp’s character in a never-ending hangover, in which regret-filled nights bleed into bleary-eyed mornings, which themselves are only sleepwalking continuations of the previous wasted day. He buddies up with a burned-out photographer (Michael Rispoli), tries to avoid his Nazi-sympathizing, drug-addled coworker/roomie (Giovanni Ribisi) and cowers under the demands of his creativity-crushing editor (Richard Jenkins). He indulges his wide-eyed corruptible tendencies by allowing himself to be romanced by an evil land developing ring led by Aaron Eckhart and his comely girlfriend (Amber Heard).

The actors are all superb, but Ribisi is disgustingly phenomenal in his transformation into a human snot rag, swiping scenes from the indomitable Depp. You cringe whenever Ribisi slinks on screen to deliver nasally one-liners that draw nervous laughter.

While the movie lacks the absurdist panache of the Terry Gilliam-directed, Depp-starring Thompson adaptation Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, it’s more content to tell a personal, often harrowing tale. The Rum Diary catches a nice buzz early on, spinning Depp and company through an unrelenting house of horrors, but tires toward the end by preaching rather than letting its smaller moments do the fear and loathing for it.

It’s probably impossible to make a perfect movie out of a Thompson book, but The Rum Diaries is a darn good try. Maybe we’ll see perfection a decade from now. Maybe by then, Depp will finally be playing characters his own age. But probably not.

Starring Johnny Depp, Aaron Eckhart, Michael Rispoli, Amber Heard, Giovanni Ribisi and Richard Jenkins. Written by Bruce Robinson, based on a novel by Hunter S. Thompson. Directed by Robinson. 120 minutes. Rated R.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

The Joys Of Reading Books On Cell Phones

2011-10-24T06:30:00.000-07:00

Working multiple jobs while raising multiple kids while supporting time-consuming hobbies such as writing for fun, football watching and video game playing has forced me to largely cut the act of reading books out of my life over the past few years. And feel guilty about it. But that's changing, thanks to my new pastime of cell phone book reading.

I used to be irritated at the idea of e-reading, and the idea of plowing through an entire book on a tiny cell phone screen sounded impossibly stupid. But now that I am more than halfway through Tina Fey's Bossypants, which I've read on my phone primarily during bathroom breaks, I consider physical books to be impossibly stupid.

Smartphones equipped with the Kindle app allow you to tote around an infinite number of books in your pocket. Booklights, bookmarks and scotch tape are now obsolete, because this technological revolution allows you to read in the complete dark, always keeps track of your page number and does not allow you to accidentally rip its pages. I could drop my Droid 2 in the toilet and just shrug and pick up where I left off on my laptop or iPod Touch.

The main reason I enjoy reading books on my phone is because of the video game like quality. It feels as though you're playing a text-based adventure game in which it's impossible to screw up and die. Just read what's on the screen and swipe your finger and you win! Then you win again 13 second later! Since each virtual page is so tiny, you get a greater, more frequent sense of reward and progress. And I adore the fact that you can always tap the bottom of the screen to see your completion percentage.

About the only bonus I would add would be a da-dink sound, accomplished by a graphic that says "achievement unlocked" after I "beat" each chapter. I also wish it kept track of the length of time I'd been reading, and switched into audio book mode when I'm driving.

Now that I've discovered the joy of cell phone reading -- not e-reading as a whole mind you, because Kindles, iPads and Nooks can't fit in your pocket and are only truly portable to dorks who wear European man-purses -- I vow to read more than ever before, but may never touch a book again.

My NYC Observations

2011-10-19T18:38:00.000-07:00

I got back from my first trip to New York a week ago yesterday. The vacation seemed like it lasted 5 hours instead of 5 days. Jessica and I saw Wicked and Addams Family with Brooke Shields. Went to Comedy Cellar and saw Colin Quinn perform. I'm happiest that we didn't get mugged or stabbed once.

Here are some observations about the city:

*The restaurants are stingy with the drinks. Waiters weren't cool about giving free soda refills, or even asking whether you'd like to order another. This was true at an Irish Pub in Times Square -- although I was slyly upsold to a full-price refill -- a hipster health food joint in SoHo, a pizzeria in Little Italy and an Italian place in the Village. There must be some sort of NYC syrup shortage going on, and I guess I was glad to do my part to conserve.

*It's odd yet adorable how all the subway Metro card dispensaries tell you to "dip" your credit card to pay rather than slide it.

*Locals there weren't rude. They seemed to keep to themselves and not be abrasive or resentful of tourists' presence. Maybe because they're outnumbered by tourists.

*Everyone had enough money. I expected to be shaken down constantly by aggressive panhandlers, but the only time I was asked was at a Dunkin' Donuts by a polite kid.

*We had perfect weather, but I bet it sucks to live there if it's either hot or rainy. NYC is a utopia of public transportation, and it was a dream not to have to deal with cars. But all the necessary walking would make it tough to get around in extreme heat or snow.

*An earthquake, even a tiny little 5.8 variety that the city experienced a while before I got there, would be freaking terrifying if you were stuck on top of the Empire State Building or inside a subway stop at the time.

*It would really blow to have kids there. Everyone who had a kid in tow also sported a look of gloom and misery. Guess it's not much fun to lug a stroller up a set of subway stop stairs. By the way, NYC is the least wheelchair accessible city I've ever heard of. If you break a leg or lose the ability to walk, stick with Jersey, I guess.

Broadway Musical Death Match: Why Addams Family Is Better Than Wicked

2011-10-14T08:47:00.000-07:00

I saw two shows on Broadway last weekend, and was surprised at which one was better.

I expected to hate Addams Family because of how lame and stupid the idea to base a musical on that seems, but I actually liked that better than Wicked. Wicked was good in the second act but the first was way too slow and had mostly terrible songs and no famous people. We got stuck with the second-string cast that did the national tour. You go to Broadway to see the best of the best, not the roustabouts who play Topeka.

Addams Family at least had Brooke Shields, who was entertaining in a Surreal Life sort of way. That show reminded me of the billions of episodes of it I saw as a kid, and convinced me that the characters were always stronger than I gave them credit for. Also, Addams Family played in a tiny little theater, so the actors were basically on top of us. Wicked played in a giant megatron theater and we had terrible seats that still cost $17 trillion. The great Addams Family seats cost only $2.5 billion. So, better value.

One thing that angered me about Wicked was the way it handled the Scarecrow. Everyone who's read the books or seen Return to Oz knows that the Scarecrow becomes king, not some sick bastard who runs off with the Wicked Witch of the West for fornication in another realm, never to be seen again. And if the Scarecrow really was the witch's lover who got transformed into a brainless farm doll in an ill-advised attempt at magical protection by his spell-casting, pointy-hatted hook-up, why would he actively help Dorothy and the others try to hunt down and kill her, while pretending he didn't know that the Wizard of Oz was really the fat balloon man behind a curtain? I guess we're supposed to believe that he was just playing along as a way to hitch a ride back to his green-skinned love's wicked mansion, but that's quite a stretch, especially since she sets him on fire in the movie. Now that's some serious method acting to throw everyone off the trail.

Review: Footloose

2011-10-12T00:00:00.000-07:00

Every generation, it comes time for the cinema to teach us an important lesson about life. This lesson is that loud music and dancing are the devil's tools and must be eradicated by rule of law. A wise pastor/town dictator must obliterate that silly division between church and state.

To stoke fear in the hearts of the just, movies about this subject must present the sum of all fears -- that a hedonistic youth will shake the foundation of such just ordinances with a swirl of cartwheels and air-splits.

The new Footloose, like its 1984 progenitor, provides ample entertainment while stirring the pangs of wrath in your heart. The remake copies the original beat for beat, which is necessary because the first film was cinematic perfection that cannot possibly be improved on by man nor beast.

Leave it to director Craig Brewer to emerge from his humble beginnings, making the multiple Oscar-nominated Hustle & Flow, to rise to his true calling -- learning how to use the "copy" and "paste" functions of FinalCutPro to replicate the work of others.

Brewer expertly re-uses the two main songs from the original, "Footloose" and "Let's Hear it for the Boy," because in the past 27 years, no better songs than those have been invented. Even if, for some reason, this is actually no longer the way kids danced, and in fact never was the way anyone danced, but the style was just an odd 1980s movies construct, you must give the choreographers credit for driving home the point that dance is indeed an abomination that must be outlawed.

It's of little doubt that star Kenny Wormald, who plays the vile antagonist, the new kid in town with the loosest of feet, will go on to be the namesake of a parlor game called Six Degrees of Kenny Wormald in the future. Or that Julianne Hough will match the illustrious career of Lori Singer, and in 37 years be so far along that she'll be able to snag a role that's the equivalent of the bit part Dede Aston in season 12, episode 22 of CSI: SVU.

