I can accept all the various outrageously unrealistic concepts in Crank 2. Surviving a fall from a helicopter. A severed head kept alive in a tank. The idea that Statham and his adversary grow huge and have a gloriously cheesy kaiju-style battle inside an obviously miniature power station. I can even accept the idea that Statham’s crank is so dense and steely that it is visible on a pelvic x-ray. However, I call bullshit on the notion that a proper Englishwoman such as Mrs. Statham would allow any doctor to meddle with little Jason’s john thomas.

Of course I’m probably the only person on earth who noticed this, but the x-rated x-ray in question, visible only for a few seconds in the background during Chev’s heart surgery, clearly shows a circumcised willie. Not bloody likely for British lad.

I’m a stickler for penile realism.

That (completely facetious) complaint aside, I loved every over-the-top, unrealistic minute.

I’m so utterly marked out that I’ll be subjecting myself to the hellish pre-Xmas Friday rush hour trek out to the hated Westside for a sold out sneak preview of The Wrestler, followed by a discussion with its star, Mickey Rourke. nathan_long, luchaninjakeith and I are planning on bringing our embroidered hankies, because we know we’ll all be bawling like a bunch of grandmas watching Beaches.

Vera Farmiga, who most people would know as the shrink in The Departed, was never really on my radar. Interesting, a little edgy and those really mesmerizing blue eyes, but typically stick-skinny like every other big Hollywood actress. Well, I just watched a strange little indy film called QUID PRO QUO and I’m in love.

Farmiga is a voluptuous goddess in this film. She’s packed on the curves in all the right places and is now so hot it hurts. Those legs. That ass! She is officially the most beautiful woman alive and when she came on screen in a medical fetish corset and leg braces, I almost had to dial 911.

But seriously, kids, this post isn’t just me being a lecherous perv (well that too.) With those eyes and that ass, if she were willing to put on a few more pounds, she would be a fantastic X. X is the masked lady wrestler heroine of my novel HOODTOWN and if you don’t know that by now, shame on you! Go buy it now. (scroll down) I’ll wait.

I’m telling you. If you don’t believe me, just get out a sharpie and draw a wrestling mask over this face:



See what I mean? No? Well, then go rent QUID PRO QUO and get back to me.

at the grave of writer/director Billy Wilder , author of Sunset Boulevard, Ace in the Hole, Ball of Fire and Some Like It Hot.

Delivered in spades in the shirtless Jason Statham department, including a scene in which his latest mush-mouthed female “package” forces him to perform a strip-tease for her. (Unfortunately, it was only PG 13, so no batch-flapping.) Otherwise it was unsurprisingly awful. The wooden, useless female lead demonstrates how cute and sexy she is by getting smashed on pills and vodka, falling off her heels and pissing on the floor of a gas station market. Sure, that’s fine if you’re into drunk chicks pissing, but unlike the director, that’s never been one of my personal fetishes. Never mind the mostly tepid, predictable chases, the laughably over-the-top escapes and the repeated use of the hated jittercam for every fight scene. I liked that they got him back in the car for this one and the idea of a bracelet that blows up if he gets farther than 75 feet from the car, but as hot as Statham may be, the end result ultimately left me cold.

But hey, any excuse to use my Statham icon.

Yes, I saw Death Race. How can I not like a film with multiple scenes of last-real-man-in-cinema Jason Statham in bondage, in a leather hood and naked getting sprayed with a cold hose? Well…

There were plenty of things wrong with this movie, not the least of which being the fact that it was remade at all, but I’ll just focus on the one thing that’s really been bugging the hell out of me lately. It’s clearly yet another indication of how old and cranky I’m getting. Another nail in my curmudgeon coffin.

I’m really sick of fidgety, ants-in-the-pants modern camera work. The bazillion cuts a millisecond are also annoying, but I can’t stand to watch one more movie that looks like it was shot by a third grader who has to pee. In talented hands, this style can be used quite effectively but most of the time it seems like it’s used to create phony “excitement” in an otherwise dull scene or as a flashy Wizard of Oz distraction from lame effects and lazy filmmaking. Either way, too much of this type of hypercaffinated ADD jitter-cam eventually just makes my eyeballs itch.

