Howdy!

I know I'm coming at you with a lot of Always Sunny shit lately, but aside from the drinking and the night terrors, it's pretty much all I got going on lifewise. Sorry.

First up, here's a video my writing partner and I shot/edited/produced documenting the guys' trip to Comic-Con. It includes highlights from their panel with Lost creator Damon Lindelof.

Second, here's a reeeeal sweet article about the show from this morning's Hollywood Reporter. 

Third, we've gotten a lot of fan questions at alwayssunnymailbag@gmail.com, but we could always use some more. Keep 'em coming! 

Fourthly, thanks so much for all the kind words on my third anniversary post. Your comments put a spring in my step, a tear in my beer, a hard-on in my pants. The site shall live on!

I nearly forgot -- today is the three year anniversary of this here website. Three years! I've been doing this shit for one ninth of my life! I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. To be totally honest, I've thought a lot about shutting this bad boy down lately, but then I get a rush of comments and it keeps me going. (Moral = if you want the site to keep going, keep -- or start -- commenting!) Thank you for those. A sincere thank you for your continued support of the site, even when I'm gone for ludicrous periods of time.

I started this blog 156 weeks ago -- on July 22nd, 2005. It was a terrible time for me. I had just graduated from the NBC Page Program and found myself in debt and without prospects in New York City, staring at a cubicle, in a miserable temp job. My family was falling apart. I was in a dark place, and started the website to have an outlet for my rapidly escalating anger and frustration. I hope I found a way to make those times amusing for you readers, but revisiting some of those entries today, I was a little frightened remembering how hopeless and angry I felt at the time. On July 22nd, 2006, I wasn't doing much better. I had just moved to Los Angeles, and my life had hit a real shit spiral. I was temping so much I became an expert on the subject, and I was routinely dealing with people like The Biggest Douchebag I Have Ever Known, who would later threaten to sue me. On July 22nd, 2007, I was starting to better accept the fisting life was giving me, but I was temping at State Farm Insurance for God's sake. The only things really going on in my life were eating at the Hollywood El Pollo Loco, dealing with my forced subscription to Us Weekly, and being mistaken for a homosexual.

On July 22nd, 2008, I must say that my outlook has drastically improved, my quality of life has drastically improved, and Lord knows my career has drastically improved. I am living my dream, I have (some) money in the bank, I no longer drive a 1997 Saturn that occasionally explodes, and I haven't considered semen donation in one and a half years. I really have come a long way in a short time, and I can't complain. Some of you probably wish I'd complain on here more, as I used to, but wouldn't you rather I be happy? No? Wow, you're a bad person. Sorry I asked. 

Now last year on the anniversary, I told you I was working on a "100 Favorite Movies" post to go with my "100 Favorite Songs" post. And then it never came. And guess what, it's still not finished. Expect it by Summer's End (isn't that a feminine hygiene product?). For serious, it's nearly ready, but I'm swamped. I've got a lot of things to do at work, and a short amount of time to do them. More on that soon, but I hope you all are catching up on your It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia (try Hulu, iTunes, or DVD). The new season, complete with my television acting debut, kicks off September 18th.  

I've scattered this entry with links from the good ole days of the blog. Won't you celebrate this special day by enjoying a few random entries from the archives on the left side of the page? Let me know what you find... 

And hey, for those of you who have been here from the beginning, for those of you who pass this stuff on to your friends, for those of you who just came here for the first time today -- thanks. 

HANCOCK (D)

It takes about two minutes to realize that Hancock is a real mess, full of characters that don't ring true, laugh lines that don't get laughs (a "Soulja Boy" gag? Really?), and wobbly tonal shifts. But it takes about an hour to fully give up on it, because of Will Smith's frankly amazing string of way-better-than-they-had-to-be flicks. All streaks come to an end, however, and Smith's has just crashed and burned. And then the bits of the crash caught fire and killed others. And then the ghosts of the others came back to kill more. 

