We all give Rick Astley a hard time without a moment’s hesitation, but think about it: When was the last time a song YOU sang 20 years ago made a baby stop crying?
“Never Gonna Give You Up” is about as popular as a steaming turd in a hot car these days, but this video suggests that hating it might not necessarily be hardwired into the human brain. Could it be that we’ve become too cynical, too far removed from the innocence of childhood to enjoy the simple pleasure that is Rick Astley, or do babies just like shit that sucks? Is this kid being ironic? Are babies capable of that? This video might only be 30 seconds long, but it raises questions that could take a lifetime to answer.
Maybe after the scientific community wraps up all those pesky little problems like AIDS and cancer and global warming and world hunger they can start focusing on something that actually MATTERS. You know - like figuring out the physiological mechanism that’s responsible for making us hate Rick Astley. I’m pretty sure the military would be more than willing to provide funding for the psychological warfare possibilities alone. The Iraqi insurgents are tough, but are they tough enough to withstand the awesome power of a WEAPONIZED RICKROLL?
Well, the Oscars are over, and I have retroactively altered my opinions of films I saw in order to be popular. For example, I used to think the Juno screenplay was mildly charming, with moments of overwrought mugging. Now I think it’s a tender yet daring explosion of the teen romance genre.
But I still won’t back down about the terrible makeup in La Vie En Rose. Honestly, Academy, what were you thinking? Norbit was the clear choice, and you fucked up. Although I guess we all have the comfort of knowing Norbit was at least seriously considered for film’s highest honor.
As for the non-movies part of the show, it became pretty apparent that Jon Stewart is the perfect man to host a hastily-assembled Oscars, if only because he can take any unfunny joke, pause, laugh, shrug, and look at the camera as if to say “that wasn’t funny, and I’m sorry” and it’s totally saved.
Watch some Daily Show; he does it all the time. It’s one of six moves he has, alongside the “purposely terrible impression that’s reminiscent of an old Jewish comedian” and the “expressing political outrage via screaming at the heavens as if starring in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Kahn.”
So now that all the statues are given out, all the awkward interviews are posted and all the American actors are wondering what the hell happened, have we learned anything? I, for one, learned that Daniel Day-Lewis wears bizarre hoop earrings, Joel and Ethan Coen are the most socially awkward filmmakers outside of Kubrick (post-mortem), and Javier Bardem likes showing off his Spanish. Hey Javier, I speak Spanish too and you don’t see me showing it off, comprehende?
As for the No Country sweep in general, I’m all for anything that further justifies my almost fetishistic love of The Hudsucker Proxy. But I’ve got to say I was a little surprised. There Will Be Blood was by all accounts an excellent film, and on top of that it had a natural advantage in that it didn’t aim to piss off the audience, whereas No Country spent its last forty minutes brazenly jerking you around and showing you what a pavlovian tool Hitchcockian suspense movies have made you.
All of which is weird for me to say, because I actually really liked it. But come on, you’ve got to admit there’s a point in that movie when you realize they’re not even going to show the final confrontation they’ve been methodically building to for an hour and a half and a little guy in your head stands up, walks out of the theater, and sets fire to the snack bar. And then the whole bit with the car accident happens, and the little guy in your head finds the theater manager and pisses on him for wasting his time. But, really, I liked it.
It just has to be appreciated on a level that’s a little harder to access than There Will Be Blood’s “if you try and act like God, God will fuck you.” Now there’s a message the whole family can enjoy. Especially the father.
Here’s hoping someone in the comments explains to me exactly why the structural choices made in the back half of No Country are symbolically sound, and not tantamount to the Coen brothers filming themselves wacking off. In the meantime, doesn’t this video lose all impact now that you know Tom Cruise is nuttier than a nut factory on Nut Day?
Seriously, I feel like I can look into his eyes and see the crazy crouched, ready, waiting for its moment to pounce on Cruise’s respectability and tear out its throat.
When not blogging for Cracked, Michael makes Oscar-nominated short films as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!
A whole lot of things in this world don’t make sense to me. I don’t know why we can’t accurately predict the weather yet, I’m not totally sure how microwaves work, Calculus has always been somewhat of a weakness.
The Vagina can be pretty tricky if you catch it on a bad day.
But of all the things in this world that I don’t completely understand, nothing is quite as confusing as the continuing career of actor/forehead-monster Nicolas Cage, [pictured right just minutes after molesting an eleven year old]. I mean, the guy’s got six movies coming out in the next two years despite the fact that he’s fairly talent-less, incredibly unattractive and remarkably unlikable. Sure, he’s Francis Ford Coppola’s son or nephew or whatever, but that shouldn’t mean he gets to be Ghost Rider, right? Right!? There is no justice in this world.
