The Million Dollar Jerk

Hi, I’m The Jerk.

You might remember me from that time the League of Outraged Catholic Ladies had me censored for saying …

BALZAC!

Um, no. Look, all I said was K-Lo is kinda …

Fine. I get the gist.

Well, the outraged ladies have won, as Simcha has told me that I’m not allowed to do this movie review without an in-blog editor checking it to make sure I’m not being too offensive. Anyway, here he is, “Dr.” Johnboy Zmirak:

Hehuh, hehuh, You wanna hear about how not voting for Romney is like …. You know … hehuh hehuh hehuh

Actually, I’d hate to. But speaking of onanism, here’s this week’s movie:

You know how you can tell a movie is good? I mean really really good? Well, finding it for sale in the discount bin at the gas station where I buy my beer is a surefire tip this one’s a winner.

hehuh hehuh hehuh, Wanna know where I buy my movies? hehuh hehuh hehuh

No.

This movie has it all:  stupid characters with pointless quirks, a story that starts slow and stays slow, Bono singing Lou Reed songs on the soundtrack, and some rank antisemitism.

You forgot to mention me.

Yup, Mel Gibson stars in this movie as a FBI agent with a secret past. That past? He grew up as a circus freak with either an arm or a Jew growing out of his back. The movie is never really clear about Mel’s deformity, but it is clear in its feelings about the Joooooooos.

Hey, don’t you think Mel Gibson jokes are a little cheap?

Good point Johnny, but you should zip up now.

Hehuh hehuh hehuh.

Lookit, Gibson is a tragedy of booze, crazy, bad decisions, and more crazy. This guy is seriously talented: a leading man who can act, a unique storyteller, and a hell of a director. But you can see, in this pre-“sugar-tits” incident movie, the seeds of his destruction are there …

You said SEED hehuh hehuh hehuh.

ANYWAY, Mel’s character is hired by a Jewish media mogul to find out who killed his son, Israel, a junkie poet living at the Million Dollar Hotel.  Spoiler – Israel is the movie’s real villain who sets off tragedy and quirks by raping the heroine. The mogul explains he and “his people” control the world, so Gibbo had better do a good job and find the killer.

What’s wrong with that?

Ugh. Look, if Jews really ran the media do you think that Simcha would put up with me?

Is it really all Mel’s fault, though? No. It is not. This stink burger was directed by Wim Wenders, the guy who made that movie about angels and crap.

And the lady acrobat who wore a leotard hehuh hehuh hehuh

Yeah. And let’s not forget the writer, one Paul David Hewson, also known as Bono.

Boner?

No, I said Bono.

I’m pretty sure I heard boner.

I bet you did.

The movie’s hero is Tom Tom, played by some guy. Does it really matter?  Really?

I was hoping you’d kinda forget I was in this.

Oh, don’t worry, you were plenty forgettable.

Tom Tom is what you call “movie special needs.” You never really know what his deal is, but he’s got one. I think he has Independent Movie Quirk Syndrome. It was first discovered by Johnny Depp in the 1990s, but scientists have yet to find a cure.

I keep my farts in a bag.

IMQS seems to afflict everyone in this movie, from the guy who thinks he was a Beatle, to the hooker with a heart of gold plating played by  indy movie queen Amanda “Honey Bunny” Plummer, to even Jimmy Smits as a native American painter who paints with tar. Yes. Tar. Jimmy, why?

Hey, you never complained when you saw my ass in NYPD Blue.

Not an argument, Jimmy. Not an argument.

I was always a big Dennis Franz fan myself. Hehuh hehuh hehuh.

Of course this movie features Milla Jovovich as the fragile and broken heroine, because the producers couldn’t afford Winona Ryder.

And because I make my own costumes out of newspaper and spit paste.

She plays crazy/quirky about as well as ….

WAIT! She was in that one movie, with the aliens, and she wore those white band-aid things AND YOU COULD SEE hehuh hehuh hehuh EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE I think I’m getting a new idea about politics!

Damnit John, you’re ruining my review and all the hand towels. I watched this whole dumb movie, and I don’t even get to write the review without your nonsense.

Well, until next time, amigos.

So, wanna hang out later? I promise not to try and squeeze your balls.

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Is this a Cuban I see before me?

Hi,

I’m The Jerk. You might remember me from that time the USCCB named me the second worst fictional Catholic on the internet.

Who’s Number 1?

Fine, fine. I can be the bigger man and accept defeat. I would like to know what tipped the scales.

Dude, it was that hair. It’s creepier than some of the shit we found in Maciel’s sock drawer.

Before I ruin Simcha’s chances at ever being invited to speak at some money-bags event, like The Catholic Ladies for Muslim Fashion Awards, I better get on with the movie.

RED DAWN

 

Remember that time when you were a kid at a family BBQ and your Uncle Terry was going on and on and on and on about the Communists? Remember how he talked about his bunker and canned goods? About the differences between a .357 round and a .45? About how he turned in his Social Security card? How Reagan was really a secret Russian mole?

Get me another Coors, kiddo.

