Things I Can't Un-See

Ever have one of those times when you see something so bizarre and inexplicable, you wish you had a camera to capture the moment? This is one of those times.

Yesterday morning I was walking down Sunset Blvd. to my local coffee house (lack of free internet equals increased focus on the writing). Along the way I passed 3 latino day laborers sitting on a low wall, three painters or dry-wallers taking their first break of the day. They looked fairly typical, wearing the day laborer uniform of ball cap, t-shirt and jeans. Except for what they were holding. Day laborer number one was noshing a Burger King breakfast sandwich. Number two was getting down on some hash browns. Number three? He was staring off into the distance as a red G-string hung from his loose fist in front of him.

What exactly had happened here? Could he not afford a BK breakfast sandwich? Was he dreaming wistfully of his lost love from an all-nude show from the night before? Were they his? He didn’t seem terribly envious of his compatriots’ meals. He wasn’t gazing longingly at it. The g-string was just there, the way one might idly dangle one’s keys. Maybe it’s his. Maybe he was thinking, “If I can just get through today, I can unwind on the pole when I get home.” Maybe it’s his lucky charm. If anyone has a reasonable explanation, please let me know. Probably the most mystifying thing I’ve seen

Publish Post

all month.

The All Time Tops

When I was a kid, the top grossing movies of all time list always captured my interest. I remember when E.T. surpassed Star Wars, and then Return of the Jedi took it back. Or something like that. There was always a new top movie of all time, and it was always one that I liked, so it was fun to watch.

Even later, in the next era, when Jurassic Park took the top spot, I was cool with that. If I was gonna have my childhood fantasy universes implode in upon themselves by the knowledge that no longer did everyone share my version of a perfect movie fantasy world, it might as well be by a movie about dinosaurs. I mean, if you can't have light sabers, then a T Rex in the modern world will have to do.

Then came Titanic. Yeah, I saw it in the theater. It was a first date, too. NOT a good idea. She was funny though, and we both bitched about what a depressing first date activity it was, then went to a bar and sang karaoke to lighten the mood. The story sucked, and the fact that people were crying in the theater at the end actually seems kind of funny now (is that wrong?), but it was kind of cool to see what it might have been like to be on that ship on that day. No one had ever showed that before. But number one of all time????!!! Clearly the world's tastes had shifted. For the worse. Very disheartening. Where was the 1980s optimism? Where was the 1970s sense of fantasy? Did most people really want to see not just tragedies, but tragedies that REALLY HAPPENED? With sappy ass pseudo-Celtic theme music performed by a hateful anorexic witch?

After that I kind of stopped paying attention. I suppose it could be likened to the rest of the baseball playoffs, now that the Cubs are out of it. I was so jaded I didn't really care what movies took over. I'm sure there were a few other huge box office phenoms that I barely noticed.

Thankfully, America (and I guess, the world) came to its senses. We FINALLY had Lord of the Rings, then a couple Spider Man movies to kick off a new era of superhero related blockbusters. No longer would I have to endure obscure rubber-suited crapfests of my childhood heroes (Swamp Thing). I actually can't believe they made two of those. But I digress.

The next era was marked by a tug of war within my heart. Fantasy worlds stayed on top, which was nice for a geek like me. Too bad they were the worlds of Shrek, Pirates of the Crapibbean, Independence Day, and the ultimate heart breakers, the new Star Wars movies. THAT period of time was really like watching the Cubs make the playoffs every year only to get swept. I had such hope. Oh Mr. McDonald, what a fool believes, indeed.

This was followed by a short stint of kickass redemption. And by short I mean two movies: Ironman, who took the heart of the ocean and shoved it in his chest to power up, and The Dark Knight, in which two Titanics are forced to sink each other. Sweet.

I fear for the next swing of the pendulum though. I really do. I mean compare these lists of top films from each era:

Late 70s / Early to mid 80s:

1. Star Wars
2. Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back
3. Return of the Jedi
4. E.T.
5. Raiders of the Lost Ark
6. Jaws
7. Superman
8. Ghostbusters
9. Back to the Future
10.Beverly Hills Cop

Fuck yeah.

The 90s:

1. Titanic
2. Jurassic Park
3. The Phantom Menace
4. Forest Gump
5. Independence Day
6. The Sixth Sense
7. Ghost
8. Terminator 2
9. Toy Story 2
10.Batman Forever

Ok, some good ones in there, but...ok 2 good ones in there, and some real turdburgers. You can see where this is headed.

