Mike Cidoni
of ABC TV
Hey whore,
how's the whoring?
Miss Congeniality is "Four stars! The season's
freshest, funniest surprise!"
In The Wedding
Planner "Matthew McConaughey is simply irresistible!"
Double Take is "Fast, furious and funny!"
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John Barth - The
Last Voyage of Somebody the Sailor
Luna - The
Days of our Nights
Before Sunrise,
This is the only "romantic" movie I've ever thought
was worth a pile of pitbull shit. Julie Delpy is really fucking
hot, Ethan Hawke is tolerable, and the story meanders thorugh
Vienna in the nicest ways possible as the American has only 14
hours with the Frog girl before he must return to the USA and
she goes to school. Guys, rent this if you want to lay some chick
and the only way to do it is by trickingher into thinking you're
some sort of softie. You might even like it.
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©2000 by
Randy Shandis Enterprises. All rights fucking reserved.
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This week:
Shadow of the Vampire
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Filthy says:
"One bad mother-
fucker." |
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Coming next week: the filthy fucking readers'
Choices.
I got in a fight last night, but that doesn't really bother
me. What kills me is that I had the shit kicked out of me right
in front of my wife, by Burt. Burt's the old guy who hunches
over the end of the bar at the Arvada Tavern, nursing beers like
they were teen titties. I don't like to fight, which is why I
make fun of Burt. Sure, sometimes I make fun of someone my own
size, but then I run away really fast. Burt's the guy it's safe
to tease because he just sits there and takes the abuse, and
occasionally cries.
Last night, though, the fucker jumped me after I said he gave
my dog Gonnorhea. Jesus Christ, he just started wailing. All
I was doing was trying to impress my wife by acting like the
big man talking tough, and that spunky senior citizen went nuts.
I fell down, my nose started bleeding, I got dizzy. The next
thing I saw was Mrs. Filthy pinning Burt to the pool table and
someone I didn't know kicking me in the nuts.
Me and the Mrs. went for a beer after Shadow of the Vampire.
That's when the old man sucker-punched me. I haven't been beat
up in front of my wife since our honeymoon, and it's embarrassing,
but that's not even the worst part. The worst part is that after
she drove me home, wiped my nose and put me to bed, she decided
I have too much free time. I need a job, she said. I need to
burn off some of my "creative energy" (her quotes)
doing something useful because she's sick of working double shifts
at Hancock Fabric just so I can make fun of old people. Starting
Monday, she's taking away my allowance and I have to start seriously
looking for work. I am more fucked than a Tri-Delt at a kegger.
Burt is a lot like Shadow's vampire: sad and old, seemingly
harmless, but so pent-up with rage and so anti-social that he's
one bad motherfucker. I must say, though, that I enjoyed Shadow
of the Vampire a hell of a lot more than getting clocked.
Shadow is the fictitious story of the making of Nosferatu.
John Malkovich is Murnau, the great German filmmaker denied permission
to make Dracula. He makes it anyway, changing the vampire's name
to Orlock and the location to Czechoslovakia. Because he is so
obsessed with telling the story, he does not hire a German to
play Orlock. Unknown to his crew, he hires a real vampire, hundreds
of years old and decrepit, played by Willem Dafoe. Malkovich
tells the crew Dafoe is a method actor, that's why he's always
in character.
Dafoe is vain, difficult to work with, eager to eat crew members,
and unwilling to do thing's the director's way. Basically, he's
an allegory for Kevin Costner. While he makes a great vampire
in the movie, he is also a pain in the ass. The story is about
how far Malkovich will allow Dafoe to go in order to make the
greatest vampire movie of all time.
Shadow of the Vampire is pretty damn fun for a few
reasons. Mostly, Dafoe is really fucking great. He has a new
take on vampires that's funnier-in a pathetic way-than it is
scary. Plus, what better chance for Malkovich and Dafoe to do
what they do best? That is, act hammier than Easter dinner. This
is good, fatty, salty ham; overacting that is needed, not out
of some desperate attempt for a little gold dildo. Dafoe tops
Malkovich, because he gets to chew not only the scenery but also
other actors.
I liked that Dafoe's vampire isn't the typical Hollywood bullshit:
one-dimensional, bloodthirsty monsters. He's the most rounded
and sympathetic character in the movie. He's too old to catch
people, so he lives off a diet of rats, bats and other small
animals. He's impotent and too ancient to remember when or where
he was born, and he's been starved for human interaction, just
like Burt. In one great scene, he explains why he thinks Bram
Stoker's Dracula is sad: Because Dracula had no servants. Dracula
hadn't spent time with other people in over 400 years. Like Burt,
Dafoe is mercurial, self-loathing and capable of murder. So,
as I have learned, you better tiptoe around him.
Unfortunately, the vampire is just a vehicle for director
Merhige to make statements about art, obsession and sacrifice.
It's too obvious he's making statements, though I'm not exactly
sure what they mean. All I know is the story would have been
more enjoyable without them. Whenever we get pulled away from
Dafoe, the story goes flatter than a Chinese gymnast's chest
(except for one gratuitous scene of an actress with nice tits
writhing in a morphine haze). I don't give a baboon's red ass
about the others because they're not developed enough for us
to care about. Hell, I'd rather see them get eaten. I also wish
Dafoe's bloodlust was more like when I jerk off. He would really
enjoy eating them, but he'd feel lonely and sad afterward.
I wanted some scares, too, or at least some highs and lows,
but the movie is too fucking determined to be highbrow to get
down in the gutter and really make us piss our pants. It's too
intellectual and not visceral enough. The exact opposite, says
Mrs. Filthy, of me. As a result, Shadow never really gives
us enough for a climax (sort of like my lovemaking skill). It's
obvious early on that the point is how Malkovich will sacrifice
anything for the picture, so the ending is about as big a surprise
as a transsexual lover's confession on "Jerry Springer."
The premise and Dafoe are good enough to carry the picture a
long way, but where it could have really built up to something
gothic and creepy, it lays flat as my quadriplegic neighbor.
At the beginning of the movie, we have to endure some pretty
artsy shit. There are a bunch of shots that don't accomplish
anything other than giving film-school cinematographers boners.
That had me plenty fucking worried, but once we get past the
fancy shit, the picture looks great. It's dark and slinky, spending
more time in the shadows than in the light. Silhouettes slide
down walls like a stoned Courtney Love, and there are plenty
of cracks and crevices for Dafoe to sneak out of.
Three fingers for Shadow of the Vampire. One
finger for Burt. It's going to be a while before I can hold
my head up high in the Arvada Tavern. Like at least a week. I
guess I can use that time to sucker someone into giving me a
job. The vacation is over.
Want
to tell Filthy something?
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