Well, despite what some Cracked Bloggers might lead you to believe, there is some justice in this world as, earlier this week, Nicolas “The White Wesley Snipes” Cage was accused of tax fraud. Apparently, he used his production company to “wrongly write off $3.3 million in personal expenses” and, a few years before that, “made a shitty movie about face-swapping.”
In an effort to let the “actor” clear the air and reveal his side of the story, I drove past Cage’s house early this morning and pooped in his mailbox. Will he go to jail? Or will he, like Mr. Snipes, beat the charges and make a Bowflex commercial? Time will tell.
Stay tuned after the jump for everyone’s favorite segment….
Let me repeat that: Hasbro - maker of such board games as Battleship, Candy Land and Mouse Trap - has signed on for a film deal with Universal - maker of such films as Howard the Duck and Weird Science.
You’re probably thinking, “Yawn! I don’t work in Hollywood, Ross. What does this mean to me, the average moviegoer?”
Three words: Monopoly: The Movie.
That’s a lot of pressure for the average director. How do you turn a board game into a movie, particularly one worthy of the Monopoly name? We’re going to need someone with a proven track record, someone capable of rising to the challenge. Someone who has demonstrated the ability to take an established franchise and turn it into a sensational film. We’re going to need a miracle worker here, and as far as I’m concerned, there’s only one man who can make it happen.
Will Pewter Shoe pass go and collect $200? Will Top Hat “get out of jail free” in time, and if he does, will he do it in time to collect rent on Oriental Avenue from Iron and Wheelbarrow? It’s one of the great American board games; there’s no reason it can’t be one of the great American movies, too. Only one man has the raw talent and integrity needed to bring a film of such great scope and magnitude to the silver screen, and his name is Michael Bay.
You’re probably wondering what The Thing With Two Heads has to do with Michael Bay directing Monopoly: The Movie. Nothing really, but c’mon - the white bigot gets his head sewed onto the black soul brother! How could I pass that up?!
The whole of the world’s news media (Starpulse, TMZ, the lady who does my manicures) is abuzz about LiLo’s nude shots in NY Magazine. Well, I suppose it was “Just My Luck” that I happen to know Brent Stern, the photographer who snapped the pics, and he helped me “Get a Clue” about what the experience was like. Sounds like it was quite a “Freaky Friday,” although it occured on a Tuesday. I guess you could say “I Know Who Killed Me!”
So what was it like to re-shoot something you already shot of someone imitating a dead woman they look nothing like? I think I’ll let the man speak for himself. Without further ado, Brent Stern’s behind-the-lens info on the shoot!
“This was our first shot of the day, and classic Marilyn. Nearly perfect, in fact, down to the “tattoo” on Lindsay’s right buttock. Ironically, we had forgotten about the tattoo in Marilyn’s photo; Lindsay just happened to sit in some gunk right before the shot.”
“This pink cloth is supposed to represent the virginal state of the model, a chiffon hymen if you will. True to Marilyn’s original poses, Lindsay had just finished giving oral sex to JFK. Only Lindsay’s JFK was Jerry Frances King, our lighting technician. Way to go, Jer.”
“Naturally, once we got a closer look, we realized a blue polka dot pattern would more accurately represent Ms. Lohan’s disease-ravaged vaginal interior.”
My finacee and I have a big glass jar where we save our change, and every couple of months when the jar is full, we jaunt down to the local Coinstar and marvel at our newfound twelve dollar fortune. It’s not exactly free money, but it feels like free money, and the frozen yogurt we invariable purchase with it tastes all the sweeter.
I grimace at it whenever I walk in as if to say “oh, it’s you.” I resent its laziness and wonder aloud to people whether it’s even worth the trip to cash in. “What can you buy with twelve dollars in today’s economy anyway?” I ask pointedly, glancing down at the jar. Sometimes when I’m drunk I scream at it to “get a job” and knock it to the ground, scattering near-worthless nickels everywhere.
Admittedly, the guy’s penny collection included one that was only minted for two weeks in 1793 because Congress thought Lady Liberty looked frightened, but does that really warrant the exchange of millions of dollars? What service has been rendered here?
The only thing that makes it okay is that the guy was the owner of an aerospace-part manufacturing company. I don’t know exactly what that means, except that it means he was probably already rich, so the ten mil will be just as worthless to him as my shiftless, scheming change jar is to me.