Hancock is really bad, but it doesn't reach jaw-on-the-floor levels until a third act twist so improbable, so nonsensical, so retardaculous that it would make M. Night Shyamalan (whom I'll deal with in a moment) wince. A lot of movies have twists that don't quite hold up when you think back on the film. The twist here doesn't add up from the moment it appears, and the filmmakers just keep digging themselves deeper and deeper and deeper away from anything resembling coherence or audience satisfaction. It appears they were rushing to hit Will Smith's July 4th weekend release date that has worked so well in years past, but just ran out of time. It feels like they were still writing and editing and shooting this thing as I was watching it. Usually with a flick like this, you can at least praise the special effects, but these appear to have been done on a used Macbook. One of the worst movies of the summer.

THE PROMOTION (A-)

One of the best movies of the summer is Steven Conrad's outstanding comedy, The Promotion. Conrad also wrote the vastly underrated Nicolas Cage vehicle, The Weather Man -- one of the more depressing studio films of all time. This film and that share a lot of similarities, but here Conrad always gears scenes toward the laugh, sometimes to a fault. It is an extremely funny movie, with more laughs than any comedy released this year, but there are a lot of places where a slight push toward emotion would have elevated this to something much deeper. That being said, can't really complain. It's hilarious. 

The Promotion was in and out of theaters faster than I was in and out of your mom, but it's probably the best workplace comedy since the gold standard of the genre -- Office Space. Seann William Scott is remarkably good, considering how remarkably ungood he has been in almost everything else. John C. Reilly injects a big dose of weirdness and pathos to what could have been a fairly sitcommy boob character. And everyone else, particularly a never-better Jenna Fischer (who should really stick to small movies like this, she's far too understated for the blockbuster comedy scene), shines. I guess your only option for seeing this now is to wait for the DVD, but be sure you drop this in your Netflix queueueueueue right now. This is the third tiny, terrific movie I saw this year -- Snow Angels and In Bruges are the other two -- that I didn't even get a chance to recommend to anyone, as they were gone too fast. Seek it out.

THE HAPPENING (D)

It took me a while to write this one up, because I kept waiting for someone to step forward and admit that it had been an elaborate practical joke. Apparently, astoundingly, this was a legitimate attempt at a movie. 

M. Night Shyamalan has steadily been losing his mind for a few years now. The Sixth Sense and Unbreakable are modern classics. Signs showed...signs of moronity ("Swing away"), but all in all it was a pretty efficient scare machine. The first half of The Village is beautiful filmmaking, had me hooked. But then, oh my, mistakes were made. You can almost admire the balls it took to end that movie in the spectacularly dumb way Shyamalan did. Almost. Still, no one could have anticipated the horror that lay ahead. Lady in the Water is one of the worst movies of this decade, and officially brought Shyamalan's sanity into question. Did you see that thing? Shyamalan himself plays (and it is a sizable role!) a misunderstood writer who wants to bring peace to the world. Bob Balaban plays a film critic who gets eaten by giant pool-dwelling dogs. This guy has one movie not tear up the box office and is dragging out his grudges for all to see. Worse, the film (let me repeat -- it's about giant pool-dwelling dogs) ends with Bob Dylan's "The Times, They Are A-Changing." So far up his ass was Shyamalan's head that he truly believed this film had the power to change the world.

When that film was openly mocked, he decided to retreat to the thrill rides he knows best, only this time he returned with no confidence. The result -- The Crappening -- features so many incompetent performances, and a lot of them by actors who have been great in other projects, that the finger can only be pointed at Shyamalan. When you hear how these actors deliver their lines, you will be shocked. If I were reading lines to myself on the toilet, for a film I was not going to act in, I would put more passion and emotion into them. I spent the entire film thinking that everyone was going to be revealed to be a zombie. That is the only explanation I would have accepted for acting so wooden Pinocchio would have criticisms. You will not believe your eyes, and I mean that in the worst possible way. For anyone else, this film would have been a career-murderer, but I guess Shyamalan's got more shit in the pipeline. Truly one of the year's worst, although still better than Lady in the Water.

