Welcome to a new era in the world of entertainment news, at least as far as the commune is concerned. The powers that be (“be drunk” most of the time, judging by the smell) have been so impressed with my service in stead of Roland McShyster’s many absences (though that’s not any of my business) they’ve asked me to fill in on a more permanent basis, as Roland cannot work more hours with the new commune weekly edition given his international probationary agreement. But enough but McShyster, and may his specter never darken my column again. Let’s roll with

Orson Welch’s Cream of the Crop of 2003.


In Theaters

The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
Some critics, easily blinded by the pomp and flash of battle axes and golden-haired elves, have called this a stunning climax to a wonderful film franchise. I take a more lucid view, and recognize the special effects and lightning-fast action sequences barely cover some hideously inaccurate medieval English dialogue and thin orc portrayals. Never once are we allowed to care about what happens to the ring, while we are much more interested in the love story between the Hobbit and the girl with the large breasts, which is never given much screen time. A patently disappointing finish to an otherwise perfect movie saga, the previous films which I also detested.

Mystic River
So-called “critics” have also peed themselves over this humdrum novel-to-movie adaptation telling the story of childhood friends and a murder never once engaging the interest of the audience. Tim Robbins has been more interesting spouting hippie agendas at awards show than he is as this vaguely-accented Bostonite, while Sean Penn’s melodramatic squealing makes us long for the subtlety of Jeff Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High. I held such high hopes for this film, too. I haven’t been this disappointed since Gangs of New York did not turn out to be Scorsese’s follow-up to GoodFellas.

La Toad D’Wont
Finally, a film to impress! Though only five people in the world, including yours truly, were allowed to see it at its premiere last October, all of us in attendance had their faith restored that perhaps films could still move the human soul. A striking story of a man who eats an entire dog, befriends a hooker and pays her to poop on him, then meets a little boy who blows his head off with a shotgun, all wonderfully told in crisp black and white, the film moved and shocked us as only brilliant films can. The fact the director refused to subtitle it or show us the actors’ faces only underlined the cold alienation modern man experiences in the wake of distasteful celluloid like most American films. Simply amazing. The fact it could find no distributor and was bought for 30 Francs only to be destroyed by the buyer, only goes to prove how much impact this film had on the world, which largely didn’t see it.


Well, a sound delivery of entertainment reviews, a summary of the year of mediocrity. Not grade-A, but a solid C. You’re all invited back in two weeks for my hashing out of the hottest entertainment news in Hollywood. Sorry, but it was part of the agreement in my hiring. Good viewing, America.

January 5, 2004
Cheaper by the Dozen, Come on Eileen: The Story of a Serial Killer, My Daddy’s Baby

December 22, 2003
Cold Mountain, House of the Sandy Frog, Mona Lisa Simile, Monster, Paycheck

December 8, 2003
Honey, The Last Samurai Show, Lords of the Ring: Rerun of the King, Pig Fish, Something’s Gotta Give Jack Nicholson a Heart Attack, Stuck on Your Ass

November 24, 2003
21 Grams of Fat, Battlestar Gothica, Black Santa, Dr. Seuss Shat in a Hat, The Haunted Manson, Timeline