On Creepy Demon Children

I made the mistake of watching the trailer for Orphan the other day.

This was a mistake for a couple of reasons. Now, I'm not by any means a chicken. I might wince at gore or startle easily (really, really easily), but in general I tend more towards the former response in "fight or flight."

But there is something about creepy demon girls that just gets me. The girl in The Ring? Absolutely terrified me. And I know I'm not alone in that fear, but honestly, I shouldn't have been scared at all. Her face looks like an orc's!

Samara:


An orc:


And I am certainly not afraid of orcs.

After seeing a few trailers for more Asian-based horror flicks (side note: Why are Asian horror movies so fucked up? They're the only horror movies I've seen that are actually...horrifying. Is it a culture thing? They do seem to have a penchant for creepy demon children), I tried to posit that maybe it's just the way these characters move that makes my skin continue to crawl hours after seeing whatever clip/movie they're in. They always have that weird crab-walking kid, or one that sort of awkwardly teleports, like you're playing a particularly dangerous game of "Red Light, Green Light."

But the girl (Esther) in Orphan does not move this way. And yet, I still had a dream that night in which she tried to kill me. Repeatedly.

Of course, that's not the reason I won't see this movie. It's the same demon child story as all the others, and probably not worth shelling out $12.50. Still, way to creep me right the fuck out, Warner Brothers.

P.S. Vera Farmiga? More movies about Boston mob politics, less movies about creepy demon children. I say this out of love.

Billy what now?!

People who call Williamsburg "Billyburg" are why I refuse to live in that neighborhood.

That's all.

(A friend alerted me to that "Meet Up" thing. I don't actually use that stuff--I prefer to be a hermit.)

The Adventures of (Not) Ben Silverman

[Note: What follows is an entirely fictional account of Ben Silverman's day-to-day life, the thought process behind his decisions, etc. There's no harm meant by it; my excellent friend Braids and I simply thought it would be hilarious to blame everything bad in the world (and NBC) on him, even though in real life, this probably isn't the case. So, again: Light mocking along the lines of the Girls' Bike Club over at Tomato Nation.]

Int. 30 Rockefeller Plaza, 13th Floor. (Not)Ben Silverman, male, mid-30s caucasian, enters, flanked by his two white tigers, Silvertooth and Moonbeam.

NBS: Dave? Davey? Bro, where you at?

He plays the official NBC chimes hanging from his belt. Dave Howe, President of Sci-Fi, runs out of an office.

Dave Howe: Ben! What are you doing way down here?
NBS: Oh, just chillin' through. Wanted to see how you're dealing with the name change.
Dave Howe: Name change?
NBS: Shit, we didn't tell you?
Dave Howe: Tell me what?
NBS: Well, Davey, Zucks and I got the best fucking idea last night, bra. You know how we can't put that little ^TM thing after Sci-Fi?
Dave Howe: Sure.
NBS: Yeah man, we can't have that wack shit. So from now on you're "SyFy^TM." Zucks even said I should change my name to "Sylverman." Tight, yeah?
Dave Howe: Is that...really going to boost our ratings?
NBS: Are you questioning me, Davey?
Silvertooth growls.
NBS: Silvertooth thinks you're questioning me, Davey.
Dave Howe: Oh, no.
NBS: Because I greenlit The Office, you know. And Parks and Recreation.
Dave Howe: I heard the focus group numbers were pretty ba--
NBS: You heard shit, man. Everyone knows that shit is bogus.
Dave Howe: Why do we bother, then?
NBS: Man, I don't know. Fuck this noise, I got some ladies waiting for me up on Fiddy. Sylverman OUT.

He mounts Moonbeam and, playing his official NBC chimes, bounds away.

B.T.

Thanks to my dear friend Eddie for introducing me to this:



Now, I'm the first person to complain about Twitter. I never understood the point--yes, some people use it for quick news blasts, sometimes your friends say something funny (theoretically, that is; I'm not actually on Twitter). But honestly? People do not need to know the minutiae of your existence. No matter who you are--celebrity, journalist, accountant, or copy machine from an awesome show--your life is probably not that interesting. The people who do seem to care about Ashton Kutcher's Tweets are, I'm sorry, the sort of people with whom I do not wish to interact.