As far as acting goes, these kids certainly can dance, causing myriad problems for the heroic preacher played by Dennis Quaid, who finds deep layers of determination by refraining from splashing holy water on his detestable daughter or her malevolent suitor as they break the town's law repeatedly for 113 minutes.

Also, kudos to the choreography team for nailing the embarrassing arms-waving tap-dance-like style, which they copy from the first Footloose. They clearly did their research, discovering that this is exactly how kids dance today.

Starring Kenny Wormald, Julianne Hough, Dennis Quaid and Andie McDowell. Written by Craig Brewer and Dean Pitchford, based on a story by Pitchford. 113 minutes.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

This Email Made Me Happy

2011-10-05T18:30:00.000-07:00

Hi, Phil,

My editor-in-chief read and enjoyed your proposal for LEARN TO SPEAK GEEK. Also, I discussed it at our general editorial meeting today and I think it went well. Right now, the proposal is being read by our publisher, our directors of sales, publicity and marketing, as well as our digital marketing/content manager. All of them seemed enthusiastic about this, so I am cautiously hopeful. I will be in touch soon, I hope.

Best,

-Book Editor (not his real name)

How To Solve Any Problem

2011-10-03T18:28:00.000-07:00

Send Desmond into the center of the island light and have him do whatever until the unstabbable guy who can become a smoke monster whenever he likes yet chooses to be an old man instead becomes stabbable and the parallel church world born of a nuclear time travel explosion pops up and rescues everyone in a big ol hugglefest.

In case you can't tell, I just shotgunned the entire Lost series in the past couple months.

Taking A 58-Year-Old And 4-Year-Old To Football Games

2011-09-26T08:21:00.000-07:00

I've spent the past two Saturday nights at Arizona Stadium watching the Wildcats get the snot smacked out of them by far superior teams. In the first outing, I took my dad, who was on the verge of his 59th birthday. The week after, I brought my 4-year-old son, Luke, to his first football game.

There were similarities and differences in the outings.

SIMILARITY -- Everlasting nostalgic moments. When I was growing up, my dad took me to games regularly, always buying me a game program because he knew how much I loved to read through the rosters, coach bios and statistics. I still have all of them, stacked in boxes in my closet. Now they no longer sell programs, and just give them away for free. As we walked into the stadium, I spotted a box of the programs, scooped a pair out and handed one to my dad.

Befitting his name, Luke is a huge Star Wars fan, and he adored the band's questionable practice of playing Darth Vader's theme when the other team has the ball. (Should the band really admit via music that the enemy's possession of the ball is a sign of certain doom). Whenever the band started to play, he asked me, hope bubbling out his little eyes, whether it was going to be the Star Wars song again. He was crushed when it was a different jingle, and elated when his dream came true. When the band was silent, he spent most of the time humming his own, metal-and-beatbox-infused version of the tune. Now I will never be able to hear those notes again without thinking of Luke at this age.

SIMILARITY -- Endurance. Both the old and young man lasted until the final whistle. And both, like me, were disappointed when the drubbing was over and it was finally time to go home.

DIFFERENCE -- Calorie consumption. Neither my dad nor I saw the need to visit the concession stand during the game. But for Luke, the wonders of popcorn, cotton candy, soda and lemonade were 150 percent of the fun the event had to offer. In practice, the $15 I spent on refreshments largely went to waste. Meaning, I had to eat it after Luke got tired of it.

The salted giant pretzel looked good at the outset, but he struggled to devour half of it. He needed popcorn later on because he loves popcorn at the movie theater, but there wasn't as much butter as he remembered, and white cheddar seasoning wasn't an option as it is at Harkins. So he only ate a few bites. As for the cotton candy, he ripped off a glob from the bag and munched on it for half an hour, pausing to proudly display his purple and green beards, then abandoned ship and left the other half of the bag to rot. I excuse his finicky eating because of the double Whopper he wolfed down before the game, proclaiming it "the best sandwich I've ever had."

DIFFERENCE -- Football acumen. My dad and I exchanged a calm, reasoned patter of in-game analysis with the detachment of grizzled sportscasters. We've both had our hearts trampled too much by the game, and this team, to allow ourselves to get too jubilant or depressed.

Luke had a little trouble getting the chants down. When the crowd chanted "U of A," Luke interpreted it as a call to display his patriotism, shouting "USA!" When it was time to yell "Defense," Luke yelled "Depends!" Whenever the public address announcer revealed that a team took a timeout, Luke was sure that meant the players would have to go to their rooms until they calmed down. Also, he had trouble remembering that the team that we were rooting for was the Wildcats, whom he kept calling the Cardinals -- a result of my nearly half-decade long brainwashing campaign. It's lucky that I hadn't taken Luke the week before, when Arizona played the Stanford Cardinal. His brain might have exploded.

As the game ended, Luke was sure the Wildcats -- or Cardinals -- had won. He was angry when the final seconds ticked away and I told him that we had to leave. In his oblivious-to-the-final-score mind, it had been a perfect night, and it was a tragedy that it had to end.

He was right that in the grander scheme, the score didn't matter at all, and the evening had indeed been perfect. Both those Saturday nights were.

Review: Moneyball

2011-09-21T01:01:00.001-07:00

Baseball has always been far more interesting in movie form than in real life. Moneyball puts the romance, suspense and nostalgia of the game to the ultimate test, attempting to make front-office number crunching into compelling drama.

Other than the assumption that baseball is movie magic, there’s no reason Moneyball should be remotely watchable, let alone freaking amazing, which it surely is. Some Brad Pitt fans have no doubt declared that he’s such a magnetic personality that he could make a two-hour reading of the phone book interesting. This is the movie in which Pitt tries out the theory, only switching out phone numbers for on-base percentages.

Pitt plays Oakland A’s general manager Billy Beane, who, judging from an early-film montage, was the worst baseball player in the history of mankind before tossing his hands up and trying to make it as a suit. According to the montage, Beane struck out in every at-bat, and never once was able to maneuver himself close to a ball that was hit to him. You know, pretty much like every Kansas City Royal in the last 25 years.

But one thing Beane can do is patch together a team of rag-tag misfits who make less than Taco Bell employees and turn them into a marauding machine that’s nearly as dominant as the Bad News Bears were at the end of their movies. Clearly possessing that which Genesis once referred to as “That invisible touch, yeah,” With a boy wonder, Yale economist sidekick (Jonah Hill) on his hip, Beane picks through the garbage heap of Major League baseball, uses crazy inventions called “math” and “spreadsheets” to identify winning qualities that other teams overlook, then gives them pep talks that make them want to get out onto that field and take as many walks as possible.

In layman’s terms, Beane takes a team and spins it off into a separate entity called Wynsterz, nodding in that cocky, I’m-Brad-Pitt-And-You’re-Not fashion as all the naysayers call him an idiot, then chuckling as the Wynsterz wins the AL West by 100 games while also getting users to pay double the price for cracked DVDs.

While there is some stirring on-field action to spice things up, most of this film is dialogue, meaning the screenwriters are every bit as much the stars of the film as Pitt. The writing sings because it’s so witty and clever, managing to talk about poignant life stuff such as family, loyalty and determination while pretending to reference fielding percentages and signing bonuses.

Director Bennett Miller handles the impossible film with the skill of his protagonist. He’s clearly a filmmaker who relishes a challenge, which is why I expect him to do just as well with his next project, IRS Tax Code: The Animated Musical.

Starring Brad Pitt, Jonah Hill, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Robin Wright. Written by Steve Zaillian and Aaron Sorkin, based on a Stan Chervin story, which in turn was based on a Michael Lewis book. Directed by Bennett Miller. Rated PG-13. 133 minutes.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

Qwikster

2011-09-19T15:25:00.000-07:00

After I switch over to Qwikster, I admit I will be just a little disappointed every time I open a red envelope and find a DVD in there instead of strawberry-flavored powder.

How To Trick Others Into Thinking You're A Good Employee

2011-09-18T13:51:00.001-07:00

Hating your job is no excuse to mope. No matter how miserable you are when you're on the clock, you'll only better your prospects by making the best of your situation.

Budgets Are Sexy offers some tips on how to be a better employee, or at least fake your way to appearing to be adequate:

*Smile. People drift toward pleasant folk. Being cheery can give you an extra edge that keeps you around amid layoffs or boosts your chances of a promotion.

*Don't run out the door at the first opportunity. Sticking around 5 or 10 minutes after the workday ends can go far in making you appear to be a dedicated worker.

*Hand out compliments, not criticism. Avoid vague, blanket brown-nosing and pinpoint specific, genuine things you can praise people for. When negative thoughts surface, send them back where they came from. Strategic gossip can build a rapport, but also places you at risk of being perceived as a malcontent back-stabber.

