Soylent Groan

Near the end of the movie Soylent Green, Charlton Heston’s character weeps as he accompanies his elderly friend to the suicide center.
The tears are genuine. E G Robinson was dying, and he told Charlton about it before the shoot. Charlton wasn’t acting… the emotion of the impending death of his friend was overwhelming.
Also, the whole “processing the dead into food” thing was genuine, too. The movie was over budget, so the producers cut the catering budget by eating hundreds of extras killed in various accidents on the set.
Accidents. Uh huh. Right.
Charlton laughed, and asked for seconds.

Casting Call

Sally was a great singer, but a lousy actress, and she was ugly as hell.
Denise was a great actress, but her singing was awful, and she wasn’t much to look at.
Tracy looked amazing, but she couldn’t sing or act her way out of a paper bag.
All three showed up to the casting call.
The producer hired Sally to perform on the soundtrack. Then, he hired Denise to work with the stop-motion capture group.
What he did with Tracy, well, let’s just say that she ought to have a pimp instead of an agent.
The movie bombed spectacularly.

The Test Of Time

It’s amusing to watch movies from a few years ago.
As much as I try to enjoy the story and acting, It’s hard not to notice:
Older computers
Older cell phones.
Older cars.
Older hairstyles.
Older brands.
And the so-called special effects before digital effects can be cheesy and corny. Totally unbelievable.
When I watch movies now, I wonder how I’ll view the dated material in them.
Will the cool whiz-bang effects today look like a joke in twenty years? Ten years? Five years?
This is why I only watch hardcore pornography now.
That stuff stands the test of time.

The Cowardly Little Phone

The toaster, radio, lamp, electric blanket, and vacuum left the cabin to seek out their long-lost owner.
The rest of the furniture stayed behind and waited.
Some of the furniture had an excuse not to join the expedition. The television’s tube was too fragile, and the bed was too large to fit out the door.
The telephone had no excuse. It was small, agile, and light.
But after years of constant ringing, it was finally free of the headaches, and it didn’t want that pain ever again.
That’s why it refused to call in the first place.
Silence was golden.

Bill Murray

Groundhog’s Day is a movie where Bill Murray plays a jackass weatherman who gets stuck covering the Punxsutawney Phil shadow ceremony.
He goes through the day over and over until he gets his shit straight and he wins the heart of his producer.
There was talk of a sequel: Valentine’s Day, where he and the producer-chick hook up for the first time, but something goes horribly wrong, so he has to live that day over and over again until he gets it right.
To me, that sounds like a plot for a perfectly good porno movie.

Bambi The Commie

After every school massacre, the liberals blame the NRA and demand gun control.
And I polish up all the weapons in my basement and wait for the government to try to come and get them.
Yeah, I tell people that I use guns to hunt, but who the hell needs to vaporize Bambi with an automatic assault rifle?
Me. Especially if Bambi’s working for the government and trying to take my guns away from me.
Maybe if his mother carried an assault rifle to defend herself, Bambi wouldn’t have ended up an orphan and going around with that stupid bunny.

Kill Bill

I know a couple who was so into Quentin Tarantino movies that they rented a small Texas church for their wedding and hired the actor who played the preacher in Kill Bill to officiate.
They tried to get Samuel L. Jackson to play organ, but he couldn’t actually play, and he didn’t want to work for scale.
The wedding was interrupted by armed actors playing assassins, and the church was awash in death.
Real blood. Real gore.
Someone got the blanks mixed up with real bullets.
The survivors tried to sue Quentin Tarantino, but the judge threw out the case.

My Favorite Things

Sure, Maria sings that bright copper kettles are one of her favorite things, but she’s not the one who has to clean them.
I do. I’m the chef who works for the Von Trapp family.
I hate this job, but I’m a Jew. Captain Von Trapp says that if I don’t want to work for him, then I’m welcome to board the next train for the camps.
So, I stay. And cook. And clean those damn kettles until they’re bright and shiny.
If she and those kids don’t shut the hell up, I’m going to poison the next apple strudel.

Perfect Timing

I stuffed my arm back into its sling, walked out of the physical therapist’s office, and crossed the street to the theater.
Looper had already started, but the box office girl said there were twenty minutes of previews.
I bought a ticket, the doorman tore it in half, and he checked my bag for weapons.
“Just drugs,” I said. “Painkillers.”
There was no way I could carry my large soda and popcorn myself.
“Jeremy,” I said, reading the boy’s nametag. “Got a minute to help me to my seat?”
He carried my drink, I thanked him, and the movie began.

Gremlins

The nurse told me that I can’t eat anything after midnight because I am having surgery early tomorrow.
But the truth is that I am a gremlin.
Feeding a gremlin after midnight turns them into an evil scaly predator that causes havoc and mayhem.
And getting a gremlin wet causes them to pop out warped clones.
I smile, close my eyes, and say “wet or dry, a sponge bath is a sponge bath.”
It’s certainly better than the food, which explains why there aren’t any evil scaly gremlins walking around causing havoc.
Or is it because visiting hours are over?