Yeah, this is the movie Uncle Terry would have written if he ever got his typing privileges back. Pure 80’s paranoia is on full display in the story written and directed by Hollywood’s favorite gun-nut, John Milius.

Don’t forget, I’m kind of a fascist too.

Fun fact: John Milius served as the inspiration for Walter in The Big Lebowski. I just said that so you nerds couldnt.

The movie asks the question; What would happen if America was invaded by Cuba? BUT in the movie, the Cubans have real tanks and stuff. In reality, we know the ’55 Chevy’s with inoperable Gatling guns bolted to the hoods that they actually have would never make the trip.

But we really do have good health care.

Why don’t you cram a Cohiba, Commie.

The movie’s answer involves a Patrick Swazye, Charlie Sheen, and everybody’s favorite actor that isn’t Steve Guttenberg, C. Thomas Howell, as a band of teens who become freedom fighters.

The producers felt I was a little too Guttenberg-y for the role.

Once our idyllic small town in Colorado gets invaded by the Cubans, with the Russians not far behind, our teens managed to escape to the mountains where the initially hope to wait out World War III.

What, no broads?

Oh, don’t worry, soon our all male ensemble is rounded out by the alluring beauty of Ally Sheedy and Jennifer Grey. Stop laughing.

I was Baby!

And I’m a Chinese Jet Pilot.

The movie takes an episodic approach , showing the evolution of these crazy mixed up kids into fierce freedom fighters. Since this is sort of a Brat Pack apocalypse movie, they take the name of their high school mascot, Wolverines.

That’s kinda gay.

As  this is the 1980s, the Wolverines take on some pretty obvious similarities of the Mujaheddin in Afghanistan, another group of freedom fighters sticking it to the Communists. I wonder how that war turned out?

“Pretty Obvious” is also the name of my autobiography.

Honorable mention goes to two actors, Powers Booth and Harry Dean Stanton. Powers plays an American fighter pilot shot down who spends some time helping our youngsters. Man, Powers Booth should have had a much better career.

I see myself as the thinking man’s John Saxon.

Harry Dean Stanton plays the father of Swayze and Sheen. Did I forget to mention they are brothers in the movie?

I was real sorry for The Swayze on this one.

Old Harry Dean He gets put into a “re-education camp” by the Commies because he was a gun owner. Dun Dun DUN!

And THAT’S why I don’t use flouride!

See, the Gummint rules about knowing who has a gun is all part of the plot to soften us up for the invasion. Also part of the invasion, illegal aliens! The Cubans sent a vanguard over the boarder disguised as Mexicans. The only thing missing from this movie was a sub-plot about Zionism.

It’s always missing. Know why? THE JEWS!

Until next time, amigos, keep your precious bodily fluids intact.

Oh, next up, we’ll check out how  REAL AMERICAN HERO Ronnie Reagan deals with Commies in Hong Kong.

Who wet my pants?

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The Jerk Reformed

Hi, I’m The Jerk. You might remember me from that time I got your cat pregnant.

MEOW!

If you’re still reading and not simultaneously trying to call the police, Bob Barker, and your local exorcist while throwing holy water on your computer screen, allow me to apologize.

If I have ever offended you for any reason, I am sorry. Did my snarkiness about Opus Dei inflame your righteous heart? I’m sorry. Were my jokes about Rutger Hauer too cruel for your delicate tastes? I’m sorry. Are you a member of the La Leche League? Really, really, really sorry.

Accepted!

(For the unintiated, that’s Dame Judy Drench, the attorney for the La Leche League. It’s … complicated.)

You must be asking yourselves if the ol’ The Jerk finally got sober. No, no sobriety for me, I’m drunk on faith. Real Faith. Real Catholic Faith.

See, my whole life changed recently when I discovered how awesome Catholicism can be when combined with crappy production values and sketchy facts. That’s right, I’m now a Vortechie.

That’s Vortexie!

Nice marmot.

During a recent bender that included cough medicine, Miller Genuine Draft, and lots and lots of cat nip, I stumbled across this guy on Youtube. I know so much more about Real Catholicism now. Like this:

1. Harry Potter wants to sodomize your children.

2. All the bishops are secretly gay. All of them.

3. And the Jews are out to get me.

Talk about the Good News!

I’ve decided to let The Vorinator be my guide going forward, starting with this movie review. I know a lot of you ladies wanted me to review something girly and lame like The Princess Bride, but I now know I don’t have to do anything you say. The only thing I owe you is my masculinity, meaning my ability to get you pregnant. Real Catholic Pregnant! You want wine? Buy your own bottle of Boones!

On to the movie!

THE SHADOW

I know what you’re thinking, it’s all about a guy who people think is no good, but he’s secretly the most awesome super hero ever. WRONG!

It’s all about the Jews.

You tell ‘em!

That’s right, see, the “hero” lives in New York. New York City! Is a billionaire. Runs a secret society that has agents in every area of society. Lives in New York City!

I also run the media. And Arbys.

Yup, this perverse monstrosity of a “movie” is trying to get us to root for this Shadow person. Who is played by Alec Baldwin no less! People used to think of him as the most talented Baldwin brother, when in fact he is simply the most disappointing Baldwin brother.