So it's been another two weeks since I've posted, but please realize that I spent the entire time coming up with this entry's frankly amazing title, a line that works on a variety of levels, a line that reinvents genius for a new generation.

I mean, really. See how the titles flow into one anoth...I'm actually misting up here reading it again.  

THE DARK KNIGHT (A)

I consider Tim Burton's Batman and Batman Returns the finest superhero movies ever made. I consider Joel Schumacher's Batman "movies" American tragedies. People were so happy when Christopher Nolan took over the franchise that they were far too forgiving of his mistakes. I found Batman Begins to be an absolute waste of time and boring as shit. Hey, let's have Batman train in the snow for an hour, that'll be exciting to watch! Hey, let's make the villain a...vaguely annoyed man, and let's cast an expressionless Liam Neeson! Hey, let's only have Batman be Batman for ten minutes and let's confine the action to the final eighteenth of the movie! How this relentless snooze has gotten so much praise and respect I'll never know, but I haven't met a single person who agrees with me that it sucking fucks.

Regardless of what you thought of Begins, you'll have to admit that Dark Knight is roughly 8 gamillion times better than its predecessor, and earns a place -- can't believe I'm saying this -- among the Burton classics. (It's not better, mind you, or as good, but can certainly hang with them.) People may gripe about the running time, but Begins was two hours that felt like four, and this is two and a half hours that feels like one. I saw it in IMAX, and maybe that contributed, but my jaw was on the floor the entire time. (If you have the means, it's the way to see it. I felt like I was flying around Gotham City, my bulging package pressed tight against Batman's back.)

I won't go into too much detail, because I know people are chomping at the bit to see this thing, but I will say that Heath Ledger will win Best Supporting Actor, and deservedly so. He completely changes what we can expect from acting in superhero movies. I've never seen anything like what he does here, and he makes everyone else in the cast seem like they're not even trying. Although, I guess that's kind of their problem, not his.

Aaron Eckhart plays Harvey "Two-Face" Dent, always one of Batman's weaker enemies -- his only real hook (other than the faces) is that he flips a coin, and we'll not see that schtick done better than in No Country for Old Men. But some really interesting stuff is done with the character here, some deep digging that pays off big-time near the end of the film. Eckhart is certainly solid throughout, but for my money the guy hasn't been truly electrifying since his career kicked off with In the Company of Men. I imagine when he saw Ledger's dailies he knew he was not going to be the performer people left the movie talking about. 

Gary Oldman is excellent as Commissioner Gordon, but I'm still not sold on Christian Bale's Batman. His bat-voice borders on camp, and I don't think the dude can hold a candle to the manic energy of a Michael Keaton. Maggie Gyllenhaal remains one of Hollywood's least appealing actresses -- what a damned sourpuss she's got! I refuse to believe that two of Gotham's most eligible bachelors are fighting over this chipmunk-cheeked spoilsport. Katie Holmes may not have brought much to the Batman table besides sex appeal, but...at least she brought sex appeal. Every time Gyllenhaal appeared onscreen, my penis retreated inside of me.

But these quibbles simply don't matter. The fact that everyone not playing the Joker in the film is merely good just makes the high-wire, daring thrill of Ledger's performance that much greater. I never would have thought of the guy for the role before, but now I can't imagine anyone else and I wouldn't want to. Couldn't God have taken Orlando Bloom? Freddie Prinze, Jr.? Matthew Lillard? Anyone but Ledger. That dude was going places. 

Truly awesome storytelling, and Ledger makes a great movie a classic. 

THE INCREDIBLE HULK (C+)

It's not easy being green. 