The Oughts (2000s):

1. The second two Pirates of the Caribbean loot your wallet
2. Charlie and sucking factory
3. Harry Potter discovers he's gay
4. The second two Matrix movies discover they're gay
5. Bruce Almighty
6. Cars/Robots/Other inanimate objects made further inanimate by Disney and Pixar
7. Signs (that M. Night Shyamalan's career has peaked)
8. Superman Returns in the same movie but with worse special effects than the one 30 years ago
9. Evan Almighty
10.The Polar Express to soullessville

What a dark, dark time. And then:

The Late Oughts (2007-08):

1. Ironman
2. The Dark Knight
3. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of Go Fuck Yourself

Alright, two outta three ain't bad. But here is what I predict for the future:

2010-2020:

1. Beverly Hills Chihuahua nips away your taste
2. The Bratz movie
3. Paris Hilton fucks a dog
4. Hanna Cyrus: Sticky Sweet: Books Are For Burning (concert film by Martin Scorsese)
5. Leo and Russell Crowe and Colin Farrel do something tough
6. Disney's FUCK YOU GIVE US YOUR MONEY YOUR STUPID KIDS LOVE OUR SHIT
7. Night at the Museum 4: National Treasure 6
8. National Treasure 7: Night at the Museum 5
9. Harry Potter Almighty
10.Alvin & The Chipmunks (re-release)

I weep for our future. I wonder what's number one right now? What? What do you mean IT'S STILL TITANIC?!?!?!

The 50 Worst Album Covers of All Time - Part II

Here we are, friends. The second and last installment that you've all been waiting for: Numbers 25 - 1.


#25


This one goes out to JT.


#24


Jonah's manager, a marketing wunderkind in his day, knew they'd have a hit on their hands if they could somehow combine cone bras and construction. This debut fared much better than both its follow-ups, "I backfill floozies" and the more honest "I pay for sex."


#23


This record sold surprisingly well, mostly because people thought it was a comedy album. It contains, in fact, 128 funeral dirges.


#22


Nice of these gals to prop themselves up like that, so's not to get in the way of the road. It's the only way in or out of Dreamtown!


#21


Nobody wants this story, Slim. No-body.


#20


Roger doesn't remember it, but this photo shoot took place in just 28 seconds, using only his "got any crack?" face.


#19


With...who?


#18


I can answer that one for ya, Fos: it's "estra." Kudos to the photographer, though, for getting this pre-trampling shot.


#17


New accent? How bout a new sharpie? Seriously, you spent less money on this font work than Foster Edwards (although you did fit all the words in). You could have had wigged elephants, Man!


#16


You're welcome, Mikey. You're welcome.


#15


My vote for #1. Hands down. Too soon?


#14


Sorry, I've seen Skid Row Joe. He does NOT look like that. And he can't sign his name. On account of he's dead.


#13


Hey, fuck you. I like this cover. It has rainbow-punching, a sportscaster, and a monster guy. What more do you want, you pricks? Next you'll be telling me Sesame Street Disco is bad.


#12


You want to know where Kankakee, Illinois is? It's right here, my friend. It's all right here.



#11


Proof that not every Sears portrait should be an album cover. Dad sure looks happy to be here, though.



#10


I don't know, Cody. You still haven't returned the last one you borrowed. Remember, when you came by last week for a cup of retarded?


#9


Ah, who could forget the Scottish Liberace? Certainly not the poor souls it ate.



#8


Nothing about this could really be described as "live."



#7


This is fucking gangster, bitches. You see that crack in his hand? Roger would KILL for some o' that shit.


#6


Organ does not, in this case, refer to the musical instrument.



#5


Dammit! I already blew my organ joke.



#4


This is the kind of happiness that Merrill seeks. The blood red kind.


#3


Before Rush Limbaugh was king of the airwaves, he was king of all the taverns. And of the retarded laugh. And of being a fat sweaty pig. Jesus.


#2


Ron experimented with many methods for navigating his home-built "go-buggy-dune-kart" before finally settling on the simplest: an anthropomorphic female robot with an opening in the back of its head. This created a "look ma, no hands" effect, while the actual steering was done by Ron's penis. What Ron did NOT account for was that his "boner-pilot" system required an erection from the driver, which Ron was unable to maintain. The whole thing ended very badly shortly after this photo was taken.



