Yeah -- I'm talkin' to you, you little curry-eating motherfucker.
How're those reviews workin' out for your new movie? Seems the critics don't much like it. What was it -- a mere 22% approval-rating on Rotten Tomatoes?
Shit, Little Man hovered right around that number, and that's a fucking Wayans Brothers movie for Christ's sake. For all those lousy fucking reviews, you weren't even lucky enough to garner a little bullshit controversy like having Joel Siegel walk out of one of your screenings -- or at the very least, say something in his review like, "This Lady made me sing the blues!"
Hold on a second.
(Stops to snort a line of cocaine off a stripper's breast)
Now I know what you're thinking.
You're thinking, "Yes, but as you know, the critics have a problem with me. That's why I made sure to make the only despicable character in my new movie a cynical critic; then I promptly had him killed off by one of my wonderously imaginative grass-monsters. It's a really great scene -- and no it doesn't make me look like a petty five year-old."
Here's a tip asshole: critics are part of your audience too, and they have a problem with you because you're not the medium-altering visionary genius you think you are. You can talk all you want about dreams and faith and how everyone's out to get you and keep you down and crush your spirit, but it won't change the fact that you may not be anything more than a marginally-talented flash-in-the-pan. Incidentally, how can you possibly complain about those creatively-bankrupt suits' lack of faith in you, when for seven years now you've been given unlimited backing and a blank-check to churn out whatever little ridiculous whim comes into your head in the middle of the night?
Speaking of which -- that whole thing about making everyone come to you in Philadelphia?
Who the hell do you think you are?
Allow me to paraphrase a legendary political exchange: I'm a fan of Kubrick. I've seen all of Kubrick's movies. You're no fucking Kubrick.
The man made masterpiece after masterpiece; you've made a couple of drowzy Bruce Willis vehicles and a silly fairy-tale.
So what's it gonna take for you to just go the hell away and leave the storytelling to the professionals?
I'm betting that a lousy box-office take this time around might be just what's needed to bury that silly myth you've created for yourself under a mountain of reality once and for all. The Disney people will be singing Zippety Doo-Dah, and the Warner execs will be throwing themselves off the tallest building they can find; they'll no doubt be anxiously awaiting the next piece of cinematic compost they've already promised to pay you for -- sight unseen.
(Snorts another line of cocaine)
I've wasted too much time on you already.
I'm off now to see Clerks 2, partially for the reason that I wanna support any other movie than yours this weekend.
Shit, maybe I'll even see My Super Fucking Ex-Girlfriend when I'm done.
(*The views and opinions expressed by Garth do not necessarily represent those of Chez, who in fact likes curry very much).
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Posted by Chez at 10:41 AM