Whereas Dark Knight goes above and beyond in nearly every way, The Incredible Hulk is content to do just enough. I understand the desire not to rock the boat, after Ang Lee's completely fuckcrapstical Hulk. But still, this is pretty paint-by-numbers stuff. I saw it a few weeks back, and I don't really remember anything. There wasn't one memorable action sequence, dialogue exchange, or performance (at least Lee's Hulk had one of the insaniest Nick Nolte performances ever, placing it high among the ranks of insaniest performances of all time). All I truly remember about this new one is that Edward Norton has a bit of a ridiculous running style. So, ah...check it out. If you want. I don't care. You won't either.

THE WACKNESS (B) 

Here's a nice little summer surprise. The Wackness tells of the relationships a teenage drug dealer (Josh Peck) forms with a beautiful classmate (Olivia Thirlby) and her psychiatrist father (Ben Kingsley) in 1994 New York.

First off, I am officially getting old if my life is now the stuff of period pieces. (Still got all my hair, though! Hear that God?! Still got all my fucking hair!!!) Second off, this flick expertly captures the feel of first love, and the inevitable heart rape and murder that follows first love. Third off, Kingsley is charming if a bit broad, and the performances of Peck and Thirlby are terrific and natural. Jerk off, there's some really hot (fully clothed, pervs!) teenage sex that nails all the excitement and innocence of that teenage feeling without the skeevy Larry Clark sheen (which I appreciate, Larry!). The Wackness ain't earth-shattering, and certain aspects don't gel, but as a coming-of-age story detailing how hard guys can fall (and fall, and fall) when they're in their teens, it's pretty spot-on. 

And special mention must be made regarding the soundtrack of early 90's hip-hop classics. It is non-stop gold, and had me dusting off my copy of Biggie's Ready to Die, which I've been rocking all week. Nothing like driving to work punching the steering wheel and screaming "Your sister look better than you, give head better than you, pussy get wetter than you! So break the fuck out like a rash, I'm glad I didn't spend no cash to hit your nasty ass..."

...while driving a 2007 Toyota Yaris.

So many movie reviews to catch up on. Hopefully you've had a chance to see some of these and can share your thoughts...

GET SMART (C+)

I am not familiar with the television series Get Smart, but as far as I know Maxwell Smart was sort of a precursor to Frank Drebin, the bumbling hero of the glorious Naked Gun films (the third and least of which was directed by Peter Segal, who also helmed Get Smart). So I'm pretty confused as to why the makers of a comedy would go out of their way to make Max much less bumbling, and much more intelligent and suave. It's a comedy! We want the hero to be bumbling, goofy, dimwitted!

Making Smart smart sacrifices a whole lotta laughs, but luckily Smart is pretty smart elsewhere -- particularly in the casting. Steve Carell can wring laughs out of even the soggiest material, and he's extremely charming here. The romance between Carell and Anne Hathaway (gorgeous and funny) is surprisingly sweet and believable, Alan Arkin steals the film just by being himself, and there's a really random and bizarre cameo from one of my favorite people. It's far from great, but it's juuuuust entertaining enough to be worth a watch. Coming from a guy who was just scarred by The Love Guru, that's enough.

WALL-E (C+)

I have tried, on numerous occasions, to develop a love for Stanley Kubrick's classic 2001: A Space Odyssey, routinely referred to as one of the best films ever made. I know it was way ahead of its time, I know there is a great deal of technical mastery on display, and yet I'm bored out of my damn mind every time I try to watch it. 

And now it's got an animated equivalent. 

Wall-E is unlike any other animated film. It takes some major risks, the greatest of which is the fact that for half the movie, there is no real dialogue. The filmmakers do an admirable job of creating a whole new world (to quote a Disney classic), and as with the aggressively weird Ratatouille before it, they don't really seem to give a shit whether kids enjoy it or not. I know it's breaking new ground, I know it's quite an accomplishment...but I wouldn't see it again if you paid me.  