10 Tips to Be a Better Employee [Budgets Are Sexy]

Lies That People Repeat And Believe In

2011-09-14T18:26:00.000-07:00

"Everything happens for a reason." I guess this is technically true, if the reason is defined as "because people felt like making that happen." The belief that everything that occurs is to contribute to some positive ending is ridiculous. It's easier to believe that everything happens for an eventual negative reason.

"God never gives you more than you can handle." I think people who get run over and killed by trucks get more than they can handle.

"Karma will take care of it." The belief that you don't need to do anything to stop bad things from continuing to happen because a Final Destination-type invisible force will do it for you is just lazy.

My Questions About Aquatic Medicine

2011-09-13T18:39:00.000-07:00

I wonder how far along the field of underwater surgery has come. If a fish gets a spinal tumor, is he screwed or is there a chance to save him? Do they stand still to have their blood pressure checked? Can they get gill asthma? And if so, how do they take their inhalers?

Can dol-fins (my nicknames for dolphins' fins) be placed in cast? Is it considered poor form for octopi to squirt ink on them in playful attempts at signing them?

Sharks lose a lot of teeth, but how many is too many? If they forget to floss can they get cavities? Do they need to use mouthwash or does just swimming around with their mouths open all scary-like do the job?

I Just Wanted To Let You Know

2011-09-12T18:53:00.000-07:00

The Cardinals are undefeated, the Cardinals are undefeated, the Cardinals are undefeated and the Cardinals are undefeated. Lastly, lest I forget to mention it, the Cardinals are undefeated. Life is grand. I only wonder if the Cardinals themselves take such pleasure in my successes.

Three Things I Am Enraged About At The Moment

2011-09-08T18:18:00.000-07:00

1. Sending important emails that go unreturned.

2. Publishers who take weeks and weeks to evaluate a book proposal.

3. Scamtastic charities that name themselves something similar to other organizations and spend 90 percent of their donations in legal battles with the reputable charity.

A literary analysis of "Stormin' Mormon"

2011-09-07T10:00:00.000-07:00

Reader Peter Yates-Hodshon was kind and thoughtful enough to pen this review of my book, which is available as a $1 download on Kindle and Nook:

Although Phil Villarreal has not just penned the Great American Novel, Stormin’ Mormon, his debut, stands on its own as a must read. As film and video game reviewer for the Arizona Daily Star, Villarreal’s insightful, incisive, sometimes gritty critiques commenting upon our currently undulatingly “haunted” electronified culture give us pause; his analyses engage us, enrage us, entertain and entreat us. He is not solely a journalist; he is a keen observer (and commentator), not one to back down after stating his case.

The same can be said of Stormin’ Mormon…to an extent.

With some truly brilliant narratives (that are more the norm in his novel than the exception) and some downright authentic dialogue between his two protagonists, Villarreal paints a very graphic and – at times – comic portrait of our culture’s current incarnation. Through Villarreal’s storytelling, we confront our swirling reflections: we are inexorably chained to our battery-powered existence, umbilically hooked to the larger-than-life media leading us around by the hog ring of illusion, hopping from one bar or restaurant to another looking for “home.” We find ourselves vicariously “button-mashing through FIFA ’08 Soccer on the Xbox 360”; “[m]oving in with random karaoke guys”; ruminating about “Miami Vice,” Jim Rome, Maxim, The Rules of Attraction, 60 Minutes, Matrix, Cary Elwes, “World Series Thunderstix,” and Channel 13; and dining at “’Nico’s’…that makes the best steak, egg and cheese breakfast burrito mankind has ever known.”

Oh by the way, this all takes place right here in Tucson, Arizona…under the watchful eyes of Lute Olson and Wilbur the Wildcat.

Amiably and definitely without malevolence (because he might be describing the bulk of our shared consciousness), Villarreal depicts his two “heroes” as non-malicious, conniving near-losers standing at the brink of life. Saul Cruz, a not quite surly U of A graduate and wisecracking almost cowardly twenty-something Jim Rome wannabe, schleps as a sports shock jock for a local AM radio station. Jerusha Rockwell, the perfect counterpart to Saul, is a nearly 24-year-old, intelligent yet poorly motivated, foulmouthed undergraduate who lives by her wits, luck, looks, and financial dependence upon a clinging and demonized mother. Saul is a confused agnostic; Jerusha is a jack Mormon because “I, uh, have sex.” They almost seem like twins separated at birth.

Here’s the premise: Because his two protagonists, Saul and Jerusha, ravenously desire each other not so much because of an honest attraction but more because they have fallen out of love with their respective “soul mates,” they devise a ruse to chase away their lovers, to become devote Mormons. Comedically, this almost works as the vehicle for Villarreal’s two lusting heroes. The wind-up, the action which takes place before the ruse is put into effect, builds nicely; in fact, his portrayal of each character’s floundering relationship can be considered downright agonizing. This is a good thing: Not only do we strongly wish for Saul and Jerusha to make the carnal connection, we literally root for the ruse to work without a hitch (pun intended).

Ugly scenes of Jerusha and Jared (her current “bemused live-in boyfriend of three months”) locked in mortal combat instead of an embrace greet us at the outset. Similarly, we witness Saul bemoan the fact that spending time with his Baptist girlfriend Shannon has become a burdensome “requirement,” even though it was he who lamented her “dismissive initial response” to any type of cohabitation. The ugliness is excruciatingly palpable. All the characters, supporting and main, swear like sailors, eat like Huns, and have sex like pigeons. A reader’s head virtually swims in a more-than-graphic-Harold-Robbins tale of sexual-realm-of-the-senses angst.

Then the ruse.

Villarreal pulls this off neatly, but not so lightly. We do not find ourselves laughing so much as grimacing and shuddering. Was this not supposed to be a comedy? Is this actually becoming a tragedy…or a morality tale? And if this is a lesson, what are we to glean from Villarreal’s words? This is the drawback to his freshman outing: where is Villarreal’s voice?

As a polished cultural critic, Phil Villarreal guides us through the vagaries of our American miasma with aplomb. His work with the Star, more than bears this out: he tips us off to clunkers, brilliance, misses and hits. He nearly accomplishes the same with Stormin’ Mormon. Narratives that spring to life with little effort (the scene at McKale Center’s “press row,” a sordid and depressing depiction of a college bar, and radio station high jinx) provide Villarreal with amazingly astute vehicles for critique: we can sense a redundant, recurring cultural déjà vu. Have we progressed as a people? Comparably, he creates piercing encounters between characters that almost verge on the dialectic, especially when characters engage in heated arguments about mores and norms. Yes, the dialogue is that good, especially between Saul and Jerusha. The author speaks to us directly and without shame and demands that we listen carefully to what his characters posit. Here, within the meat of the book, deep into the narrative and neck high in dialogue do we find Villarreal’s strength as a writer: his realism is razor-sharp…and this is impressive for a first time author. We chafe and laugh and shudder simultaneously.
Yet, what is he telling us?

Reread Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye, and Boyer’s Sidelong Glances of a Pigeon Kicker, and you get a sense of voice, of revelation…direct or nuanced. As readers, we do not have to guess that Jim is already a free man, that Holden senses that post-WWII America is already culturally bankrupt, and that David’s desire to drive a cab smacks back at a society demanding complacency of its members. Also, we know that each author, as social critic and keen cultural observer, demands our commitment as readers to read not just scrupulously but to accomplish something in our own lives, to adjust and readjust our zeitgeist in order to (maybe) just save our own hides and (maybe) a few hides of friends and foes.

Villarreal, however, as sharp an observer as he is, seems content only to grasp at a literary brass ring, offering religion as our salvation. While maintaining a spiritual life is a road to transcendence, most assuredly in many cases, the avenues taken by his characters seem less than intelligently taken, done more out of distress (and societal duress) than out of conscientious free will.

Herein lays the rub.

Does Villarreal give up at the end of this first attempt to make a satisfactory and pointed statement about our fragile and less than robust collective national spiritual inclination; or is he heartily and honestly recommending humdrum organized religion as our one and only hope for realigning our (through his eyes) squeamish, skewed civilization…in a way, disturbingly condemning women to lives of abject servility? Does he use the evolution of his characters, supporting and main, to ostracize us, condemn us for not easily accepting what is readily available in the way of suitable and customary religious pursuits? Or, and this may be the case, does Villarreal purposely use Stormin’ Mormon to describe our feverish grasping at two-dimensional spirituality as a panacea, in order to make plain our tendency towards intellectual incompetence, to make plain our desire for taking the easy way out? If we read and consider and contemplate the quotations (from Jane Austen to Tupac Shakur) introducing each paragraph, we find ourselves sweating out this conundrum. Also importantly, Saul’s ultimate though open-ended development as a character appreciatively marks the crux of this possibly unintentional dilemma in voice. We need to ask: What is Villarreal serving up with Stormin’ Mormon?