If anyone needs me, I’ll be scrupulously examining my change trying to find a picture of George Washington looking pensive.
When not blogging for Cracked, Michael makes economically unviable videos as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!
You’d think I’d have some choice words to say about this ad for TheLadders.com, a “premium job site created exclusively for $100k+ people looking for $100k+ jobs,” but I’m coming up strangely blank. I’m not a $100k+ person myself, but this is probably a great idea for someone out there. You know - someone who owns more than one suit, or at least one that they didn’t inherit from their dad.
Sure, people who would use TheLadders.com are all rich and fancy and stuff, but whatever - I’m not going to be all sour grapes about it. If you’re a successful professional and you’re looking for a new job, you probably want a website that caters directly to your needs. One that separates the wheat from the chaff. The commercial might be kind of obnoxious, but I think it gets its subtle message across nicely:
TheLadders.com is for thin, attractive white people, not fat, balding slobs.
If you’re reading this, TheLadders.com, don’t you think that last sentence would be great as your new slogan? I’ll gladly sell it to you… for $100,000. Think it over and meet me at the bargaining table. You know - the one out back. Yeah - the one by the dumpster. That’s perfect.
Last week, I rented Across the Universe — y’know, that new Beatles movie that doesn’t have the Beatles in it. Or any stars. Or a coherent storyline. I’m still reeling from how much I disliked this movie. And part of the reason I’m so pissed off is because there’s another part of me that really enjoyed it. The part that likes anything involving the Beatles. The part that couldn’t help being sucked in.
I don’t even know where to begin. The movie is so all over the place it’s impossible to talk about it in an organized fashion. For the uninitiated let me give you the conceit of the film: “Hey, what if we make a movie that only has about 40 lines of dialog and fill in the rest with lyrics from unassociated Beatles songs?”
Did they pull it off? Well, let’s examine the plot and you can decide. At this point, I’d normally say SPOILER ALERT to those of you who still want to see the film, but that would be like giving a warning about a possible fecal odor to someone who was bent on diving headfirst into a pile of manure.
The Plot And Characters Of Across the Universe
The movie relies upon ridiculous archetypal characters, hoping that their mere recognizability will spare the producers from actually having to flesh out their identities through writing. That works out great because the script is not about Mean Mr. Mustard or Maxwell Silver Hammer and, therefore, with little exception, the filmmakers can’t actually use the Beatles lyrics to tell us anything about these characters.
Here we go:
Jude (a dude from Liverpool who looks like a ragged Paul McCartney, acts like John Lennon, and sings like Ewan MacGregor) leaves England to find his long lost American Dad.
Once there, he meets Max — a Princeton student who is James Dean in Rebel Without A Cause. (His stodgy dad is tearing him apart too, but instead of being played by the dad Jim Backus, dad is played by Doc Connors from the Spider-Man movies. Oh, and Max’s uncle is Mr. Noodle, but I digress.) Anyway, Jude and Max become instant best friends for no clear reason and Max drops out of school so they can both go to New York.
Once in New York, they find a loft for rent from a very sensual landlady named Sadie (or “Sexy Sadie”). Sadie, by the way, is Janis Joplin. Why wouldn’t she be?
The producers apparently thought there weren’t enough disparate elements so they also added —I shit you not— an Asian lesbian cheerleader who runs away from home, goes to New York, and crashes with Jude and Max after she “comes in through the bathroom window.” You could eliminate her from the movie completely and nothing would change, except that her name is Prudence and if you cut her then you wouldn’t be able to sing “Dear Prudence” which apparently was a song the producers really wanted in the movie.
Moving on, Janis Joplin Sadie has a black guitarist boyfriend coming to town. Any guesses? That’s right, it’s “JoJo.” And when I say “JoJo,” I mean, of course, Jimi Hendrix.
Around this time, Max’s little sister Lucy comes to live with big brother so that Jude and she can fall in love. This is like 40 minutes in, which is a problem considering this is supposed to be a love story. But you have to admire the producers’ restraint. Her character’s name was originally just “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds and/or love interest.”