So, you watched The Cat In The Hat?

In the movie, based on the degenerate “radio” show, The Shadow learns everything about controlling people’s minds in the far east. Do I need to go any further? He’s obviously trying to undermine The Church.

Who wants to hold my hands while we say the Our Father?

SEE!!!

Ugh. It’s bad enough we’re supposed to “root” for this person, but then the amoral movie producers, who probably live in Hollywood(!) thrown in this excuse for a woman as the female lead.

I secretly want to be a priest!

That’s right, Penelope Ann Miller! A woman so vile Our Lady weeps every time she gets a movie “role.” Know why? Take a look at this:

I don’t care about the marital debt.

YOU CALL THOSE BIRTHING HIPS?

Oh, and get this, The “Shadow” is supposed to save Penelope Ann Miller’s father from the villains. Guess who plays him?

Well hello.

That’s right, “Mark” Shea’s favorite actor, Sir Ian McKellen! Who is gay!

There’s more to this plot, I think. To be honest, I spent most of the movie’s runtime in a simmering rage at the affront to the Real Catholic faith it showed in scene after scene after scene. I have to say this: If the Mass were still in Latin, this movie would never have been made.

True Dat.

Since I no longer believe in the corrupt system of letting you people pick the next movie — because that is clearly an idea from the devil — I’m gonna give you three choices for a poll, let you “vote” and then ignore the results and go with whatever I feel like.

We can go with:

The Highlander, starring famous secret Jew Sean Connery.

The Phantom, starring famous secret Jew Billy Zane.

Or

The Expendables, starring famous secret Jew Sylvester Stallone.

“Vote” now.

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Knock Knock. Who’s There? Rutger Hauer.

Hi, I’m The Jerk. You might remember me from that time I was marketing athletic clothing for Catholic women.

Pretty classy, am I right? Big seller in the Steubenville.

At this point, some of you may be wondering where Simcha is, and why she is letting me get away with this, again.

See, for reasons even I don’t quite get, there are times Simcha ditches the blog and allows me to post here. Confidentially, this usually happens around the same time The Moody Blues tour comes around.

Dorks in White Satin

This being county fair season, Simcha is otherwise indisposed for the duration.

During the last foray into the depths of my movie watching despair, Cari  made a request for the next review. I immediately rejected her idea as stoopid. Then, I remembered some of the other movies I’ve reviewed.

OK,  so Cari gets her review.

Ladyhawke

 Before we delve too deeply into this mess, I gotta say, I have no memory of watching this movie.

Don’t get me wrong, I did watch it just a few nights ago. I was mostly sober too. But, it just kinda of slipped away right after watching. Strangley, this is not the first time I’ve watched this very same movie, only to forget it nearly instantly.

If I can reveal a little bit about myself – don’t worry the pants will stay on – I never forget movies, or TV shows for that matter.

Seriously, I can pretty much give you a run down of every episode of F-Troop, or anything starring William Bendix, and don’t get me started on the first season of Murder She Wrote, before that show lost its edge.

The point is, I have a mind for crap entertainment. I never forget this stuff.

Even your old buddy Kolchak?

Especially my old buddy Kolchak. Though, that zombie episode kinda blew.

Aside from the other night, the memory of which gets hazier the more write, and the more beer I drink, I did see Ladyhawke in the theater when it came out. I remember the theater lobby. I remember the popcorn. I remember the lights going down. But the movie?

You remember me, right?

Who?

I'm Rutger. Rutger Hauer.

Umm.

I starred in the Ladyhawke?

Ahhh.

The producers manage to find the Dutch equivalant of NyQuil for the leading man. Honestly, this guy is a lamer veriosn of Christopher Lambert.

Thank you!

We’ll get to you later.

Hey, Dutch people, lookit, we kinda saved you like every time The Nazis invaded you, and you thank us with Rutger Hauer? Next time don’t expect us to come running.

The plot, as I gather, concerns this here Hauzer fellow and his pet bird, Michelle Pfeiffer.

Cheep cheep. Cheep cheep.

Some of you fellas may disagree with me here, but this lady is like the boring version of cardboard. Has she ever been interesting? She’s not even convicncing as a lady cursed to turn into a hawke every day. You wants a convincing bird lady?

BWAAAKAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Anyhoo, so it seems Rubarb and Birdy were in love, but it had to be kept secret from the scheming, control-freak bishop whose sexual perversions led him to use black magic.

Please send all hate mail to thejerksoesnotlikeyou@gmail.com.

No, the bad guy movie bishop is this guy:

He kinda looks like my grandma, before we put her in the home.

Bishop Old Lady here puts a curse on Ruger Howitzer and Birdy Bird Bird so that all day, she’s a hawke, but all night he’s a wolf. This movie easily could have been called Manwolf. Except that’s even stupider than Ladyhawke.

This wacky curse keeps the pair separated, even though they are always together. It’s one of those great unrequited romances that make up so much our our literary culture.

C’mon. Like I’m the only one who sensed this tension?

The unhappy couple was betrayed to the bishop inadvertently by their confessor, who kinda blurted it out when he had too much to drink and was talking to the bishop. Not gonna say anything about confessors I have had. Not. Gonna. Say. Anything.