But Twitter just recently blew the fuck up. Before that, there was Facebook. I loved Facebook. Way easier to keep in touch with people than, say, via e-mail. And the introduction of status updates was kind of fun for a while, too. I'd put up random ones like "...is dead" or some apropos song lyric. I never put up actual locations or said what I was actually doing at the time because, um, who cares? Yes, I would roll my eyes whenever I saw someone using it in that exhibitionistic way, but it was easy enough to ignore. Of course, the new Facebook design makes it impossible to ignore, so thanks for fucking that up, Faceberg.

Even before Facebook, though, people had this compulsive need to share shit about their life to people who are, essentially, strangers. See: Xbox Live.

That leads me to believe this is a generational thing. If Generation X was the "me" generation, then we, the so-called "Millennials" (God I hate that term) are the "me, me, me!" generation. Life is no longer about connecting with people and interacting with them in a meaningful fashion; it's about people seeing you interacting with people on an entirely superficial, fictional level. It's like throwing a surprise party for someone, but inviting only your friends instead of theirs. You don't want to see the look of surprised joy on your friend's face, you want to see your friends' reactions when you tell them about this great thing you're doing for someone else.

And that just makes me sad.

Hell bra, this is the best!

I'm going to go ahead and ask we retire "bromance." It is the new "cougar," and I can no longer stand to read it on a daily basis. 'K?

On the other hand, I am totally down with "Guy Love" (below).

Cloudy With a Chance of Crap

Sigh.

Okay, so I think we can all agree that this whole "taking all the symbols of my childhood and raping them for profit" thing has gone way too far. Granted, the poster for Where the Wild Things Are (below) looks pretty awesome.



But for every WtWTA, there's a Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs. The just-released trailer is over here.

How horrendous does this look? Let's put aside the idiotic 3-D whatever for right now (hell, that deserves its own post) and just look at it from the point of view of a child and/or adult who's read and loved the book:

The whole point of kids' books is that they look awesome. Cool illustration is what separates the Animals Should Definitely Not Wear Clothings from the...Well, I can't think of any crappily illustrated children's books off the top of my head, but I'm sure there are plenty out there. Once you take away the unique style of illustration (something Spike Jonze appears to not be doing, thank God), you're left with...a story. A story that is very, very thin on plot. And while a lack of plot sometimes works for books (coughmostofTwilightcough), that's really hard to get away with in a movie. So, the director comes up with a plot. This plot is usually banal and overdone (The Cat in the Hat, anyone?), and the entire experience turns out to be no different from any other crappy kids movie (see: most animated movies not produced by Pixar/Pixar alums).

So why not just...let sleeping books lie? How about we come up with a rule that says, "If you have to invent a plot that is not contained in the source material (be it children's book or game), you're not allowed to make that movie"? Yes?

Come on, WB.

While being unemployed certainly sucks quite a bit, it does come with one small perk: After compulsively refreshing Mediabistro's job listings page every five minutes for five or six hours, you can take a break and do whatever you want. For me, this break usually involves me watching an episode of some TV show or other. Lately, I've been in a "Season Four of ER" mood, which, thanks to the periodic weeding of EW's TV on DVD collection, I have all to myself. But sometimes, you need a little Veronica Mars to help yourself remember that you can indeed be a badass if you want to. (Also, watching too much ER makes me want to go to med school, which would probably be a bad call on my part. Though it would make my mom very happy.)

Obviously, you can watch anything you want via STC's links, but sometimes those links take way too long to load, or are really finicky, or they're dead. So when The WB (and all its great teen-y shows) was resurrected a while ago via TheWB.com, I was ecstatic. VMars! Everwood! My life was now complete!