Then Max get’s drafted and the best scene in the movie happens when we see the enlistment office to the tune of “I Want You/She’s So Heavy.” That scene actually takes the lyrics to a Beatles song and recreates them in a way that advances plot. It’s one of only two or three songs in the movie that does that:
O.K. back to the crap. Before Max goes off to war he, Lucy, and Jude go to a hip NY party thrown by “Dr. Robert.” Loser Beatle fans like me get a little hard from that reference because Dr. Robert is a Lennon Murphy John Lennon song about the dentist who first gave John and George acid at a party. But “Dr. Robert” is NOT a dentist. Instead this Dr. Robert is, apparently, Ken Kesey in full Merry Prankster form, and he’s played by none other than Bono. I can’t fully convey to you how much Bono sucked in this movie. The only thing worse than his American accent was his version of “I Am The Walrus.” In fairness, it did suck slightly less than U2’s version of “Helter Skelter” which is maybe the worst cover in the history of rock.
Dr. Robert takes Max, Lucy, and Jude cross country to meet another sixties acid-dropping radical, Dr. Timothy Leary. But they don’t call him Dr. Leary. They call him “Dr. Geary,” and it’s Eddie Izzard and he sings a trippy version of “Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite.”
“Wait!” say those of you who enjoy parallel structure. If Ken Kesey was “Dr. Robert,” why not make Dr. Leary “Mr. Kite”? Or if Dr. Leary is “Dr. Geary” then why wasn’t Ken Kesey, “Ken Gesey?”
I have no idea. You might as well ask how the movie managed to make Eddie Izzard unfunny or why you would need two trip out scenes in one flick or how a hot Asian, lesbian cheerleader can’t seem to get laid in the middle of New York during the age of free love.
Anyway, Max goes off to ‘nam and gets a head injury which doesn’t seem to do much more than make him look like Kurt Cobain. (pre-suicide.) Then Janis and Jimi break up and reunite. Then Jude and Lucy break up because she starts hanging out too much with Jerry Rubin, or Tom Hayden, or Abbie Hoffman or whoever the bearded vaguely Semitic radical was supposed to be. Then they get back together when Jude sings All You NeedIs Love on the roof like The Beatles did in their Get Back performance. And Prudence smiles while she continues to wonder what the fuck she’s doing in the movie.
And as much as it all sucked I watched it all. Twice.
Why? Because the Beatles wrote some of the greatest songs of all time. Most of the new arrangements were absolutely perfect. And many of the visuals were striking as well.
And that’s really the reason I’m so mad. So much care and thought went into this movie in so many areas that it makes all the thoughtless, stupid decisions that much more offensive.
And you can bet everything you have that when it comes on cable I will watch it again while cursing the screen.
I stumbled across this clip on YouTube after halfheartedly watching The Moment of Truth on FOX. Have you guys seen that one? It’s that lie detector show where people answer increasingly horrible questions and ruin their lives for the chance to win FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS. Why can’t we take a hint from Japan and start airing good old-fashioned entertainment again? You know - like a show where a dog helps a monkey do sit-ups. If they put that on FOX I would watch it dutifully every single week. They could call it Animal Magnetism… only that kind of makes it sound like they would be having sex with each other, which is a totally different kind of TV show. How about Spot Me!? If they named the dog Spot that one would be a double whammy.
I could see a monkey doing sit-ups with a bulldog holding his legs down on American TV, but to flip it around and have the BULLDOG (not) doing the sit-ups? That’s so insane it could only come from the brilliant mind of a Japanese television writer. I’d make some sort of bold statement like “Japanese television writers must all smoke crack!” but I have a feeling that most of them probably come from respectable families and come up with their ideas in drug-free workplaces, so scratch that one.
Which just got me thinking… I know this clip is from Japan, but do you think when Chinese people have a really late business meeting and their bosses say “I need you all to stick around,” do you think they say “Can we order American?” Food for thought.
Well, the Oscars are over, and I have retroactively altered my opinions of films I saw in order to be popular. For example, I used to think the Juno screenplay was mildly charming, with moments of overwrought mugging. Now I think it’s a tender yet daring explosion of the teen romance genre.
So now that all the statues are given out, 
It just has to be appreciated on a level that’s a little harder to access than There Will Be Blood’s “if you try and act like God, God will fuck you.” Now there’s a message the whole family can enjoy. Especially the father.
My finacee and I have a big glass jar where we save our change, and every couple of months when the jar is full, we jaunt down to the local Coinstar and marvel at our newfound twelve dollar fortune. It’s not exactly free money, but it feels like free money, and the frozen yogurt we invariable purchase with it tastes all the sweeter.
I rented Across the Universe — y’know, that new Beatles movie that doesn’t have the Beatles in it. Or any stars. Or a coherent storyline. I’m still reeling from how much I disliked this movie. And part of the reason I’m so pissed off is because there’s another part of me that really enjoyed it. The part that likes anything involving the Beatles. The part that couldn’t help being sucked in.