My reasons? For starters, Wall-E the robot -- the main character, obviously -- is beyond annoying. He falls for a female robot, "Eva," and we have to listen to him say "Eva?" in his "aren't I adorable" little robot voice over and over and over and over and over and over again. And over again. If I heard it once more, I would have walked. "Eva?" "Eeeeeva?" "Eva!" "Eeeevvvaaaaaa." Can someone hit the off switch on this metallic bastard? Second, I couldn't care less about a love story between two robots. Just flat-out couldn't possibly care any less. THEY ARE ROBOTS! Don't care. Lion cub's father dies? That's some sad shit, that plays with my emotions. A robot who has a crush on another robot? Time to check my watch for the fiftieth time. If I woke up to find my microwave screwing my coffee maker, I wouldn't get too emotionally involved there, either. Third, this film really shoves it's eco-friendly message down your throat. I get it! We're fat and lazy! We don't respect Mother Earth! I'll fucking recycle! What am I watching here, Ferngully?

Pixar seems to be consciously trying to push the boundaries of what an audience will accept in animated storytelling. With this one, they pushed too hard. Everyone else seems to be going nuts for it, and I can certainly admit it's a visual marvel, but I would summarize the movie about like this:

Bleep bleep bloop bloop bleep zzzzzzzzzzzz bleep bleep bloop zzzzzzzzzzz bleep bloop bleep zzzzzzzzz bleep bloop listen to Al Gore The End.

KUNG FU PANDA (B+)

But I'll be damned if I didn't love Kung Fu Panda! I laughed quite a bit, the animation was just beautiful, the fight scenes are every bit as thrilling as live action, and they crafted a really excellent (if a bit familiar) story. The characters and voices are great across the board -- Jack Black plays the Panda, Po, and he hasn't been this funny in quite a while. (Po is roughly a million times more lovable, funny, and memorable than Wall-E.) Dustin Hoffman does his best work in years (sad but true) as Master Shofu. Ian MacShane (Deadwood's Swearengen) makes for a fine, hissable villain, and Seth Rogen gets some big yuks as a praying mantis. The film's message, about believing in yourself, is not particularly fresh, but you know, either is the whole green thing at this point. Panda might be the funniest movie of the year so far, and the script earns its laughs without resorting to out-of-place pop culture references and fart jokes. I expected loads of both, but Panda is a great deal sharper than that.  

It might not break the same ground as Wall-E, but it's a hell of a lot more entertaining.  

This is the longest I've ever gone without posting, and I apologize. Had friends in town, went to San Diego and Tijuana, got strep throat, moved into a new apartment, spent a week in Las Vegas, was a juror in the CineVegas film festival, fixed a washing machine with my bare hands, had a series of career developments, and did another master cleanse (seriously!). I've been busy. But I'm back, and I'm building up to a very special multi-week series of posts to celebrate the site's three year anniversary in July. Are we cool? Thanks. Let me play catch-up on some reviews...

SEX AND THE CITY (B)

When I first moved to Manhattan, I watched every episode of Sex and the City on demand, and it wound up being a pretty good introduction to New York. I learned where places were, I learned that the women can be picky and extremely difficult, and I learned that there is no problem that can't be solved with a lengthy shopping montage.

I didn't laugh out loud once in the entire run of the show, but there is something oddly addictive about it. It's like listening in on all the conversations you pray your girlfriend doesn't have. And the characters are certainly sharper, truer, better written than those on say, Entourage, which is often referred to -- unfairly, I think -- as its male counterpart.

And those excellent characters are taken to pretty dark places in the movie, which feels right. They're older, the stakes are higher. The things that were once annoying about the show -- the squealing and giggling, the clunky dialogue (I recall something about a "Mexicoma" here), the insistence on wearing the most ridiculous clothing imaginable (What was going on with that wedding dress? She had a damn bird on her head!) -- is all here too, but the women have gotten refreshingly less self-absorbed and brittle. I also like that three of the women have wound up with rather homely guys -- Miranda's nerdy and lisping husband, Charlotte's bald and paunchy husband, and Carrie's Mr. Big -- who has gotten delightfully fat. See girls! All that time you spend running around with pretty-boy douchebags, when true love is just a lowering of physical standards away!