Except the site is terrible. It's gone through a few makeovers since the launch, but the design was never the problem. The problem is that none of the damn videos will play properly. Which...sort of defeats the purpose of the site. I'm perfectly willing to watch eps with ads in them, but I do want the eps to actually load. Of course, the ads all load and play flawlessly. Convenient.

It seems to me that it would be easier for these shows' studios to just put their episodes up on Hulu. I don't know the financial intricacies involved in cutting a deal with the Hulu people, but it has to be worth it. Anything has to be better than losing potential viewers because your site doesn't work.

Therefore, TheWB.com, I implore you: Just put your shit on Hulu. It'll make life better for everyone. I promise.

Weird Craigslist Post of the Day

I just...WHAT?!

The picture is what really sells it, I think.

Jack Bauer Is a Farmer

No, seriously.

While perusing Variety (shut up), I noticed a quirky little story about a couple studios fighting over a Dutch show that may or may not be too similar to a German show. The Dutch one is Bauer, ledig, sucht (Farmer, Single, Looking), while the German one is Bauer sucht Frau (The Farmer Wants a Wife).

I don't really care about that potential copyright infringement or whatever. What was really cool to me--a language nerd--is that I had no idea "Bauer" meant "farmer."

Obviously, my mind immediately went to a wonderful place wherein the next (and last) season of 24 finds our intrepid hero, Jack Bauer, forced once again into hiding--this time, on a farm. The first half of the day promises to be full of action (and shirtlessness!), with wheat to be harvested, cows to be milked, and fields--both literal and figurative--to plow (oh yes, I went there)*, despite the threat of a cattle raid. Of course, Jack Bauer will fuck up those raiders single-handedly, armed only with a pitchfork.

Hear that, producers? Yeah. You're welcome.

Twilight and Summit: Officially Ridiculous

The Hollywood Reporter is, er, reporting that Summit might actually already have a director for the Eclipse movie. To which I say: Seriously?

Look, I liked Twilight well enough. As the wonderful Cleolinda Jones says, it's like a Twinkie(c). It's not good for you, but sometimes you just want something gross and sugary. Or like when I have a craving for Papa John's and some Corona instead of Giordano's or something. (Side note: God, I miss Giordano's.)

But the movie was just awful. I know, I know, it made a truckload of money and they've greenlighted like sixteen sequels, blah blah vampirecakes. The problem is that the subsequent books are terrible. And not in an acceptable "Oh man, this is awful but I can't put it down" kind of way. In a "Holy God, why are these people still alive/undead? I must smash my face into my desk" way.

It seems like Summit is nervous about keeping the Twimomentum going; otherwise, why all this speculation this early in the game? IMDb says they haven't even finished filming on New Moon yet.

Also, this is just going to encourage EW to put the same stupid photo on yet another cover. Because God forbid they not put something Twilight-related on the cover. I don't necessarily blame them, because that shit sells like hotcakes on the newsstands, but they're alienating most of their subscription base. This isn't the Catch-22 it looks like.

Look for a possible new segment, "If we ran the world..." sometime soon. Maybe.

You've Got Facebook

So, Nielsen and THR say social networking is pwning e-mail. To which I say: Duh.

That horrible "Business Exchange" travesty aside, this is actually a good thing. I've never understood why online advertising hasn't been nearly as successful as print advertising was in its heyday (this is a good study about that), and I think that's one of the reasons why most magazines still have horrible sites. (Look, God knows I love EW, and PopWatch is a great blog, but I still hate the way the homepage looks. And, full disclosure, I used to work there and write for PopWatch.)

I still mostly try to keep work and Facebook separate (though everyone at EW was so chill, I broke that rule for them), but the fact is, it's the best way to casually keep in contact with people. The beauty of the internet (yeah, I refuse to capitalize it) is its innately casual nature. Plus, you get the benefit of other people seeing you interacting. It's like, after years of making fun of computer nerds for sitting inside and not having friends, everyone decided to go about being as public with their affection as possible. Since, ultimately, we're a deeply voyeuristic society, it all turns into this ridiculous (but sometimes entertaining) circle-jerk of internet activity. Now you know why I don't Twitter.