The filmmakers managed to get the great Leo McKern for the role of the disgraced priest.

Leo gotta eat.

But the whole linchpin for this movie? The one actor whose dynamism pulled it altogether into a rousing entertainment? They next great action star? They didn’t get that guy. Instead, they hired this guy:

Yup. Matthew Broderick. It kinda makes sense to put him in a period picture set in the middle-ish ages, with knights on horses and whatnot, given his – let’s say- proclivities.

Neigh!

It’s not that this is the worst movie ever made. Far from it. It’s just kinda dull, and extraordinarily forgettable. It’s almost as if this was created as an experiment in induced memory loss. I do blame the director, Richard Donner.

I put the "smug" in "Smug A-Hole"

Not to be all judgy, or anything, cause being judgy is bad, but this guy is going to Hell.

Not only did he make Superman boring, not only did he fail to ever make a sequel to The Goonies, but this is the moron who helped make Mel Gibson a major action star.

Here they are to celebrate Mel's next directing effort, A Man Without A Career.

If you want to see a real movie, with a vaugley European leading man, ton of action, a kickass soundtrack, and loads of Sean Connery, I suggest Highlander.

About time, sweetheart.

Speaking of which, Highlander will be the subject of my next review. Assuming Meatloaf still plans to bring his tour out this way, expect that sometime next week.

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The Avignon Bonds

Hi, I’m The Jerk. You might remember me from that recurring dream you keep having about gym class.

Time to climb the rope, laddie.

You need some help. Just sayin’.

But I’d really like the world to remember me for my movie reviews. Or maybe my humanitarian work of gently correcting people in com boxes.  Or perhaps my ability to consume large quantities of alcohol while driving.

In any event, Simcha doesn’t seem to care much about secure passwords (manh8ter) so it’s time for me to do my thing.

With pants on.

But wait, there’s more!

That’s right. There’s two of them!

In 1983, the world was thrown into chaos. Every year, juvenile misogynists looked forward to the latest installment in the James Bond series. The naked lady credits alone were worth the price of admission. But in ’83, we got two of them, both starring legitimate Bonds. Or as legitimate as Roger Moore could ever get. The center would not hold.

In June, we got Octopussy, quite possibly the worst James Bond movie made, aside from Thunderball. In October, Never Say Never Again, a remake of Thunderball, comes out, and it might be the best Bond movie yet. Sorry Lazenby.

Like to know what's under the kilt?

I’d hate to.

Like every great story this one starts with protracted litigation. See, back when Ian Fleming was just a guy trying to work out his hatred of women through fiction, he was approached by some chumpy chump named Kevin McClory Chumpikins III interested in making a big screen version of Bond.

I think McClory either ran a projector at a theater once, or he gave classes in Catholic screen writing, anyway, the two of them wrote a screenplay called, Thunderball. It sucked, and the project never went anywhere. So Fleming, being a gentleman, steals the screenplay and turns it into a Bond novel.

Savor that one for a bit. You steal Thunderball. This is like wrongfully taking credit for the velvet Elvis.

Hunk-a hunk-a burnin' crud.

As T.S. Eliot said, “Good writers borrow, great writers steal, and Ian Fleming eats poo.”

So of course this McClory chump sues when they try to make the Thunderball movie in 1965. And he wins. He got a credit on the screenplay, the novel, and the rights to make his own version 10 years after Thunderball gets released.

Think about that. You fight to claim credit for Thunderball. And you win. Oh glorious day.

That’s how we get to 1983. The year of Two Bonds.

Let’s start with the worst. Octopussy.

You're forgetting "Moonraker," and "The Man With The Golden Gun," and "For Your Eyes Only," and ... crap. All of it! OK? Are you happy?

Granted, Ole Rog’ made many a stinker as James Bond, but Octopussy really stands out as some sort of fever dream of awful. Starting with, Octopussy? Are you effing kidding me? That’s the name of your movie?

It seemed like a good idea at the time, you bastard!

See what I mean. Clown makeup. That’s not even the tip of this crapberg. There is some sort of indecipherable plot involving a stolen nuke, a mad Russian general, Faberge eggs, and Louis Jourdan as a villain.

I too have a mortgage.

Of course, we’re forgetting the exotic Octopussy, a strange, foreign woman of mystery and deadly beauty. On paper. In the movie, they just got Maud Adams.

You mean I have to do a love scene? With Moore?

This movie features Moore at his flabby, loathsome worst. (Floathsome?) Lame action, stupid gadgets, and scantily clad women. So, you know, a James Bond movie.

It ends with some sort of commando operation in which half naked women descend upon Louis Jordan’s castle. (Thank Heaven for Naked Girls?) What does it all mean? I have no idea.

Now for the good one, Never Say Never Again.

Of course, by good, I am still talking about a James Bond movie, so caveat emptor, sucker.

I see you forgot your pants.

This one finds a sorta real life James Bond, a little past his prime, getting shelved by MI6 as obsolete in the modern world.

You know what's not obsolete? My wa ...

OK! That’s enough out of you about that.