Because this novel causes intellectual stress, it is a must read. Because his narratives and dialogue are gifted, this novel requires a pair of keen eyes. Because Villarreal has so much more to offer, pour over this book. It is a peek at what is to come because in time Villarreal’s voice will ring more clearly; his talent strongly suggests this. We need to have patience; the payoff will be his next work.

My 2011 NFL Predictions

2011-08-31T09:02:00.000-07:00

Playoff seeding in parentheses.

AFC East
(3)New York 11-5
(6) New England 10-6
Miami 8-8
Buffalo 3-13

AFC North
(1)Baltimore 12-4
(5) Pittsburgh 11-5
Cleveland 5-11
Cincinnati 4-12

AFC South
(2)Houston 11-5
Indianapolis 8-8
Jacksonville 8-8
Tennessee 5-11

AFC West
(4) Kansas City 9-7
San Diego 9-7
Oakland 7-9
Denver 7-9

NFC East
(4) Philadelphia 10-6
New York 8-8
Dallas 6-10
Washington 6-10

NFC North
(2) Detroit 11-5
(6) Green Bay 10-6
Minnesota 6-10
Chicago 5-11

NFC South
(3) Atlanta 10-6
New Orleans 9-7
Tampa Bay 9-7
Carolina 6-10

NFC West
(1) Arizona 11-5
(5) San Francisco 10-6
St. Louis 9-7
Seattle 4-12

Playoffs: First Round

New York over New England, Kansas City over Pittsburgh, Green Bay over Atlanta, Philadelphia over San Francisco

Divisional playoffs:
Houston over Kansas City, Baltimore over New York, Arizona over Green Bay, Detroit over Philadelphia

Championship games:
Houston over Baltimore, Arizona over Detroit

Super Bowl:
Arizona over Houston

Tiny Indiana Jones

2011-08-30T18:51:00.000-07:00

If you've been on the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland, have you noticed how small the model of the hero is inside the ride? How am I supposed to take a 2-foot-tall Indy seriously?

I wish they would give him a squeaky voice and have him say "Help! Disney turned me small with an evil potion! Rescue and enlarge me!"

How Webster Ruined My Career In Science

2011-08-19T08:05:00.000-07:00

Webster is the reason I am not a famous scientist who has cured cancer or invented death rays. This has to do with the episode in which Webster played with his chemistry set without parental oversight and burned his house to the ground.

My aunt gave me a chemistry set for my seventh birthday, and my parents wouldn't let me use it unless they were there to help me, which they were never willing to do. Whenever I asked, they put it off and diverted me to other pastimes. Perhaps it was too difficult to set up and clean. Maybe they were afraid I'd poison myself with sodium biociroid (a chemical I just made up, because I had to, being that I am a writer and know nothing about chemical names) and it would be their fault because they allowed me to try to make a volcano out of it.

I could have been rebellious and played with the set on my own, but then came that Webster episode, scaring me crooked. I was so fearful that I too would incinerate my home that I let the set sit on a shelf inside my closet.

Years later, maybe when I was 16 or so, the Webster effect had worn off and I thought I would take out that set and finally get to chemistry-ing. By then I was already committed to study non-scientific things, but perhaps some re-ignited interest in the subject at the time could have steered me in the right direction before I hit college.

I opened each container and found nothing but congealed liquids and powders. The chemicals had all wasted away, as had my chances at Nobel Prizes or Death Ray Monthly Man of the Years. The following year I took a chemistry class and dropped it after a couple weeks because I couldn't wrap my malformed, un-scientifically stimulated brain around the concept of what a mole was.

The moral of this story is that every good person who dies of cancer and every bad person who lives to terrorize the earth because I was unable to invent a death ray to stop them has my parents to partially to blame. But mostly Webster.

Review: 30 Minutes or Less

2011-08-09T23:47:00.001-07:00

If Jesse Eisenberg and Michael Cera armwrestled, no one would win and daffodils would pop up from the table. This is actually my way of complimenting both actors. They do so well because they are easier to identify with than musclebound, machine gun-toting action stars.

Both actors thrive on their Beiberesque lack of traditional machismo, and the duo are engaged in an ongoing shadow rivalry to see who can be the biggest sap, weenie and pushover. Eisenberg holds serve with 30 Minutes or Less, his latest diary of a wimpy manchild.

Starring as a pizza delivery boy who’s captured by petty criminals, strapped with a vest bomb and forced to rob a bank, Eisenberg is more Jillinger than Dillinger. His character is a pathetic shell of a man who ducks and covers in a shell of extended adolescence as life plays cruel tricks on him. His passiveness and lazy ingenuity supplies the movie with its dainty charm and heart.

Tragically underused Aziz Ansari checks in as Eisenberg’s quote machine sidekick, seeming like a smarmy outcast from a 1990s Kevin Smith movie. Their tumultuous, Superbad-style codependency brims with unresolved angst from their teen years, forged with the undying bond that generates on dormroom-style couches between guys who watch all the Die Hards together.

The plight of Ansari, whom Eisenberg recruits to help him rob the bank, is bookmarked with the exploits of a parallel bromance between bullheaded moron Danny McBride and his submissive worshipper Nick Swardson. Think Stewart from Beavis and Butt-Head.

McBride, displaying the same trailer trash genius he flaunts in the HBO series Eastbound and Down, is bent on knocking off his domineering old man with a professional hitman, whom he plans to pay via the outsourced bank heist.

The plot is unapologetically stupid, and would be too idiotic to believe were it not for a 2003 tragedy which the movie mimics, despite the filmmakers’ likely lawyered-up insistence that it did not inspire their movie.

I’m glad 30 Minutes or Less isn’t based on the true story, because the more implausible the movie gets, the more enjoyable it is. Its laughs are hard and frequent, its action is breezy and energetic, and the casting is utterly perfect.

Your move, Cera.

Starring Jesse Eisenberg, Aziz Ansari, Danny McBride, Nick Swardson, Dilshad Vadsaria, Bianca Kajlich and Michael Peña. Written by Michael Diliberti, based on a story by Matthew Sullivan and Diliberti. Directed by Ruben Fleischer. Rated R. 83 minutes.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

Entering 27th Grade

2011-08-08T18:30:00.000-07:00

I am starting 27th grade this year. I'm not quite as afraid of it as I was kindergarten, and am pleased that there will be no homework or finals. And it's OK if I forget my locker combination, because I no longer have a locker, at least when I'm awake.

I must admit that I am a little afraid of my teacher, though. Mr. Life. Everyone says he's a dick.

Review: The Change-Up

2011-08-02T23:54:00.001-07:00

I believe it was Socrates who once advised “Never pee into a public fountain while wishing you had the life of a friend who’s peeing next to you, lest you run the risk of a magical statue smirking as it transplants your brains and causes a brief electrical blackout in all surrounding buildings.”

That’s the age-old lesson in The Change-Up, which could also be called Freaky Friday With Porn or Vice Versa With Lots Of Cussing.

Back in my day – the 1980s – movies like this came out at least three times a week. Ungrateful sourpusses were always swapping brains, only to learn that the lives of those they swapped with are even more horrific than their own. We were a simple people, without internets or Lady Gagas, and it didn’t take much to entertain us. The fact that the concept has been unearthed like a zombie corpse is both genius and pathetic. Luckily for paying customers, the movie is funny enough that it most often veers more toward the genius side of the equation.

Among the myriad ways in which the film succeeds:

*It lets Ryan Reynolds be Ryan Reynolds. Too many movies give Reynolds mega power rings from the planet Oa or plague him with Amityville Horrors or, worse, Sandra Bullock. This movie just lets him be the guy he was as one of the guys in the show Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place. Meaning, it lets him be charming, sex-obsessed and do that thing where he whips his head toward the camera while delivering witty lines out of the side of his mouth. If they had an American Idol based on doing that rather than singing, Ryan Reynolds would at the very least make it to the Hollywood round.

*It proves Jason Bateman does not employ a blind monkey dart thrower who chooses romantic comedy scripts. Or, if he does employ such a creature, it occasionally can hit targets other than the dregs of The Switch, The Promotion and The Ex. Bateman plays the buttoned-down family man who swaps brains with the womanizing slacker played by Reynolds.

*It explores the untapped comedic realm of abusing computer-generated babies. Who knew they were good for knife fights, projectile pooping, counter-surfing and crib-braining? Writers Jon Lucas and Scott Moore, that’s who.