By the way, before you make fun of me, I am well aware that there is not much I could have done on a Tuesday afternoon more gay than going to the Sex and the City movie. I can think of only three:

1) Gotten into a heated argument about whether Judy Garland is a bigger talent than Liza Minnelli 

2) Taken a bubble bath with Nathan Lane and Bruce Vilanch

3) Gargled semen 

Oh well. I saw it. I really liked it. Bring me the assless chaps!

THE LOVE GURU (D-) 

See the facial expressions on Jessica Alba and the Indian gentleman? You'll look about the same watching this movie.  

Wow. Just...wow. I was actually getting fed up with how harsh everyone was being on Mike Myers -- easily one of the funniest performers to ever pass through Saturday Night Live. Surely The Love Guru couldn't be that bad, and even if it was -- give the guy a break! He was Wayne Campbell! Dr. Evil!

But oh sweet merciful Jesus, I was not prepared for the stench this thing gives off. The Guru Pitka is the worst character Myers has ever done, and I'm even including one-off SNL sketches. The character is obnoxious beyond belief, and worse, doesn't even make sense. Why is a guru who is promoting love and peace so violent, so intolerant, so crude? Pitka punches people left and right, calls a character gay as an insult, makes about 12,000 jokes about cocks and balls...it doesn't add up. What made Dr. Evil such a flawless comic creation is that he was a fully formed, expertly crafted, consistent character, with very clear motives, desires, and actions. What the hell does the Guru Pitka want? Why does he act differently in every scene? And how did anyone involved think this tired-ass schtick was funny? Myers seems to be the only one laughing, and the dude laughs at every one of his own jokes! It's desperate, needy, sad.

Alba retains her stranglehold on the "Worst Hollywood Actress" honor, Justin Timberlake is fairly embarrassing (which still lets him come off better than everyone else here) as a guy with a huge dick (that's about it in terms of character development there), and poor Romany Malco isn't given a single joke. If you can't wring laughs out of Stephen Colbert and Jim Gaffigan as sportscasters, it's time to rethink the project.

Terrible. 

WANTED (B+)

Wanted is beyond stupid, let's get that out of the way right up front. Would you believe it is about a 1,000 year-old legion of assassins who get their killing instructions from...an ancient sewing loom!?!? Well...it is. And somewhere in Hollywood, someone said "I love it!"

But it really doesn't matter, because Wanted contains some of the most balls-out, go-for-broke action I've seen since the glorious R-Rated Schwarzenegger/Stallone/and to a lesser extent, Van Damme days of the 80's and 90's. Director Timur Bekmambetov (an Irishman, I believe) understands what so few action directors these days do: get to the fucking action, and do it up big-style! This thing is absolutely packed with scenes that make you laugh out loud, simply because you can't believe they went there. 

There's a scene early on where James McAvoy (really terrific here) loses his temper at his office job and clobbers a co-worker in the face with his computer keyboard. Letter keys fly off of the keyboard and freeze in mid-air, spelling out the words "FUCK YOU," with the second "U" represented by a bloody tooth. At this point, you will either fold your arms and start bitching about how the movie has believability issues, or you will laugh your ass off, throw your fist in the air, and sit up in your seat, hungry for more. I did the latter, and I had an amazing time throughout. 

Oh, and to answer your question, you only see Jolie's butt. Not even a side boob. The woman is a mother now, and the days of Gia - style nudity appear to be long gone. Light a candle, gentlemen. 

INDIANA JONES AND THE KINGDOM OF THE CRYSTAL SKULL (C+)

Well, shit.

I am not an obsessive Star Wars fan, so when the three prequels were astoundingly bad, I didn't feel much betrayal beyond losing six hours and thirty bucks. I heard my friends cry, and I listened to their grievances with much amusement, but I didn't really care on a personal level.

I am, however, absolutely an obsessive Indiana Jones fan, and have watched The Thrillogy more times than I can count. Star Wars people, I now feel your pain.