I was talking about my pen ...

Yes. Thank you.

Look, this movie actually works, in part, because it is one big middle finger to the whole Bond franchise. They age Bond, and he still comes off tougher than some unnamed, flabby boy.

I don't have time for push ups!

The plot is one of those Bondian stolen nuke specials, but, c’mon! Klaus Maria Brandauer might be the creepiest villain to date.

I totally can kick Jourdan's ass.

Indeed, Klaus. Indeed.

Keep in mind, it is a James Bond movie, so it is silly. There’s a life and death video game match, shooting pens, a pretty good motorcycle chase, and some pretty explicit sex scenes for a PG movie, even a 1983 James Bond movie.

I love short shorts.

Oh, yeah. Kim Basinger is in it. She’s, umm, nice? Seriously, never understood her appeal, but she does give the movie makers a chance to stage a dramatic tango. Keep Dancing!

Like I said, this movie works. I think, aside from the whole grudge match energy it has going for it, this Bond outing greatly benefits from one Irvin Kershner, the director responsible for the only decent Star Wars movie.

Yoda my idea was.

So there you have it. I got through not one, but two movie reviews without writing “penis.” Happy?

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The Jerk Unchained

And now for an occasional feature, The Jerk. He is not Simcha. He has not been here for a while. We would say he is back by popular demand, but that would be a lie. Please be warned, Sean Connery uses some very bad words in this piece.

———————————————————————————–

Hi, I’m The Jerk. You might remember me from that time I ruined Simcha’s chances at a book deal. Lookit, there was a big bowl of mashed potatoes and it seemed like that kind of a party.

But most of you remember me for the hilarious and insightful movie reviews I used to post here. You remember, the ones you read the first couple of lines of, and then promptly unsubscribe from the blog, unfriended Simcha on Facebook, and then called the police to report seeing something disturbing on the Internet. I’m still dealing with that bail, Hallie.

When we last left off, I was obliged to write a review of Zardoz, Sean Connery and John Boorman’s completely stoned collaboration about a future world, and Sean’s penis. Well, unlike the Yentl disaster, I did watch the whole thing. And I did write a detailed and, in my opinion, funny review. But … you see … it was … kinda … well …

Chock-a-block-full-of-cock?

Exactly

When even I think the jokes might be inappropriate, there is a problem. So, much like the true location of Walt Disney’s head (Space Mountain) that review will have to remain a secret.

In it’s place, I submit to you good people this classic:

Harley Davidson and The Marlboro Man

Whoa Nelly.

First: Mickey Rourke. Did I mention Mickey Rourke? Pre-boxing Mickey Rourke? When he still looked like a human and not Bea Arthur without her makeup?

I coulda had 'em all, but the only one I wanted, the only one, Miss Angela Landsbury.

You may not remember, but there was a time when Mickey Rouke was not only a great actor, but a good looking leading man to boot. He was Brando without the weight. He was Jack Nicholson with hair. He was Steve Guttenburg, without being Steve Guttenburg.

I believe I have a coupon for that value meal.

Unfortunately for Mickey, the time when he was a celluloid god also happened to coincide with the period in American history during which cocaine was extremely popular. So, The Pope of Greenwich Village  came out in 1984, and by 1990, the Mickster needs a damn job. Enter, Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man, released in 1991, and set in the crazy future world of 1996, for no particular reason. Seriously, there is nothing in this crazy 1996 that makes you say, “Hey, that’s sure futuristic. How cool.”

What about me? These aren't natural! That's futuristic.

Yikes. Wayne’s World was the highlight. Who knew?

You wanna know what kind of movie you’re getting into? Lets run down the rest of the cast:

Don Johnson, as The Marlboro Man. That’s right, Sonny Crockett. Like David Duchovny, this guy can never be taken seriously in a movie not running on Cinemax After Dark. Not only does he stink of T.V., but, come on, Don Johnson? Doesn’t that sound dirty to you?

I was pretty big for a while.

Let’s not go there, Don.

Daniel Baldwin, as some sort of villain. I think the deal is he wears a super special bullet proof long coat. Though, I am pretty sure they wrote that in to hide his weight. Man, is this guy fat. We’re talking Biggest Loser fat. We’re talking Chris Christie on a bender fat. We’re talking Alec Baldwin on 30 Rock fat. How do you get known as The Fat Baldwin?

Because he loves his family!

Sorry, Alec.

Tom Sizemore as, um, some bad guy. Maybe the head bad guy? I’m pretty sure he was the villain. Yeah, definitely sure he was a bad guy. Definitely. I mean, how could he not be a villian? This guy was snorting coke and beating up hookers with Charlie Sheen back when Charlie Sheen was a washed up movie star. Now Charlie’s a washed up T.V. star, and Tom’s and ex-con!

My manager said you can't keep coming in with those phony coupons Mr. Guttenberg.

And Vanessa Williams as a singer in a night club. She gets really good billing in the credits, and has about a minute and a half of total screen time.

Wasn't I somebody once?

We all were, baby.

Crimeny. All you need is Norman Fell, and you got a very special episode of The Love Boat.