*It manages to frame the female breast as a weapon of torture on several occasions. Just trust me on this one. Or don’t and steer away from some disturbing sights.

As with most comedies, most of the best stuff is near the beginning, and the obligatory story and life lesson elements sap the middle and end of much of its joy. But The Change-Up wins more than it sins, and had me laughing and cringing. The movie may not be quite as good as the 1980s masterpieces it copies, according to my corrupted memories that hold up Joe Montana as a lava-slinging volcano god of fire and Alf to have been a worthwhile show. But hey, the work of the likes of Kirk Cameron and Fred Savage in their primes cannot be truly copied, just imitated and spliced with boob jokes.

Starring Ryan Reynolds, Jason Bateman, Leslie Mann and Olivia Wilde. Written by Jon Lucas and Scott Moore. Directed by David Dobkin. 113 minutes. Rated R.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

Guest Post From 4-Year-Old Luke: DinoHawk

2011-07-28T19:00:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, there was a man. He got turned into a lizard by radiation. Then, he
got turned into a dino by more radiation. Finally, he was turned into a hawk. He had a rainbow colored beak and big sharp teeth inside. He had humongous feathered wings,
with scales on the feathers and very large feet that went all the way to China. He was called DinoHawk.

DinoHawk lived in a huge dirt hole in Tucson that water flooded all up. It was so huge
that almost all the houses fell in. The houses that weren’t in the hole were tilted towards the hole. He lived with his Mom and Dad and sister. They were all DinoHawks, too. The sister was all pink, the mom was all purple, and the dad was the same color as the boy DinoHawk. They were all humongous.

For fun, DinoHawk and his family liked to water and make tunnels, so they could go
places. The DinoHawks were also sea monsters with feet and hands. The cactus monsters
were their friends. Everybody else was their enemy.

The DinoHawk family was mad that the houses had cameras and cannons to destroy the
them. So they stomped all the houses and ate all the people.

God made the DinoHawks turn back into hawks and then dinos and then lizards and then
people again. Also, the people were made back by God. It was all about God. He made
all the people come back and all the houses be built back by builders.

Review: Crazy, Stupid, Love

2011-07-27T07:14:00.000-07:00

Well, they got Crazy and Stupid right. My only suggestion to make the title more accurate is to change Love to Hate.

A romantic comedy with too many characters, too many insipid and meandering plotlines and too many commas in its title, Crazy, Stupid, Love comes up short in laughs. The movie plays like a lowlight reel of an entire season of a dopey sitcom that got cancelled halfway through the year. I counted six love stories, most unrequited – not including the one between me and the theater’s exit sign – but the movie would have been far better off had it simply focused on Ryan Gosling’s infatuation with himself.

As a Barney Stinson-by-way-of-the-Bronx ladies’ man who takes an unhappily separated Steve Carell under his vulture wing, Gosling could have been the heart of the film. The lines Gosling uses to seduce women are so awful that they’re halfway believable in that maybe they could be seductive in an ironic, see-how-I’m-not-trying-while-pretending-to-try-too-hard way. But Gosling is just a tiny cog in a larger, malfunctioning machine and disappears for scenes on end as the filmmakers shove in all manner of less interesting plot threads.

Worse, when Gosling does come back, the storytellers betray the fabric of his character, informing us that love at first sight transforms Tucker Maxes into Steve Urkels.

Steve Carell melds his hapless single guy nature from The 40-Year-Old Virgin with his harried family man act in Dan in Real Life. He succeeds at the former but falters at the latter, too-quickly becoming a suave Lothario under Gosling’s tutelage, only to abruptly decide that he wants to save his shattered marriage and make a dopey, climactic speech that bottoms off perhaps the worst scene I’ve seen all year.

Emma Stone and Julianne Moore, who normally bubble with personality, play the dullest characters they’ve yet encountered, indecisive, weak ciphers who are defined solely by the men they’re with. Analeigh Tipton, meanwhile, checks in on the other end of the dramatic scale as a 17-year-old babysitter involved in a pair of “eeeew”-inducing would-be romances, in puppy love with Carell while fending off desperate advances from his 13-year-old son, played by Jonah Bobo.

The movie starts off with some promise, which it balls up, spits on and drop kicks until you’re reduced to a puddle in your seat, begging for some sort of conclusion, sobbing when the plot takes yet another unnecessary turn to stretch things out. What I wouldn’t have given to exchange one of the title’s extra commas for an edit that made the sprawling crapfest 15 minutes shorter. But alas, no deal was to be had. The film, like the commas, just wouldn’t end.

Wow, did, I, dislike, this, movie.

Starring Steve Carell, Ryan Gosling, Julianne Moore, Emma Stone, Jonah Bobo, Kevin Bacon and Analeigh Tipton. Written by Dan Fogelman. Directed by Glenn Ficarra and John Requa. 118 minutes. Rated PG-13.

My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.

Stormin' Mormon Chapter 1

2011-07-25T17:37:00.000-07:00

So my novel, Stormin' Mormon, is now available as a Kindle download for a dollar. Please, please, please buy it and command all your friends to do the same. Here's chapter one:

PART ONE

1
The rabbits became strange in many ways, different from other rabbits. They knew well enough what was happening. But even to themselves they pretended that all was well, for the food was good, they were protected, they had nothing to fear but the one fear; and that struck here and there, never enough at a time to drive them away.
Richard Adams, Watership Down

Jerusha awoke from a midafternoon nap to the jolt of icy fingers sliding up her thigh. She squeaked, jerking upright from her couch, startling the chunky, straw-haired man who hovered over her.

“Your hands are cold. What the hell, Jared, you think that’s romantic or something?” Jerusha’s bemused live-in boyfriend of three months recoiled.

“Come on, now, baby,” he said. “Don’t call me unromantic. It’s cold out there. I was just trying to warm up inside you a little bit.”

Jerusha giggled and pulled Jared on top of her, kissing him with fury before guiding his head down to her breasts, then between her legs. Jared submerged beneath her skirt, pulling her thong off with his teeth, then lunged to suck on Jerusha’s neck. He sunk in, Jerusha’s hands caressing his suddenly shirtless back, then released a moan that morphed into a scream.

“Owww!” Jared yelled out, jerking upright as he pawed the fresh fingernail scratches on his back. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Jerusha flipped into recovery mode, pulling her underwear back on and scooting
herself away, twisting her head a quarter turn away from Jared, hoping to shield a quick wipe of her eye.

“Oh, come on,” Jared protested. “Are those tears? I’m the one who should be crying. We’re about to have sex when you rip out my fucking spine like Mortal Kombat and shit.”

“I’m not crying,” Jerusha retorted. “Get over yourself. It was just something in my eye. And don’t try to put the blame on me. I’m not the one who stopped.”
Jerusha and Jared bickered back and forth for 20 minutes, volleying the blame for the failed sexual encounter. The argument was less about sex than leaving the toilet paper roll on top of the commode rather than affixing it to the dispenser. Buried passive-aggressive resentments channeled their way to the surface until the disagreement escalated into a full-blown shouting match. Jersuha took the opportunity to wail on Jared’s insecurities, chastising his lack of ambition and minimum-wage job at the copy shop. Jared shot back that Jerusha didn’t know how to show affection, and accused her of flirting with every dude she met.

“Maybe I do flirt, but at least I’m not an antisocial 30-year-old freak,” Jerusha screamed. “At least I know how to talk to people! You’re lucky I’m this way, otherwise we never even would have met!”

Jerusha was right, at least about the latter point. It was she who had first approached Jared at the lonely karaoke bar in what seemed like years ago but was actually only a few months past. She pondered this as she locked herself in the bathroom and called her friend, Dena. She’d understand.

Jerusha’s former roommate – and technically her present roommate, according to the lease they still shared to keep Jerusha’s mom off the scent – formed the closest bond with her due to like upbringing in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As Mormons, the girls had grown up in a rigid, puritanical manner, ever wary of their own sexuality and raised to aspire to become Stepford babymaking machines. Now that they were away at college in Tucson, they were free to make their own choices, and both girls relished the opportunity to rebel against the draconian rules they’d grown up to despise. They drank coffee and booze – both forbidden by the church – all they liked. They refused to sit at home solemnly on Sundays, the holy Sabbath. As Mormons, they were expected to tithe – meaning hand over 10 percent of their income to the Lord. Oh hell no. It was tough enough for a college girl to get by on student loans and a meager monthly allowance from her parents. Moving in with random karaoke guys was a big Mormon no-no, which made it all the more appealing to Jerusha. Dena wasn’t as big a fan, because the move-in meant she didn’t see her best friend as much. Since the move-out, Dena and Jerusha did most of their communicating on the phone, often in situations such as this, when Jerusha was lamenting on her living arrangement.