I approached Crystal Skull with the following thoughts:

1) I trust Steven Spielberg.

2) The people I know who have already seen Crystal Skull think that it is better than Temple of Doom, but worse than Raiders and Last Crusade. I consider Temple of Doom the best of the series (and will argue this at length if you have a few hours). So perhaps I will love Crystal Skull more than most?

3) I've waited for this moment for nearly twenty years. It simply can not live up to my sweet imagination, but if I go in with the same lowered expectations I brought to say... Live Free or Die Hard, I should be okay.

To address these points:

1) I no longer trust Steven Spielberg. That trust went away when the movie I've dreamed of since I was a young boy opened with a seemingly endless number of computer-generated prairie dog reaction shots.

2) I don't care what scale you're grading on, or how our tastes differ, anyone who seriously puts Crystal Skull above any of the three "true" Indy films should consider our friendship completed. 

3) Live Free or Die Hard was nowhere near the rest of the series, but it never made me wince. Crystal Skull made me wince. A lot. I am glad I lowered my expectations, but it turns out I hadn't quite lowered them enough.

Crystal Skull has some enormous problems. The once-great Karen Allen inexplicably plays her role as if she is mentally handicapped. I'm serious, her love scenes with Ford play like something out of The Other Sister. There are not one but two pointless and snoozetastically boring "sidekicks" (played by John Hurt and Ray Winstone), who very nearly derail the film. (Tell me again, why was the Winstone character here?) The ending is pretty head-scratchingly awful ("the space between the spaces?" Are you fucking kidding me?). And the less said about the Jar Jar Binksian betrayal that is the soon-to-be-notorious "monkeys, vines, and LeBeouf" scene, the better. (Talented, intelligent, Oscar-winning people -- lots of 'em -- signed off on that scene. It boggles the mind.) 

And stupid as a lot of it is, it all would have been okay if this were some dumbass action movie, some sequel to The Mummy. But this is Indiana Jones, people. And this script was simply not ready to go. Harrison Ford is certainly game, and it was so nice to see him lighting up the screen again that I might forgive him for Firewall someday (if he personally saves me from rape). The first twenty minutes (outside of the aforementioned prairie dogs) are wonderful, as are pretty much all of the action sequences. There are some laughs. But c'mon, fellas. This is my childhood here. This is a lot of peoples' childhoods. Don't make us wait this long and give us...this. Show some respect. 

Show some goddamned respect. 

IRON MAN (B+)

Iron Man is a movie that shows some respect, on all levels. Everyone involved seemed to really try, and that's (sadly) refreshing in this day and age. Outside of the Burton Batmans, I'm not big into superhero flicks, especially origin stories. They're all the same, and they're frequently quite dull. But this one gets just about everything right.

The screenplay is tight, the dialogue sharp, the supporting cast outstanding (Gwyneth Paltrow hasn't been this energized since...Gwyneth Paltrow has never been this energized!), the romance touching, the direction crisp, the stunts super-cool. But 90% of the credit goes to Robert Downey, Jr. No one ever thinks they need to cast a great actor in these "suits n' masks" kind of roles, but this just goes to show you the magic that can happen when you do. He crackles off the screen, and keeps the proceedings loose, colorful, and almost improvisatory where most films of this type are stoic, bland, and stagnant. Hopefully this will put an end to the days of letting a major action franchise rest on the shoulders of vacant, sleepwalking, Muppet-featured simps like Tobey Maguire. Downey rocks this thing, and I hope we get more.

YOUNG AT HEART (A-) 

A documentary about a middle-aged dude who teaches senior citizens rock, pop, and even punk music to keep their minds sharp and make them feel worthwhile. We learn a lot about the old folks, not enough about the middle-aged dude, and we root for them to get their act together in time for a really big show. 