When do we land in Alcapulco?

Can it, Fell.

This movie has all the parts to be a silly, fun action spectacular, but it never comes off. There are a lot of little choices the filmamkers made, such as using the off-brand Baldwin, that leave this a flabby and dull movie. Maybe my standards are too high.

I could blame director Simon Wincher, the man who brought us Free Willy. But he also made The Phantom, and I still dig that movie.

No, you could blame Simon.

Nice tights.

Our story opens with Rourke’s Harley Davisdson riding from Dallas to L.A. on his, um, Harley Davidson, while Bon Jovi’s Wanted: Dead or Alive plays over the credits. And it’s all down hill from there.

Mickey meets up with Don Johnson playing pool with an Indian  (Am I wrong about this name?) He’s called the Marlboro Man cause, he, uh, looks like the Marlboro Man and always have an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

So, the level of writing may not be that high. I think there are some stabs at profundity in the movie. Rourke’s character wanders the back roads looking for a vague kind of God. Johnson’s character is still dealing with his relationship with his now dead father. Hey… and Rourke doesn’t drink, but smoke’s like a fish … and Johnson is trying to quit smoking … Crap. This is an AA movie.

It works if you work it.

But are you worth it?

The boys need something like $2 million to save their favorite blues bar from a greedy bank, run by Sizemore. So, naturally, they decide to rob the bank to come up with the money. And then, get this, instead of cash, the armored car they rob is full of drugs. Some sort of futuristic drug that you put in your eyes. That’s when the bank sends in the Daniel Baldwin-led goons to get the drugs back. Ugh.

If you feel you’ve seen a movie with this kind of plot before, you have, just not staged as lazily as this. The thing that really bugs me is not the canned story lines, but the dropped story lines. We get some references to this new eye drug, and that’s pretty much about it. We get the sense the future is a little on the Mad Max side of things, but except for everybody living like they’re in a bad movie, we don’t see what this future is like.  We know Mickey’s character is pinning for a lost love, but we don’t know if she died, or left for another man, or got just sick of hearing him talk about Step 2.

There are gun fights, a pretty cool stunt of them jumping off that hotel in Vegas and landing the that pool you’ve seen in a bunch of other movies, and an extended sub-plot involving Don Johnson’s love life (a movie called Don Johnson’s Love Life ought to star David Duchovny.)

Of course, then there’s the catch phrase. You remember, the one all the kids were saying in the Summer of ’91? Like Mickey says, to Don, and then Don says to Mickey,  “It’s better to be dead and cool, than alive and uncool.”

How’s that working out for you fellas?

              

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Fear of Hell AND . . .

Hey, remember how I told you last week that, this week, we’d have a giveaway and a musical interlude?  Yeah, I don’t know what I was talking about.  But in lieu of whatever that was, I offer instead:

1.  My post at the Register, about whether fear of Hell is deterrent to bad behavior (quick answer:  no, but it does motivate you to go to confession).

2.  A teaser for this week’s Seven Quick Takes!  Oh, wait, now I have to think of another thing?  Okay — you are now TEASED!  I TEASE thee!  No, but seriously, you will like this one.  I do.  Friday.

3.  Okay, are you ready for this?  Especially you, you nice Jewish Catholic lady from Brooklyn who just subscribed to my blog and wrote me a really sweet note?  I ask you, ARE YOU READY?  Because tomorrow . . .

returns.  For those of you unfamiliar with The Jerk, click on the tag below to read some of his earlier columns.  He’s been on hiatus lately, but his parole officer and his therapist both agree that the more obtrusive of his sociopathic tendencies have been sufficiently masked that he can serve his original purpose on this blog:  namely, to make me look like less of a jerk in comparison.  And oh, he delivers.

UPDATE:  Hmmm, it has come to my attention that if you click on the tag below, all you get is ALL wordpress blogs that mention “jerk.”  That’s no good.  For posts by the REAL The Jerk, scroll down on the ride sidebar to the tag cloud and click on “The Jerk” there — that should do it.  Stupid WordPress.

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The Jerk Returns!!!!!!!

Oh, but first, come see my post at the Register:  ”Not like that!” The spirituality of The Mummy.  The post may be silly, but it’s witness to a miracle:  I was able to figure out how to post videos on a new platform while propitiating the feral kid, who sits behind my back and makes me play the squish game while I write.

But you don’t want to hear about me; you want to hear about .  . . . THE JERK!

To newer readers:  there is this guy.  He’s called “The Jerk.”  Simcha is not The Jerk, and The Jerk is not Simcha.

Every once in a while, The Jerk writes something weird for Simcha — something like, oh, the Beatitudes for Jerks.   And Simcha laughs and laughs and laughs, and gets ready to post it — and then wakes up in the middle of the night saying, “Oh my gosh, I can’t post that.”

On the other hand, it is Simcha’s blog, and  Simcha has already filled out the W-9 form for the Register.  As Mel Gibson said to his bottle of tequila, what’s the worst that could possibly happen?  And so I, Simcha, present . . .

Blessed are the Orthodox, for their Kingdom of God is better than your Kingdom of God.

