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The green men got the rover. “No one single fault … that we can conceive of” can explain this anomaly. And whatever happened to the Beagle?

This isn’t a real movie. It doesn’t arc. It isn’t really important. And if you don’t come to it with a background knowledge of who the key people are (Jerry Seinfeld, Collin Quinn) then it is totally meaningless. But if you do know, and you have an interest in the mechanics of show business (not of the E! Network variety, but of the Variety variety) you will find a handful of very compelling and insightful moments. One thing that struck me — this movie isn’t funny. Something about seeing the comedy made from the inside out renders it completely unfunny. Also — the coolest closing credits sequence I’ve seen in a long time.

Kinda like nabbing Capone on tax evasion, looks like Ariel Sharon might get the heave-ho from this idiotic bribery scandal. Rumors are that Netanyahoo will take his place. So, like, the one guy potentially more insane than Sharon, then.

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Physical by Scott Tabatt


Zeus by Rob Haussman


Zeus by Jordan Hoffman



Bad Breath by Jordan Hoffman

Porcupine in 8 Seconds by Rob Haussman
Charade by Scott Tabatt. (If one squints one can see a likeness of “Cher.” One can only assume the next plan of attack was to draw and AIDS victim. Despite a crude scribble-over, this work was salvaged.)

Wound up watching this (for the sixth time) after feeling glum about the Iowa results. In this film, Scarlett Johanson plays a piano sonata — and that’s pretty much what the Coens have done with their film. It works more on an emotional level than on a story level. People are mixed on this film, but I am floored by it. Foolish of me to watch anything Coens-written while I’m trying to muster energy to work on a screenplay. They sure do have a knack, don’t they?

Hoffman rocks out to Skynyrd whilst Ann makes breakfast.

How’s this for a pitch: Obese pianist travels from Outer Space to Oakland to create a jobs program. About as good of a curio as “200 Motels” or “Masked and Anonymous.” I can’t say I dig too much of the music Sun Ra was playing at this time (his mid-60s stuff is about as avant-garde as I can stomach), but there are a few interesting cultural moments. Annoying fact: Sun Ra uses Egyptian iconography to promote Black Power. But isn’t Egypt, even ancient Egypt, non-black racially? Shouldn’t Sun Ra be promoting the noble virtues of the Nubians and other Sub-Saharans?

If you are going to adapt Henry James then take it on head first. Have Ruth Prawer Jhabvala write the script and hire Vanessa Redgrave for the juciest role. Is this a love letter to selling out? On surface, maybe — but it is a great movie.

Somewhere between mildly pleasant and vaguely annoying lies this film. The few good moments are just sticking a camera in front of another wildly innovative idea of J.K. Rowling’s before dropping it: little plants that scream, flying old cars, pet phoenixes, etc. Also, Harry isn’t cute anymore. Also also, when will it be appropriate to point out that little Hermoine is growing into a hot little witch? By part three, I hope.

Inspiring! You’ll either love it or you won’t. More than anything else, it made me nostalgic for college.

Hunky shots of Dr. Howard Dean have hit the Web today. Anything to beat Bush, I say.

1.5 Billion of *YOUR* tax dollars are going to something almost as stupid as blowing up Iraq — the ostracism of gays in America, of independent women in America, of independent people in America. Read all about it here

Alexander Cockburn on MoveOn’s idiotic little gaffe (was it a gaffe?) and the larger lessons not being learned can be found, typos and all, here.

Le Cercle Snooze is more like it. Arguably the dullest caper film I’ve ever seen. Makes you recognize how much fun “Topkapi” or the recent “Ocean’s Eleven” is. Hell, even “The Score” is more memorable than this. Melville and Alain Delon made the gamble to play the film distant. That worked in their previous collaboration “Le Samourai,” but here it is a 2 hr 20 min bore. That’s because in “Le Samourai” cool shit happens — here, with the exception of a mediocre fifteen minute heist, a lot of nothing happens. There are driving scenes, and scenes of cops scratching their heads, that are repeated and repeated and repeated. Then the cops, who are agonizing over one case, drop everything and move on to a different (yet unbeknownst to them) related case. And no one has any motivation. When Yves Montand pretends to shed some light on his character five minutes before the end (through the friendship of theives I’ve found sobriety!) it is laughable. Speaking of laughable, Delon in his moustache is a dead ringer for Dave Foley goofing as a private eye in the Kids in the Hall. Can’t fault Melville for this, but it sure took me out of the story. I give a thumbs up to the music, a cool use of zoom lenses and Yves Montand’s striped wallpaper, but the rest of this is a pass. Roger Ebert, J. Hoberman and Jurgen Fauth all liked this movie, but I think it is boring and almost awful.

An old (old, old, old, old) friend from way (way, way, way, way) back has released her first full length CD and is still rocking the Jersey Shore. Check her out here and download some MP3s here.

It is conceivable that the last time Rachel saw me I was wearing a bright red blazer that said LOEWS on it.

Al Vetrini sends me a Bush link nearly every day. This one is particularly good. Be sure to stick around to hear all the baffling quotes.

Ya know, you can have a great cast, neat cinematic tricks and eloquent dialogue, but if your story is a retarded piece of psuedo-intellectual junk then you can only go so far. Peter Schaffer, he of “Amadeus,” takes a giant horse-turd on paper and calls it an introspective look into psychology. I say, “Neigh.” Anyway, Richard Burton gives a performance that somehow keeps you from laughing at all this nonsense. Bravo to him. Russell Crowe, in time, will simply morph into Richard Burton. Lots and lots of Peter Firth’s dong in this one. I guess if you were hung like him you’d appear naked in movies, too. Some would say he was hung like a … oh, never mind.