Along the way, there are a lot of laughs (there are some real characters in the bunch), some extreme sadness (the average age is 80-something, so I don't think I'm spoiling anything to say not everyone makes it to the end of the film), and some really terrific musical performances. These guys do Talking Heads, The Ramones, James Brown, The Clash, even -- seriously -- Sonic Youth. Watching these old coots go from hatred of the songs to full-on embracing, from despair to success, is a real treat, and the film is a true inspiration without ever becoming a total schmaltzfest.

That being said, when the utterly charming, movie-stealing, 83 year-old congestive heart failure patient Fred Knittle performs a haunting version of Coldplay's "Fix You" near the film's end, I cried like a little bitch who just had her dolly taken away. And so will you, dear reader.

So will you. 

As the inexplicably famous Ashton Kutcher and the donkey-laughed Cameron Diaz will tell you, what happens in Vegas should stay there, but I feel a few events from this weekend's impromptu, spur-of-the-moment, seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time trip deserve to be shared.

1) Friday night. Following hours of drinking broken up by drinking, side drinking, road drinking, Dairy Queen parking lot drinking, and further drinking, my friends and I found ourselves...drinking at The Hotel at Mandalay Bay, one of the Strip's most elegant five-star offerings. I excused myself to use the restroom.

An hour later, I WOKE UP ON THE TOILET. Yeah. Fell asleep. On a toilet. At a five-star hotel. I am 27 years old.

In my defense, the restrooms there are highly luxurious.

I then...

2) Woke up and walked several miles back to my hotel, where I was approached at 5AM in the lobby by two beautiful women who seemed far too good to be true. I flirted with them for a moment, and then the taller of the two leaned in and whispered "So what do you want to do, honey?" Turns out she was indeed too good to be true. If your definition of "too good to be true" is "a whore."

Hilariously, a discussion with my friends the next morning revealed that they had also been propositioned by a (different) whore, but the courtship was intercepted when one of the friends vomited in the bar. This news made me a lot less embarrassed about my toilet nap.

3) Saturday morning. Despite being surrounded by gorgeous, impressively-jugged women at the pool, I found myself hung over and soaking in the hot tub with a morbidly obese 60 year-old woman.

ME: What brings you to Las Vegas? 

MORBIDLY OBESE WOMAN: I'm here for my son's wedding. He's the last of my kids to get married.

ME: That's terrific! Congratulations!

MORBIDLY OBESE WOMAN: Hmph. Not really.

ME: I'm sorry?

MORBIDLY OBESE WOMAN: I don't like her. He's making a terrible mistake. All of my other children married well, but he has really picked a loser.

ME: Oh. Oh my God.

MORBIDLY OBESE WOMAN: He'll find out soon enough. Mark my words, he'll find out. I'll be going to another one of his weddings before it's all over. Mark my words.

ME: (Awkwardly collecting my towel and flip-flops) Hey, have a good time tonight! 

Hindsight being 20/20, I should not have made out with her. 

4) Saturday evening prior to going out. While completely out of our minds in our hotel room, one of the aforementioned friends and I wrote lyrics and composed music for a soon-to-be-Tony-Award-winning musical entitled Dos Coronas Para Mi. The title song, "Dos Coronas Para Mi, Tres Coronas Para Tu," is an utter showstopper, and the other offerings ("Pass the Guacamole," "Luis' Lament" and "Bastardos!" to name but a few) will become standards, guaranteed. Mentally, we weren't all there, but the haunting melodies lingered in our minds and hearts the following morning.

Below is a scene to whet your appetite. The main characters are the young, star-crossed lovers Jorge and Maria, and the haggard, balding, tequila-swigging villain, Luis. (Cheech Marin, call your agent now.) The following should be sung with great gusto.

JORGE: Dos Coronas...para mi! Y tres Coronas...para tu!

MARIA: Esta nothing I can do...

JORGE & MARIA: But love you! 

LUIS: Mas Coronas...para mi. Porque love has passed me by! Mas burritos, por favor. Me don't want to live...no more!

VILLAGERS: He don't want to live no more! 

Johnny Broadway, clear us a space.