Blessed are the Eastern Rite catholics, for their priests shall have kick-ass beards.

Blessed are the Angry, for they shall win all internet arguments.

Blessed are the Trads, for they shall fart in Latin.

Blessed are the JOOOOOOOOOOS, for they shall inherit the media.

Blessed are the Buddhists, for they have yet to piss me off today.

Blessed are you when women scorn you, and make intelligent conversation in front of you, and wear pants around you, for yours is your mother’s basement.

Blessed are the the wives of Opus Dei men, for those gals need all the help they can get.

Blessed be the ice maker.

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I am wearing pants.

Hi, I’m the Jerk. I’m allowed to write movie reviews on Simcha’s blog once a week under two conditions. One: I keep the language clean. Two: I have to wear pants when I write. (Somehow, she can tell.)

I know, some of you were made SAD by my review of Yentl. I know some of you thought I should probably go to the beach for a STAYCATION, and maybe cool it for a while. I even know some of you,…thought I should,…stop writing,… altogether,…

And you know, I was gonna ditch the whole thing this week. I wanted to concentrate on my philanthropic work, hand write some letters to loved ones, and organize the agenda for my next Opus Dei meeting. (We’re gonna complain about our wives this time!)

But then I got a letter from one of my fans. Not a letter, really, but a fan fiction comic book he had made of Point Break, this week’s movie. OK, more like a set of obscene drawings of Patrick Swayze and Keanu Reeves with Lori Petty. OK, and maybe he glued pictures of his head on Lori Petty’s body. Hallie, you might want to find a good attorney.

"I do have a JCL and can assist with you annulments! Call Now!"

Point Break

You can pretty much smell 1991 all over this movie.

First you got Swayze in full bore Swayze mode. Scruffy beard, long hair, Zen nonsense. It’s practically a Ben Gazzara cameo away from being Road House. (And yes Dan, there are plenty of boobs in the movie. Now quit it.) But you see, this movie is working on a totally different plane. They give us a complete Swayze – BUT HE’S THE BAD GUY!!!

Mind Blown!

That’s right, he’s the leader of the Ex Presidents, a surfer gang that goes around robbing banks so they can surf year round. Hey, you know, now that I’ve typed that out, it doesn’t seem that stupid after all. Hmm.

But you know what? There’s this totally cool FBI agent who is on to them. Yeah, he’s brash and he plays by his own rules, but he gets the job done. You know who I mean. Agent Pappas as played by Gary Busey.

I got a Cademy Reward at home!

No Gary. That’s your BAFTA award. Jon Voight won that year. Remember?

Nevermind.

So Agent Pappas is out to get Swayze when he is joined by rookie agent Johnny Utah, as played by Canoe Reeves.

That's Keanu.

Geshundheit.

Here is where we hit the Keanu Vortex. How did this guy ever have a career? He makes Tom Cruise look human? He has the charisma of wet cloth. HE HAS BEADY EYES. The existence of Keanu Reeve, Movie Star, is one of those unfathomable mysteries of the universe.

At least Lori Petty’s time as a movie star was short lived. For some reason, she kept getting cast as the spunky, tom boy heroine who fell hard for some meat head like Canoe. Then she made Tank Girl.

I now teach gym.

Good for you.

So Canoe goes undercover and learns the ways of surfing from Swayze. They totally become like soul mates. And they jump out of an airplane. But that was really part of some nefarious plot by Swayze to outsmart Canoe.

Yeah, you can outsmart Canoe by taking him skydiving. You can also outsmart him by telling him if he closes his eyes, he’ll turn invisible.

Here’s the thing: Aside for the terrible, terrible acting, this is a really good movie. It has a classic tension between two leads. Like an old Western. If they weren’t on opposite sides of the law they would be friends.

Check out this clip of the chase scene. The action beats are terrific.

Alright, I totally want that red Lincoln.

If you don’t own Point Break already, you must. Be warned, though, members of the Red Hot Chili Peppers make cameos throughout the picture. There is a lot of bad language, quite a bit of nudity, and even Lori Petty gets nekkid. Yeah.

As some of you may know, my parole officer says this does not count as time off my sentence. Basically, between the halfway home restrictions and the time it takes for me to pan handle enough for a 40, I have a little less free time now that I have to show up for the community service.

What I’m saying is, I’m gonna start writing these in advance. But that means I won’t be able to do a poll for a while. Send your requests to thejerkdoesnotlikeyou@gmail.com

Next week: Sean Connery’s sci-fi adventure Zardoz. It’s directed by John Boorman, who made Excalibur, one of Simcha’s favorite films.

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So, love is not a battlefield?

Hi, I’m The Jerk. You may remember me from such blog posts as; “Surefire Ways to Kill Your Readership,” or “You Can’t Write That, Hallie Lord Might Be Reading!”

Simcha gave me the week off, hoping I would drink myself into a stupor during that time and forget the blog password. Heh, that’s why God made tattoo parlors, friends. Now I’m back, relatively sober, and ready for whatever controversies ensue.

