If anyone can explain to me how in the world Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale movie could conceivably not be the best Christmas movie of all time, I’d love to sit through their Powerpoint presentation plumbing the depths of that argument, because I’m just not buying it. I mean, we all know I love me some batshit crazy, and this movie looks like it’s bringing the crazy like an extra-large stocking overstuffed with spades. How can we possibly lose? Oh, that’s right: WE CAN’T. And don’t take my obviously biased and ofttimes hyperbolic word for it. Do yourself a favor and bathe your eyeballs in the glorious insanity of the Rare Exports trailer:
Take the poster for Black Swan for example. This poster alone is enough to send me into a hundred fits of gay vapors (or “gaypors,” if you’re in the know). Just look at this piping hot plate of Natalie Portman FACE:
OOH, IT BURNS! Seriously, though, this poster’s phenomenal. It’s gorgeous with a subtle air of creepy, and all of it demands that I get my ass to the theater as soon as possible to see this movie, which is sorta like how I feel whenever I watch the trailer. Except for the part where the trailer makes my head explode. If you’ve seen the trailer, you know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t, change that poor life choice of yours IMMEDIATELY. Either way, let’s all give it a spin and discuss:
Here are a few reasons for Today’s Fabulous Image in Cinema being Roy Scheider’s iconic reaction shot to the monstrous great white shark in Jaws:
It’s Shark Week, so only it seems apropos.
When I was home sick on Monday, I decided to re-watch Jaws because sometimes it’s important to shake it up and stray from my usual sick-day viewing requirements. Variety is the spice of blah, blah, blah. Also, it’s Shark Week, so that too seemed apropos.
Mostly, though, I’m firmly of the mind that believes Roy Scheider’s reaction in the above image is fabulous, and this is the most important reason, so let’s take a quick respite from living every week like it’s Shark Week and discuss, shall we?
I don’t know what persuaded Julia Ormond to get on board the Hot Mess Express and play Lindsay Lohan’s mother in the thriller/slasher/torture porn/masterpiece that is I Know Who Killed, but I do know I’m forever happy she did. Without her commitment to the craft, the line “This is Mr. Jervis” would be a line about a teddy bear like any other; instead, Julia Ormond makes it one of the most dazzling, mind-bogglingly bizarre things I’ve ever seen committed to film. I mean, what in the world is she doing with her voice? And what’s going on with her face? No, seriously:
Pure FACE poetry is what’s going on with her face, y’all.
Sure, it’s all too easy to take a line delivered to the girl you believe is your only daughter–the daughter who’s been abducted by a serial killer, lost portions of her arm and leg through a brutal amputation process that involves dry ice and blue glass surgical utensils (don’t ask), and somehow managed to escape–like a she’s just gone through a serious trauma (so, you know, like a normal person), but it takes a special caliber of actor to play that line like you’re in the midst of an exorcism, and that caliber is BRILLIANT. Lindsay Lohan’s reaction shot pretty much sums it up:
You know, it’s times like this that I wonder if I should’ve devoted Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner to something like cat farts as opposed to pop culture because it’s hard to over think three hours of cat farts; real talk: blogs about cat farts write themselves. Blogs that try to recap rather paint-by-numbers Oscar ceremonies? Not so much.
My point is that the Oscars were totally fine in the way that a largely predictable three-and-a-half hour Hollywood circle jerk is totally fine, but Oscar party margaritas have a tendency to make most anything better, so if it was worse than just watching a bunch of people win the same awards we’ve been seeing them win all awards season, I honestly wasn’t paying attention. Anywho, this ping-pong-ball-sized kidney stone of a blog post ain’t gonna pass itself, so let’s take one last look back and throw out some patently irresponsible kudos and sassy finger snaps to a few of the more mentionable moments:
First off, kudos are certainly in order for Mo’nique. I’ve heard her performance is excellent, and I might even one day be able to personally attest to that, but even those few moments they showed during the Oscars were enough to thoroughly disturb me, and I really don’t need any more fodder for my nightmares. Particularly when the Oscars were already getting ad revenue from the ultimate nightmare fuel:
Out of respect to the small yet loyal blog audience that regularly indulges my crazy, I’ve avoided incessantly rants about my increasingly impatient yearning for a new trailer for the remake of A Nightmare on Elm Street. Why? Because even I’m aware of how much that would start to drag ass.
That said, ever since the teaser trailer showed up last fall and made me change my mind about this whole affair, I’ve been hungry for more, and now we’re two months from its release without any news of another trailer in sight, which means I’ve been a hot second away from turning tricks on the street corner for even a little Nightmare on Elm Street remake somethin’ somethin’.
Sure, this is basically the first teaser poster except now it’s all about Face whereas before it was about Glove, but you know what? I’ll take it. Desperate times call for desperate measures, y’all. Particularly when fishnets and hooker heels really aren’t your best look.
I cannot convey to you in words how much this delights me, but DVDActive is reporting that Homecoming is at long last arriving on DVD April 27th. Obviously this is a good thing because I know we’ve all been waiting an eternity (or since last summer) to witness Mischa Barton channel Kathy Bates in Misery and bring on the crazy in a hardcore way. And for those of you who haven’t been waiting for Homecoming grace your eyeballs like a thousand golden rays of batshit bonkers sunshine, allow me to repost the trailer to remind you how you live a joyless existence and generally fail at life:
