I strive to be fair in my work, I really do. Except for when I don’t, and I’m not.
Meaning, there’s a handful of musical acts for which I have no love. All I have for them is contempt, which I lamely try to carve into humor. It’s best that I come clean about it, to put an end to wondering why I don’t mention some bands at all. Ever.
I don’t want to know how many times it’s been tattooed. I assume a lot.
I have a confession to make. Though I consider myself quite the erudite film scholar, in many ways I have no cause to place myself above the average lumpen moviegoer.
I confuse the name ZaSu Pitts with Zuzu Petals, a minor character from the execrable Andrew Dice Clay comedy The Adventures of Ford Fairlane.
I am inexplicably incensed at the sight of the cover of the film Metropia, and Audrey Tautou’s picture on the front of Amélie. To date, I have not seen Amélie, even though it’s from a director I like, thanks to its coy, nauseatingly precious cover shot.
I haven’t seen Precious, except on YouTube, because apparently I laugh at the wrong things.
I can’t stand whispering in movies any more than I can in the theater. A notable exception would be 1982’s Poltergeist. M. Night Shyamalan has abused whispering so much his actors should be forced to use air horns.
I’ve never seen Avatar. Any movie that uses a default computer font for its title isn’t worth a billion dollar budget, let alone my attention. Continue reading →
I remember thinking in 2004 that “his name is Robert Paulsen” might be too obscure for the punchline. In the mid-2000s, it felt like I was the only guy who was really into movies like Fight Club and Idiocracy. If that sounds absurd to you, let me remind you of the fact that George W. Fucking Bush was in office. Continue reading →