As an antidote, I went home and watched a brilliant little movie called Shotgun Stories. Like a Larry Brown novel brought to life, this movie is slow, simmering and in equal parts grim and gorgeous. The story revolves around a blood feud between two sets of half brothers in the deep south and the ways their hunger for revenge tears their respective families apart. The thing I really loved about it was the way the director gave the actors time and space to actually act, to let reactions linger and emotions slowly bubble to the surface. I also loved the long panoramic shots of the Arkansas landscape. No jitter-cam here. It was exactly what I needed after the frantic, tweaker handjob that was Death Race.

I’m so marked out for this film I can hardly stand it. Here are some gorgeous new promo stills.





Marisa Tomei as a stripper? Be still my heart!

Without going into a long rant about these-young-kids-today and their ADD addiction to mile-a-minute jitter and flash, allow me to draw your attention to the fact that Eddie Muller’s excellent, old-school and decidedly grown-up short film The Grand Inquisitor is now available online. Check it out and if you like it, be sure to rate it. You can also read more about the fascinating history of this film on the official website.

I’ve been dying to see In Bruges ever since I missed it on its brief run in theaters. Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson play Irish hit men hiding out the title city (it’s in Belgium in case you're wondering) after a job that went tragically wrong and that’s all I’m gonna say about the plot. In fact, if you haven’t seen it yet, go rent it now and do yourself a favor. Don’t even read the cover copy on the DVD. Just watch it.

This is the first film I’ve seen in a very long time during which I was constantly genuinely surprised by the direction of the story. Not a lot of self-conscious, twisty, deliberate misdirection but just a strong, intensely human story told in a refreshingly original and unpredictable way.

The problem with being a writer is that you sometimes feel like a veteran worker watching wrestling matches. You can appreciate seeing all those familiar moves being beautifully executed but it’s rare to see something in the ring that’s actually surprising. In Bruges really surprised me in the best possible way. Mistress Christa says check it out.

Incidentally, while I’m typing this, I’m drinking a mango lassi that I decided to make because I had a bunch of very ripe mangos that were probably gonna go off if I didn’t eat them all tonight. When I saw that I was out of cardamom, I impulsively used chili powder instead and have accidentally invented my new favorite summer drink. A Mexi-lassi: Blend the usual yogurt, milk and chopped mango (I like to add crushed ice too) and then sugar (or salt) to taste. Top with a sprinkle of chili powder and a squeeze of fresh lime. Mmmmm, culture clash!

Because I’m not comfortable with publicly blogging about the big things that are currently on my mind (specifically the new book) here instead is a small post about small things.

I received my first birthday present. A copy of Anthony Neil Smith’s YELLOW MEDICINE from no less than the author himself. (Thanks A.N.!)

Took a brief walk through the Los Feliz Streetfair with Lili, Wes, Boogie and Butch. It was far too hot for Boston Terriers and too filled with messy-headed hipster fucksticks and vegan yoga-moms for me.

I watched Rififi again for the first time in ages and had forgotten how great it is. You have to love a heist movie where a gang of tough guys put on ballet slippers to help them sneak silently into a jewelry store.

My new favorite word: Flapdoodles.

When Monica Bellucci plays a lactating prostitute and doesn’t show her tits. Or any serious nudity at all for that matter.

Went to a screening of Shoot Em Up last night. Interestingly enough, I was up for the novelization of this movie and didn’t get the gig. Anyone know if a novelization was done at all?

As for the film, it’s exactly what you think. luchaninjakeith and I had a sort of Siskel and Ebert disagreement about it. Keith flat out hated it. I can’t say I loved it, and can’t even really defend it on any level, but any movie in which the hero puts a newborn baby on the floor of a filthy public toilet and then uses the diaper changing table to clean his gun is gonna put a smile on my face. It’s a garish cartoon that doesn’t make a lick of sense and borrows heavily from other films, but what can I say? Babies in danger make me giggle.