“I feel ---“ Jerusha paused. “I feel like…”

“What is it, sweetie?”

Jerusha sobbed.

“I feel like I skipped dating and went directly into marriage.”

Saul ambled into his two-bedroom apartment to a familiar site: His roommate, Brad, was stuck to the TV screen, wireless controller in hand and headset affixed. He was button-mashing through FIFA ’08 Soccer on the Xbox 360, engaged in a battle of smack-talk with his online opponent.

“You are my son, beyotch,” Brad spoke into cyberspace with a cool matter-of-factness. “Just ask your mother. I broke into your house 15 years ago, threw your dad off her and knocked her up. Afterward I think she paid me. I don’t remember.”
“Geez, Brad, don’t you have anything better to do than harass teenagers?” Saul said, grabbing the other controller.

“What up, son.” Brad said. To him, it was the funniest thing in the world to call people his son. If you ever challenged the notion, perhaps on the grounds that such a circumstance were physically impossible since you were the same age as him, Brad would counter with an elaborate story of how he had seduced your mother when he was only a fetus, and since he hadn’t yet gone through puberty, he’d impregnated her with piss, thus “impissinating” her. The only way to battle this sort of illogic was to throw his nonsense right back at him, claiming that it was he who was actually your son.

Saul took no offense at being called Brad’s impissinated offspring. He saw it as a sign his best friend had completely returned to normal, following the bizarre, zombified state Saul had found Brad after he returned from his two-year Mormon mission six months previously. Most good Mormons head abroad at age 19, often to Third World countries, going door to door in hopes of converting impoverished people to their faith. Brad wasn’t a good Mormon. His two favorite pastimes were drinking and fornication, two vices highly discouraged by his church. His father had nonetheless prodded him into going on a mission at age 21, but in a pre-mission sit-down with his bishop, Brad had admitted that he had recently received oral sex.

He was commanded to repent the blow-job and abstain from sex and alcohol for two years in order to become purified enough to start his mission. Brad did no such thing, but when he met the bishop again at 23 he remembered to lie about his extracurricular activities, and was thus allowed to waste two years of his life living in Argentine shacks. When Brad came back, he no longer cussed, drank or lusted, but within weeks he was showing signs of his old form. After three months of living back at home, Brad moved in with Saul and reverted completely back to his original self.

“What’s going on, hooker,” Saul said, switching the game off online mode. “Time for you to take a slapdown from someone your own age.”
“That’s if my daughter-in-law allows it,” Brad said. “I thought you’d be at Shannon’s by now.”

“Right. Yarrrgh,” said Saul, realizing that he’d forgotten he’d promised his girlfriend he’d meet her for dinner. “Son of a bitch. I’m so sick of going over there.”

“Dude, you don’t even like hanging out with her. You’ve said you’re tired of screwing her. Why don’t you just break it off?”

“I didn’t say that. I would never say something like that, even if it were true. That’s just what you say about Brandy,” said Saul, referring to Brad’s girlfriend, whom he’d met online and converted to Mormonism. Brad shook it off.

“Any time you mention Shannon, you always do it in that beaten-down voice of yours. Just drop her and move on.”

“Easy for you to say,” Saul snapped back. “You’ve never broken up with anyone. You just cheat on them until they leave you. A breakup done through talking is not exactly the easiest thing to do.”

“I know, man. They always cry. There’s nothing you can do once they start crying.”

“I wish she’d cheat on me or something. Then at least I’d have a reason, and it wouldn’t be my fault.”

“Just tell her the truth,” Brad said. “You know, that you’re gay.”

“Hey, just because your mom is so ugly that she resembles a dude that doesn’t make me gay,” Saul said.

Brad started to reply but halted as Saul jetted out the door.
“Let’s do the CD thing again soon,” Brad called out. I’m running a little low on cash.” He was referring to the Buymart return fraud scam he and Saul ran with unopened CDs he snuck home from his job at the radio studio. Saul was afraid the habit would land them in prison.

“I don’t know, man,” Saul said. “Maybe. Hey, are those dudes coming over?” he asked, referring to the home teachers – members of the Mormon hierarchy who visited the homes of wayward members in order to make sure they were on the right path. With his penchants for vodka swilling, gambling and womanizing, Brad was an intensive case study of wrong pathfulness, and the home teachers made their visits biweekly.
“Yeah, they’re coming over,” Brad grumbled. “They should be gone around seven.”

Saul nodded and started for his car.

As Saul drove to Shannon’s apartment, a few miles away, he pondered Brad’s idiotic, if poignant words. Do I really talk about the woman I love like that? Saul wondered, chastising himself over the possibility.

Review: Friends with Benefits

2011-07-21T00:28:00.001-07:00

Justin Timberlake definitively proves he’s a talented actor in Friends with Benefits, given the fact that his character is only an extreme mega-douchebag, rather than the tremendous, mind-blowing super-douche he usually plays. To be scientific about it, that’s an 85 percent reduction in douchiness.

The scaled-down level douchiosity is critical for Friends with Benefits, given that it’s a romantic comedy, and Timberlake is playing the lead, meaning you’re not supposed to actively root for him to be pied in the face. I wouldn’t say Timberlake is likeable in the movie – his character is a pompous, privileged magazine editor with a six-pack whose biggest dilemma is that he’s having too much sex with Mila Kunis – but nor is he Rupert Murdoch. You don’t need to be able to relate to Timberlake in the movie, just tolerate him. And Timberlake is nearly always highly tolerable.

This is Kunis’s movie, her attempt to rip the romcom tiara off Katherine Heigl’s wig, and she does so with her teeth, while sporting a mean yet still come-hither look in her mood ring eyes. Kunis is feisty and fun, and has a long career ahead of her in silly films such as this. She and Timberlake ping-pong contrived yet entertaining screwball comedy dialogue back and forth, in between copious sex scenes and soul-searching moments where each stares off into space. In those downtimes, they seem to be attempting to read the stars and discover how many minutes it will be until the next sex scene starts, to which the answer is usually three minutes.

These poor kids. You really feel for them, because they like each other so much that they don’t want to ruin it with all the sex. And they have so much sex that they don’t want to ruin it with emotions. So they sex one another into secretly falling in deep like, while becoming embarrassed of their feelings, as so often happens to all of us, day after day.

Director Will Gluck, who’s got a nice thing going, having directed the catch-you-off-guard funny Fired Up and Easy A, maintains his edge, peppering the film with humor that pokes fun at the contrivances of the genre while twisting them into something halfway exciting despite its predictability.

Above all, Friends with Benefits must be revered as an educational tool. The film correctly identifies New Yorkers as cheery people who convene for spontaneous flash mobs like happy, well-choreographed zombies whenever the plot calls for it. Likewise, Friends with Benefits identifies snowboarder extraordinaire Shaun White, in a cameo appearance, to be the demented street thug he’s always seemed to be when pulling off 1080 double reverse McTwistGriddle Deluxes on the slopes.

Bridesmaids has been ordained as the romantic comedy of choice for the year, but I’d go with Friends with Benefits. While the latter holds a distinct edge in diarrhea humor, FWB has it beat in Kris Kross references, which count double in my book.

Starring Mila Kunis and Justin Timberlake. Written by Keith Merryman, David A. Newman and Will Gluck, based on a story by Harley Peyton, Merryman and Newman. Directed by Gluck. Rated R. 109 minutes.

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Luke The Evangelist

2011-07-19T08:05:00.000-07:00

My son tries to bring the holy gospel to a heathen.

New Book Proposal

2011-07-18T09:00:00.000-07:00

I wrote a book proposal called Learn to Speak Geek in 30 Days or Less, and several publishers are now taking a look at it, well aware that they can either shatter my soul or elevate me to the blissful heights of an Arizona Cardinals Super Bowl appearance with their yays or nays. Hopefully more than one will be into it, and a bidding war will commence. But that's getting way too far ahead of myself.

This is the third new proposal I've written since Secrets of a Stingy Scoundrel came out, the others being Half@ss Dad and The 100 People You Meet in Internet Hell. Both of those made it as far as editorial board meetings at publishers -- the get-togethers in which the top brass gives the thumbs up or down to books brought to them by editors -- before being shut down. Hopefully the third time will be a charm, I'll be forced to get by on four hours of sleep a night for the next several weeks as I finish the book up, and it will be in stores next year. If not, maybe it will be the fourth time that will be the charm. Or the four-hundredth. One way or another, I'll get there.

Review: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2

2011-07-13T00:29:00.000-07:00

Oh, this final Harry Potter movie is a tear-jerker indeed. The plucky underdog, whose struggles you’ve followed through seven previous films, finally gets his time in the sun. He faces down his relentless and terrifying – not to mention annoying – nemesis for the final time. And it ends in heartbreak.

