Some upstart blog asked me to help with an awards show they’re trying to put together by voting on a bunch of categories related to the independent music industry. I’m sure nothing will come of it, and my answers were so downright hateful I’d be shocked if anything I wrote actually gets published. Unsolicited e-mails asking me for favors are the worst.
Last night, in the company of friends (might be the gayest sentence-starter I’ve ever written), I watched an interesting movie called Descent. It would have been much more poignant had everyone in attendance not been in various states of inebriation. The plot was (as far as I can remember) a group of girls who are into extreme adventures, and decide to go spelunking in Appalachia. Unfortunately, they get lost in the cave and become hunted by a weird mutated species of part-humans. I’d rate it favorably when compared to…say, House of Wax. It’s nice and bloody, but, somehow, thrillers have an uncanny ability to transform into comedies with the addition of mood enhancers. It made me think about trying to pitch a TV show in the vein of MST3K, but instead of acerbic-witted robots watching old movies, it’d be intoxicated comedians (well, self-defined comedians) loudly critiquing modern films, asking stupid questions and generally confusing audiences with their lack of attention to the film. Oh, the laughs we’d have! Imagine the dialog:
Guy 1: “Wait, who’s ‘Sara’, is she the blond?”
Guy 4: “No, she’s the black girl.”
Guy 3: “…So they’re all dykes.”
Guy 1: “No, no. They can’t all be dykes. That one girl’s daughter died in a car crash.”
Guy 2: “There was a car crash? Was it brutal? How did I miss that!”
Guy 3: “You didn’t. remember you asked, ‘What are we watching, Final Destination?’”
Guy 2: “Oh yeah…”
Guy 4: “What’s so scary about this movie, anyway? I don’t see any monsters.”
Guy 2: “Trust me, there are monsters. My friend told me there were monsters.”
Guy 1: “What if they’re the monsters.”
Guy 3: “What if the monsters are the rage we all keep bottled up inside?”
Guy 4: “Nice one–you took one film criticism class in college, now you’re Ebert.”
Guy 3: “You’re Ebert.”
Aaaaand Sceeeeene.
I suppose an annoying TV show about watching and commentating on movies would an extension of my book idea, Evan’s Terrible Movie Vault. A TV show would be better. No one really wants to read anything that has been written by a sot (you hear that, Bukowski?) we want to witness it–in person. It affects us more.
Whatever. After the movie I made this joke:
“Sadly, former President Millard Fillmore never lived to see Jimi Hendrix perform on his stage. But if he did, he would’ve been 170 years old.”
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