Sorry I let your retarded kid, drown, Mrs. V. I was too busy using my ab-cruncher and misting with Axe body spray to take my lifeguarding duties very seriously. By the way, have you met my one Asian friend? He’s chill. He’s opening up my eyes to other cultures, and junk. I even taught him how to achieve that awesome lead-singer-of-Creed hairdo that’ll make him more acceptable to the rest of us white people at Camp Crystal Lake. Hey, what are you doing with that giant knife. Wait! No! It wasn’t me. It was the black guy! Yeah, our scholarship kid James was supposed to be on lifeguard duty that day. No! Please! I have so much to live for! My lacrosse scholarship at Vandy is secure. My trust fund kicks in when I turn 21. My herpes is totes in remission! No, please. ARRGGGHHHH-GURGLE-GURGLE.
The longer I stay in this business, the more I think I’m ultimately not cut out for it. At least when it comes to movies.
I sold my first film script about 6 years ago, and began a feature career marked with, well, eventually being rewritten by somebody else. This is par for the course with movies — you do your contractual drafts and then they bring in a Closer, someone with a track record, as extra insurance against the weakness of their own wills, and their flibbertigibbet bosses whose taste remains a mystery to even their closest foot-soldiers while their aversion to risk only multiplies with each vertically-integrated corporate restructuring. Meanwhile, while slowly growing a TV career that would eventually steal my full attention, I was also trying to write feature specs. But because of a very commercial-minded manager and my own mounting confusion over how to navigate the studio system, I started writing worse and worse shit. The nadir coming when I found myself, somehow, writing a movie about a talking dog. (Specifically, a dog who turns into a person. I know. I hate myself too.) Around that time my TV career was hitting a good stride and I basically gave up on movies. I stopped taking meetings on assignments. Stopped writing specs. Stopped becoming excited even about seeing movies. TV captured my imagination fully. I couldn’t sit in a room anymore and be told by an executive that they were looking for the next Liar, Liar. Liar, Liar is, I assure you, a terrible thing to try to aspire to. And they know it too. They hate themselves for saying it, but they say it anyway. “We need the next Liar, Liar!” (Eventually they just said fuck it and remade it as Yes Man.) Continue reading Me, The Jonas Brothers, And The Farting Dog
At the dawn of human civilization, there was this guy who hunted giant cartoon mastodons, was chased by prehistoric man-eating ostriches, and totally fucked up this pyramid. He did this because some other guys kidnapped his girlfriend…and the guy who owned the pyramid made everybody think he was a god or something…a disembodied Omar Sharif kept talking every now and then…
Okay, this movie is stupid, even for a premise that abandons at the first frame any thought of possibly trying to be somewhat in the neighborhood of historically accurate. Even worse, it is boring. Mind-numbingly boring. Somehow, a movie that has computer generated mastodons, saber-toothed tigers, and killer ostriches is so dull it makes you pine for an auto accident-induced coma. Who would have figured that the creative genius behind Independence Day and Eight Legged Freaks was Dean Devlin? For shame, Roland Emmerich. For shame. (IMDb)
TO SYNC WITH MOVIE: Start this commentary 10 seconds after starting movie.
“”Hostel” director Eli Roth is on deck to play a baseball bat-swinging Nazi hunter in “Inglorious Bastards,” the Quentin Tarantino-directed drama that begins production this fall in Europe for the Weinstein Co. and Universal Pictures.”
I guess one way to shield yourself from charges of being a douchebag attention-whore director who has no fucking business acting is to preemptively cast another douchebag attention-whore director who has no fucking business acting.
NEW YORK — “21” scribe Peter Steinfeld will adapt the lottery scam memoir “Money for Nothing” for Warner Independent Pictures, Michael De Luca Prods. and Tobey Maguire’s Maguire Entertainment.
WIP optioned Edward Ugel’s wry take on his experiences talking lottery winners into taking lump-sum cash payments against their future earnings — and pocketing a good chunk of change for himself in the process.
De Luca’s Alissa Phillips and ME’s Mark Ross will oversee the project for their companies. WIP creative executive Richard Gold will oversee for his studio.
Ugel’s HarperCollins book, subtitled “One Man’s Journey Through the Dark Side of Lottery Millions,” was published in September.
Next, Steinfeld will adapt the biography of Coinstar founder Herbert T. Ackerman, “8 9/10 Percent Of Nothing.” Following that, Steinfeld is slated to work on a big big-budget thriller about the troubled history of the two-dollar bill.
After that, he’ll write a big-screen version of how I once won four hundred dollars on a video poker machine.