Forgive me this spoiler, but this movie hit me straight in the heart and I can’t go on without addressing the way this saga concludes. If you are to watch this tragedy, you must know in advance that Tom Marvolo Riddle, known also as Lord Voldemort, finally meets his end at the savage wand of the sadistic, wand-wielding killer whom the film series is named after.

Prior knowledge of Voldemort’s untimely passing allows you to better appreciate the time you have left with our slot-nostriled mentor, who is unfairly persecuted for his sublimely innocent will to resurrect his soul and put together an army of black-hooded marauders to dispatch a gang of hippies in order to take a stand stand for wizards’ rights.

I envy you, dear reader, because I didn’t realize Voldy was going to die at the end of this thing, despite having read the book. Sure, I figured, J.K. Rowling felt the need to pander to be “edgy” by killing off her protagonist in the final volume, but surely Hollywood – with its penchant for escapism and happy endings – would correct the author’s error and grant us the conclusion that just seemed so right. Not to mention logical.

I mean, just look at the facts. Voldemort is not only roundly acknowledged as history’s most powerful wizard, and surely tougher than a 17-year-old Hogwarts dropout. Plus, he took such great care to hide horcruxes – magical totems that fuel him with power and provide him avenues to come back to life – in such daunting places as an impenetrable Gringotts vault, his pet, computer-animated snake who’s constantly at his side and, most cleverly, in Harry’s detestable soul – that his death seems about as likely as a Casey Anthony “not guilty” verdict. So you can understand my frame of mind when I put a $10,000 bet down with my local bookmaker that Voldemort would pull off a triumph. But you know what they say about Murphy and his damned law. I have now lost my kneecaps as well as my belief that life, even for someone so proud and altruistic as Voldemort, is anything more than a toxic sequence of soul-poisoning travesties.

Emotions aside, I must heap credit upon director David Yates for crafting a superb finale to his grotesque spectacle of horror. I am sure to have nightmares about Daniel Radcliffe, his beady eyes glowering beneath those ice-cold spectacles, coming after me with his satanic incantations and deadly wand, which for some reason in the final two movies has transformed into a laser gun. Radcliffe’s Potter is a devilishly abominable creation, capturing the dogged determination of Jason Voorhees, creepy ability to infiltrate the hero’s mind of Freddie Krueger and coldhearted penchant for casual animal cruelty of Dora the Explorer.

Bravo, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2. You have broken my spirit and taken away my idol. You are such a good movie that I will have to pretend you don’t exist. For me, the series ended with triumph at the end of Part 1. But as the maxim goes, the only stories with happy endings are those that aren’t yet finished.

Starring Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, Emma Watson, Alan Rickman and Ralph Fiennes. Written by Steve Kloves, based on the J.K. Rowling novel. Directed by David Yates. 130 minutes. Rated PG-13.

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Jobs I've Had That Did Not Make It Onto My LinkedIn Profile

2011-07-11T19:30:00.000-07:00

Here are the jobs, years and duration of employment, followed by the total amount made on each:

Construction worker for two weeks in 1994, $60
My mom's friend offered up me and her son to help haul discarded junk around a distant abandoned lot that the man she would one day leave her husband for had purchased. He fired us because he caught me relaxing when he pretended to leave but secretly watched us from the bushes.

Arizona Amateur Sports Monthly freelancer in the summer of 1996, $0
I wrote two articles about high school sports. Neither was ever published. The magazine lasted two or three issues, never to be heard from again.

Chick-fil-A employee for one day August 1996, $34
I was hired and put to work within the span of three hours, then trained for another hour and left on my own to run a student union restaurant for 10 hours. I quit the next day, for what I said were "personal reasons."

Saguaro International Speedway PR guy in 1997, $0
I went to a couple meetings, wrote some post-race press releases, then winced as the manager laughed when I asked if I would be paid. We never spoke again.

Hockeyinsider.com freelancer for two months in 1999, $0
I wrote a few articles about the Tucson Gila Monsters for this startup. I begged these guys for money, free hockey tickets, a poster, anything, but never heard back.

Review: Horrible Bosses

2011-07-07T00:26:00.000-07:00

If Alfred Hitchcock lived in our time, had an eighth of his talent and was obsessed with blunt sex jokes, Horrible Bosses is exactly the movie he would make.

Then again, if he lived during our time, he wouldn’t be able to rip off his own Strangers on a Train and likely would have had to turn to Spartacus or West Side Story for inspiration. Be thankful that didn’t happen, because while gangs of finger-snapping greasers in ancient Roman armor making vagina jokes sounds great on paper, it would likely be severely lacking in practice.

Luckily for all, the duty to make Horrible Bosses falls to director Seth Gordon, who goes for an Office Space gets run over by Strangers on a Train vibe. Despite all the funny people in the movie, it didn’t make me laugh all that much, but strangely kept me more interested in the story. I admit that watching a movie this dumb for the story is like reading Playboy for the ads.

Charlie Day, Jason Bateman and Jason Sudeikis play guys who subscribe to the maxim “Don’t like your job? Join the club. It’s called everyone, and we meet every day at the bar,” which if was not originally said by Mark Twain, should have been. Each is troubled by a boss who makes his life miserable, and after some false starts they get the idea that making a pact to kill them would set things right. I feared that the movie would take the overly bleak, Very Bad Things route by going through with the murders to reach a movie-ending existential lesson, or cop out by having the guys learn that lesson before any blood was spilled, making the movie soft enough to air on ABC Family. The fact that I’m giving the movie a positive review will tell you that the plot takes a different direction entirely.

Of all the considerable acting talent in the film, it’s the villainous bosses who shine the brightest. Kevin Spacey is back in viscous, Swimming with Sharks mode, Jennifer Aniston is as adorable as an overly aggressive lunatic can be, and Colin Farrell somehow wipes away all his cool as a toupee-donning cokehead.

The humor never quite bowled me over. Even Day, whom I consider to be the funniest actor alive, as well as the main attraction of TV’s greatest comedy, brings his C game. Bateman and Sudeikis are serviceable straight men, and Jamie Foxx does a low-rent impersonation of Samuel L. Jackson.

Somehow the suspense kept me intrigued and guessing about the fates of these dopey screenwriting constructs that pass for characters. I applaud the movie particularly for its inventive, thought-provoking display of the pros and cons of using OnStar-like navigation system.

Horrible Bosses is no Office Space or Strangers on a Train. But then, few films are. In a week in which The Zookeeper is coming out, it seems you could do worse.

Starring Jason Bateman, Charlie Day, Jason Sudeikis, Jamie Foxx, Jennifer Aniston, Kevin Spacey and Colin Farrell. Written by Michael Markowitz, John Frances Daley and Jonathan Goldstein. Directed by Seth Gordon. Rated R. 108 minutes.

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Sports Cards: Thieves Of Youth

2011-07-06T08:38:00.000-07:00

In my closet I have at least a dozen boxes of sports cards. Collecting baseball, football and basketball cards was a passion from age 11 to 14, and as I saw it at the time, a shrewd investment. Sure, it would take every bit of my allowance and free time to buy, sort and protect the cards, but it was all for a higher cause. I was certain that they would one day be worth a bunch of money, like the Mickey Mantle cards from the 50s and whatnot. At age 11, for instance, I theorized that I would be able to sell the cards for enough money to buy a car at age 16.

That prediction turned out to be true, if it was a Hot Wheels car I was looking for. Maybe I could have even bought a whole set of them, with a plastic track and pretend fire station to boot. But alas, my cards have lost most of the value they had 16 years ago. Now I would be lucky to be able to exchange all 100,000 or so I've got for a single Matchbox car.

The problem is nobody kept their cards from the 50s. They used them as bike wheel noisemakers and only the few hoarders who were lucky enough to not have their moms throw out the cards with the rest of their childhood junk were able to cash in. People from my era just kept their cards with the expectation that they would one day be worth something, rendering them worthless.

So now my shoeboxes of cards are stacked high in my closet, as precarious as a booby trapped Indiana Jones temple. I can never flip through them and reminisce, because to do so would likely trigger an avalanche and cause my death. I haven't looked at the cards since I moved into my house 7 years ago, and can't say for sure whether or not they're actually still up there. For all I know, they could have disintegrated, been eaten by moths or been stolen by a cat burglar who bypassed all my stuff in search of my 1990 Donruss complete set. If such a thief did rob me, I hope he at least left me my Cecil Fielder autograph and box of old Nintendo Powers.

The Circus Shoulda Been Watching Me

2011-07-05T08:52:00.000-07:00

I took my kids, ages 4 and 2, to the circus Saturday. Jessica stayed at home because she "tore her ACL," "needed surgery" and "couldn't move while drugged up and suffering constant, immense pain." Read between the lines, though. CRAZYcoughcoughIRRATIONALcoughANIMALLOVER.