This is why I firmly believe what my favorite TWoP recapper Jacob says about it: "The internet actually is just a very large bathroom wall, and anybody who cares about this shit or goes after their employees based on it has bigger problems than their basic inability to understand how the world works." Amen, sir. (For ruminations on why people treat the internet like a bathroom wall in the first place, please see John Gabriel's Greater Internet Fuckwad Theory.)

Maybe that's why advertisers still aren't sold on the online thing? Too many fuckwads? But you'd think those fuckwads would buy more stuff. Hmmm...

On Not Being a Dickwad

The first R-rated movie I saw on my own (once I finally reached that magic age of 17) was Closer. I'd just finished one of my first shifts at the movie theater, and I was super excited to take advantage of the "all the free movies you want" perk. So I settle back, prepared to partake in some delicious Clive Owen-Jude Law-ness, and I see them.

They're sitting in the very back of the theater, this young couple. And with them is...a stroller. With a small child in it.

This child then proceeded to cry at the most inopportune times (read: almost the entire movie). I couldn't fathom why this couple had brought its spawn to a 10:40 p.m. showing of a ridiculously explicit movie

Fast forward four and a half years or so. I'm seeing Coraline in 3-D with a friend. Due to some pretty ridiculous complications (like the Jonas Brothers...it's a long story), we end up going to the AMC in Times Square (Times! Square! Augh!) for an 11:10 p.m. showing. Now, I know Coraline is PG, but there is some scary shit in that movie. Not that I ever plan on having spawn of my own, but I wouldn't take a kid under 9 to the theater to see it, much less at an 11 p.m. showing on a Sunday. But of course, that's what we found. Dozens of families with their squalling four-year-olds attempting to drown out whatever disturbing noise was coming from the screen. As soon as we had reached the street, my friend and I each yelled about the horrific parenting we'd just witnessed.

And then there was Watchmen. A family (an entire goddamn family, mind you) not only subjected their five-year-old boy to that movie, but also brought an infant.

This so far past the line of "inappropriate," we can't even see it. There are so many things wrong with this situation that I need to outline them.

A) Your poor son is going to have nightmares for weeks about this. Seeing people's arms chopped off? Dogs with their heads split open? A five-minute-long softcore sex scene?

B) Your infant's screaming fucked up the movie for everyone else in the audience, you insensitive clods. It is neither my fault, nor anyone else's, that you either decided to breed or forgot to use a condom, so do not inflict your troubles upon me. You want kids? Accept the fact that for a while, you'll barely be able to leave the house.

C) You spent an extra how much for a seat for that kid? If you can afford to do that, hire some tween in need of some cash to watch them for a few hours.

In conclusion: It is not that difficult to avoid being a completely horrible parent. This is common sense. Do not bring your small children to incredibly graphic movies really late at night. And, movie theaters? Stop letting this happen.

I watched the Watchmen...

...And I liked it.

Of course, in this situation, it would have been very hard for me to not like it. My friend Joe had been trying to get me to read Watchmen practically since I met him, so once I saw the second theatrical trailer, I figured I'd give it a try.

It took me a bit longer than usual to get through the book--it's not very long, but the density and complexity of the story's structure takes a while to adjust to. Upon finishing it, I believe my thoughts were "Jesus Christ, how much bleaker can you get?" and also, "I'm going to need to re-read this at least three more times." (As a side note, I also had Rorshach's narrative voice in my head, which, since I'm not a psychotic misogynistic masked vigilante, was unpleasant.)

So, after seeing that trailer, reading the novel, then watching a bunch of footage, I was pretty freakin' excited. Not even the lukewarm (or negative) reviews could dampen my spirits. And you know what?

It was exactly what I wanted. Granted, the ending lacked the utter, blood-drenched terror I was hoping for, and Malin Akerman was awful but whatever. The attention to detail was spectacular, Jackie Earle Haley rocked the shit out of Rorshach, and I think I might pitch an amusement park based around the ride, "Dr. Manhattan's Blue Dong of Doom."(Would that not be an awesome ride?)