A word about that: Enough with the death threats, Hallie. You don’t scare me. And the voodoo dolls – while stylishly dressed – have no impact on a guy like me. I’m already banned from the Opus Dei swimming pool, I regularly get obscene phone calls from Alice Von Hildebrand, I once fought the entire La Leche League legal team. You’re gonna have to try much, much harder.

La Leche League Attorney, Dame Judy Drench

On to the movie!

The Legend of Billie Jean

I gotta be honest with you folks, this movie is a heck of a lot worse than I remembered it. We’ll dive into that in a second, but the biggest disappointment I had watching this was the music. In my mind, I always heard Pat Benatar’s “Love is a Battlefield” whenever I thought about this movie, or Helen Slater, actually. Umm, let’s not think about why too much, OK?

Great song, right? But that’s NOT the theme song from The Legend of Billie Jean. It’s really “Invincible” by Pat Benatar.

See what I mean? It’s like eating Reese’s Pieces when you thought you were getting M&M’s. Something so close to what you wanted, and yet so sucky at the same time.

"Like wanting to watch 'Tango & Cash' but watching 'Cliffhanger' instead?

Exactly.

The movie concerns the semi-tragic story of Billie Jean, a trailer-dwelling beauty forced into a life of crime because some red necks trashed her younger brother’s scooter. It’s just like The Iliad, except instead of Helen of Troy forcing characters to fight to the death (or fight to the near-maiming in this movie), a Honda scooter is the vehicle of fate. Or, maybe not. I dunno. Look, I thought I had a joke for this.

Billie Jean, played by Helen Slater, and her brother– umm, Bing?– played by Christian Slater (no relation) just want $608 to repair the scooter after said local roughs scratch it and pull the mirror off. Seriously, how much damage can you do to a scooter? And for $608 in 1980′s dollars, couldn’t you buy a whole Ford Fiesta?

Billie Jean goes to the father of one of the youths to get the money back. She totally does not see it coming that this guy is a creep, despite the fact he looks like this:

Hey good lookin'.

The Gulf oil spill was absorbed by his hair.

Predictably, Senor Fancy ‘Stache tries to take advantage of Billie Jean. While our heroine keeps her honor, her numbnuts brother accidentally shoots the villain.

It's like Gilligan joined the NRA.

Billie Jean, her brother–umm, Bick?– and the gang from the trailer park hightail it to the other side of town in a not at all conspicuous station wagon with waves painted on it. These kids never leave the greater Corpus Christi, TX  area, and yet the cops are stumped. If this movie drums nothing else into the viewer’s head, at least it get across the very clear message that Texas law enforcement leaves much to be desired.

Oh, fun fact, one of Billie Jean’s accomplices is played by Yeardley Smith, the voice of Lisa Simpson.

No, no, Bart's the Scientologist.

Fun’s over, back to the movie. Billie Jean and the gang have only one ally in the grown up world, a police detective played by Peter Coyote. This is a guy I really want to like as an actor, but he spent his career making crap like this. Look, I may be the one guy to have seen Exposure, and like I said, I really dig Coyote as an actor, but he is the poster child for wasted talent.

Didn't you like me in "Patch Adams"?

Ugh.

Now that our youths are officially misunderstood fugitives, they decide to break into a house they think is empty. Instead, it is home to Lloyd, the one Jew in Corpus Christi.

Mazel Tov!

Lloyd does the kids a mitzvah and tapes Billie Jean’s statement of righteousness so they can get the word out about how she is just a crazy, mixed up kid on the side of justice. Billie Jean gets ready for the big show by donning a wet suit, parachute pants, and cutting her hair in that way girls do after a bad break up.

She's now going to spend the next three weeks listening to The Cowboy Junkies and smoking Capris.

This tape inspires girls all over Nueces County to cut their hair as a sign of solidarity. I guess this is where the “legend” part of the The Legend of Billie Jean comes from. All the kids spout her slogan, “Fair’s Fair!” too. Maybe the film makers were hoping for one of those big cultural moments being sparked by this movie, with a mass youth movement inspired by Billie Jean and her, uh, legend. You know, like when the kids went crazy with Fanny and Alexander fever.

I want a scooter, but it will make me sad.

It’s at this point some sub plot involving Lloyd’s district attorney father, portrayed by Dean Stockwell, comes into play. Like much of Stockwell’s acting career, it never really goes anywhere, so don’t worry about it.

Hey!

Sorry, Dean. You were great in Quantum Leap.

There is a grand finale on the beach, Christian Slater gets shot, Helen Slater is burned in effigy, and our oily villain gets his comeuppance.

The movie ends with Billie Jean and her brother — Binx! — safely in that magical land of happiness, Vermont. This is where the movie makers really show their ignorance. Vermont is not an escape from a sleazy trailer park. The entire state IS a sleazy trailer park. With snow.

Next week, assuming Simcha hasn’t changed the password, I will review one of three choices. Again, I will leave the poll open through Friday.  Your choices are: Last week’s runner up, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, director George Roy Hill’s ‘classic’ that is just not as good as you think it is; Yentl, director/star Barbara Streisand’s feminist musical that is as bad as you think it is; or The Man Without a Face, director/star/lunatic Mel Gibson’s ode to deformation and learning that is just God awful.

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