I'm sure I appeared to be a weekend divorced dad. Why else would a dude take his two tiny kids to the circus alone? And while we're asking questions, why do circuses still exist in 2011? How does the ringmaster find such talented people willing to live what must be such tough existences? They surely don't make much money and have to risk their lives constantly while traveling to sweaty little towns to perform in front of audiences who secretly hope they fall off their trapezes. The ringmaster must have compromising photos of everyone, including the elephants.

I guess the trapeze-swinging horses getting shot out of cannons through flaming hoops made of burning tigers were impressive enough, but the acrobatics and daring it took to corral those little monsters in the space of two seats met and surpassed anything Barnum & Bailey executed on the arena floor. Sworn enemies of one another, the kids elbowed, gouged and whined against one another for space on my lap throughout the 750-hour performance.

We left for three bathroom breaks, collectively drank two sodas and a bottled water, ran up and down the stairs during the intermission and somehow decided together that we did not need to spend $20 on a flashing sword or $12 cotton candy.

Most of the time Emma stared at the baby sitting next to us, while Luke peppered me with questions about whether the people were seeing were real or robots. We were loud and obnoxious, but no more so than anyone sitting around us. Thus, we didn't really bother anybody. Well, possibly except for the family sitting in front of us who retreated to the empty row in front of them. But maybe, just maybe, they moved because they wanted a closer view and not because they were sick of getting their seats kicked by 4, 2 and 32 year olds. Yeah, let's just go with that.

My Interview With Ultimate Coupons

2011-06-30T08:58:00.000-07:00

I did an interview with Ultimate Coupons about the book. Here's an excerpt.

Do you think people can take their finances or frugality too seriously?

Yes, and this book is a mockery of that mentality, as well as something of a satire of all those dry, overly serious personal finance books out there. There are more important things than scrimping on every penny you come across, but in writing this book I pretended like there isn’t. Secrets of a Stingy Scoundrel is sort of an evil robot’s approach to personal finance.

I Was Nearly A Walmart Ice Thief

2011-06-29T08:13:00.000-07:00

I attempted to leave Walmart with a shopping cart full of groceries when an elderly women wearing a blue vest accosted me and demanded I show her a receipt. I handed it over grudgingly, telling her that I didn't have to show it to her and she didn't have the right to demand it.

"I'm only asking because you have ice," she said. "I need to make sure you paid for it."

"Of course I paid for it," I shot back, getting even less polite and composed than I was before, which is saying something because I was previously approximately negative 100,342 pisseroids on the pissometer. I might have even muttered something less than becoming under my breath about how nonplussed I was about the scenario, having to take a valuable 32 seconds out of my day to show her my receipt like a common ice thief.

She looked over the receipt and found that in fact I hadn't paid for it, then demurely allowed me to confirm this by handing it back. I was indeed nearly an ice thief.

I moped back to the checkout woman who had overlooked the ice and paid for it, accepting precisely five apologies from her.

And then when I left again I went to the other exit because I was afraid of once again coming into contact with the woman who so authoritatively served me. There was only a greeter at that other exit, and she was far too busy pulling out shopping carts for people to think to question my ice purchase as I walked into the existential void that is the Walmart parking lot. My thoughts involuntary turned back to the receipt checker.

I was probably the one ice thief she's caught in her 47 years on the job, and her vigilant stoppage of my near ice thievery no doubt will give her another 47 years of determinational fuel to stop and check the receipts of others who buy ice there. She is the proud lion, king of the jungle that is Walmart at Cortaro and I-10, and I am nothing more than a hyena, lurking in the shadows, desperate to evade her all-seeing gaze and furious bite of jungle justice.

Review: Bad Teacher

2011-06-24T00:08:00.000-07:00

Copying off the paper of Bad Santa, and even going so far as to swipe a couple of its punch lines, Bad Teacher would seem to be doomed because its parts aren’t up to factory standard.

Cameron Diaz would seem to be no better equipped to play a sulphur-spewing hardass than Billy Bob Thornton is to wear spandex and star as one of Charlie’s Angels. Director Jake Kasdan (Orange County, Walk Hard) is no Terry Zwigoff (Crumb, Ghost World) and since there are so many bad movie teachers out there, it’s just not as funny to see one in its own movie as it is to see a rogue department store St. Nick.

But Bad Teacher works better than it should, thanks to Diaz rising to the occasion as the conniving, booze-swilling, pot-smoking, obscenity-uttering center of her own universe, Miss Halsey. She’s a terrible, unlikable person with no self-esteem or ambition. She’s proudly shallow, indifferent to her job and so callous to the needs of her students that if she sees someone crying or being bullied, she walks the other way. She’s the reason charter schools exist.

Miss Halsey’s philosophy is Every Child Left Behind. She sleepwalks into class on the first day, throws a movie on to one of her middle school’s antiquated TVs, then proceeds to take a nap. She repeats the process every day, despite the fact that her tattle-tale neighbor, Miss Squirrel (Lucy Punch) is onto her.

It’s not that Halsey is lazy. She works harder than any other teacher, because her goals, which include scamming enough money for a boob job, finding ways to smoke pot while on campus and making life hell for Miss Squirrel, are loftier than simply grinding through the state grade level standards.

Diaz is excellent, and she has plenty of help for Punch, who channels Sarah Palin by way of Miss Krabappel, and Jason Segel, a slacker gym teacher who longs for Halsey’s withered, black heart. I could have done without Justin Timberlake, who plays the independently wealthy substitute teacher and object of lust for all female teachers. Timberlake has snapped out of his brief flicker of The Social Network awesomeness to retreat back to his Love Guru idiocy.

Bad Teacher entertains with a steady stream of laughs subverted by occasional islands of unfunny blandness. Oh, look. A loud fart! A lesbian teacher who displays her attraction for women! A fat teacher who dances! Fat people shouldn’t dance!

Cameron Diaz shouldn’t be as good as Billy Bob Thornton, either. And maybe she isn’t. But she proves she can be every bit as bad.

Starring Cameron Diaz, Lucy Punch, Jason Segel and Justin Timberlake. Written by Gene Stupnitsky and Lee Eisenbeg. Directed by Jake Kasdan. 92 minutes. Rated R.

Like this review? Buy my book.

Love from PT Money

2011-06-22T08:44:00.000-07:00

Thanks to PT Money, which named Secrets of a Stingy Scoundrel as one of the best personal finance books. An excerpt:

One of the most enjoyable personal finance books I’ve every read is this one by Phil Villarreal. It goes through some items that you probably wouldn’t do to save money — and some that you might actually consider. A hilarious treatise on saving money by any means.

The Best Part About It's A Small World At Disneyland

2011-06-21T08:40:00.000-07:00

Is how they play that great song over and over again. Just when you're fearful they'll stop at 400 ear-maiming times in a row, they go on playing it another 700 times as you sit there throughout the 90 hour experience.

I Think My Son Tried To Make Me Cry

2011-06-20T09:26:00.000-07:00

We were building megablocks together and he looked me in the eyes and told me "Dad, I want you to remember me just like this. Even when I get old and move far away. I promise I will always visit you. Not just on Sundays, but Mondays, Tuesdays and Sundays."

He hasn't gotten me yet but every time I think about that moment I get closer to tearing up. He's a clever one.

My Predictions For E3

2011-06-01T08:42:00.000-07:00

Nintendo will call its new console the Blast Processor. It will include special controllers with lava fountain screens and be able to be used as a hat at British royal weddings.

Gamers will get to go hands-on with a Halo party game called What the Halo.

Sony will reveal that 80 percent of its net profits will go toward buying pot for hackers in hopes that they will mellow out and stop attacking it.

There will be a new Duck Hunt, and it will be a first-person shooter starring Mario with a machine gun. And yes, you will get to kill the dog this time.

Madden 12 will just be Madden 11 in new boxes and no one will notice.

Atari will reveal it's getting out of the video game business and will resort to selling jaguars. Not old game machines, actual jaguars. On the black market.

Crystal Dynamics, makers of Tomb Raider, will reveal that Lara Croft will look completely different in each of the next seven games, just for the hell of it.

Activision will unveil a subscription program that monitors the amount of breaths players take while playing Call of Duty online. Each breath will go toward achievement points and perks, and cost players a penny.

I Am Glad Canada Is Getting Its Hockey Team Back

2011-05-31T08:47:00.000-07:00

Good job on swiping that Atlanta Thrashers, Winnipeg. Hockey belongs in Canada and not in the Deep South. Actually, maybe you could have moved the team even further north, such as the North Pole. And maybe you could have brought all the other teams with you.