And finally...

#1


I just....I don't...William Butler Yeats would not possibly have the words.

50 Worst Album Covers of All Time - Part 1

My friend sent me this list from Redeye, a free daily edition of the Chicago Tribune. There, now I've given them credit, which is fine because these are pretty good. However, as they declined to provide any commentary on the photos, I figured I'd add my own. So here we go...


#50
It's as if Meathead's family was in Sears shopping for matching outfits when they realized you could get a portrait done in front of a barn mural! Incidentally, this album came with a bucket of fried chicken, and a tire.


#49

I have so very many questions. Is that Dickie? Does she really have that many arms? And what does an inhibited drum rhythm sound like?


#48
This is an obvious fake. First of all, Russians don't smile. Second, there has never been a balloon in or around Russia, ever. Third, this guy in the front, if he were really Russian, would have eaten that thing instead of wearing it on his head.


#47

Thank God he told us it was him, Orion, reborn! I never would have recognized him behind that mask. I might have known, though, since the original Orion wore more than one color. And a belt. Well played, sir.


#46

Your guess is as good as mine. Let me just tell you that one of them bites the guitar for most of the act.


#45
Apparently, Tucker was plagued by horrible nightmares. Huh? It says trucker? Oh God, that's even worse.


#44


The first thing to understand about your Swede is where to put the apostrophe, and any extra "e's" you might have layin around. The second is where to hide if he's carrying an axe and a sack.


#43


C'mon, this is kind of clever. Especially considering the mule thought of it.


#42


If this were a list of the fifty BEST album covers of all time, this would take number one hands down. Somebody fucked up here.


#41

Incomparable. Talk about "le mot juste." When it takes FIVE masters to present you, and your name is in chrome, you are truly incomparable. Look how close he is to that mirror. Magnifique! That is a mirror, right?


#40


The Julcia clan tried to cash in on the new "love and peace" era that had made their kind of folk music obsolete. They started by offering "lots of it." They even convinced Papa Louie to have his first and last names appear in pink and blue. It wasn't easy. Papa Louie hated coloreds.

The point was moot, however, as the entire family was killed in their sleep by "Little Jackie," who insisted he was NOT "one of the boys."


#39


Sadly, Ken didn't get many requests. But he wouldn't have been able to hear them anyway. Ken was catatonic.


#38

For one brief, shining moment each morning, Rick really was free. Free from his shadow. Free indeed. The goddamn file folder was another story.


#37

You know Les originally wanted to call this space boners or some shit. Fuckin Les. He was like that.


#36

You do not EVER want to know what it takes to make Merrill happy again. Seriously, right now you have about four minutes to get out of the room.


#35

Yep, that's right. He has a "best." I wonder who would win in a death fight between him, Merrill, and...


#34

Tony was like a God. King of all he saw. Looking down on his world. Of insanity.


#33


One member of this "band" has murder in her eyes. Another one has the weapon in her hair. Those McKeithen boys never stood a chance.


#32


I don't see what's so wrong about this.


#31

And grows up to be Leatherface.


#30


A) Nothing is dead here except your eyes, Weela. B) What kind of a name is Weela? Is that supposed to be like Phil McKracken or something? Because I don't get it. C) Your "adult comedy laugh-in" features clowns, monkeys, and straw hats. D) You used the phrase "an hysterical." I sentence you to death before you kill the monkey, too, you fat bitch.


#29


I'm not gonna lie. I want to hear this album.


#28

That's nice. Dress up some poor blind girls in terrible clown outfits and do their hair like it's Halloween, then take their picture and sell it. Why don't you set some cats on fire while you're at it?


#27


C'mon, now. This is at least a little bit clever. It's a play on that Herb Alpert cover, but with old ladies. They have to know that they're....oh dear God you're right, it's disgusting.


#26


Everything that needs to be said is already there. Joyce. Fifty Cents.

Next time: #25 to #1!

Rare Praise: The Dark Knight

WARNING: If you’re one of the six people left in the world that hasn’t seen The Dark Knight yet, there may be spoilers below. If, like me, you’ve already seen it three times, then read on.

I hate hype. Rarely, if ever, does a big summer movie live up to the hype that inescapably accompanies it. The recent Indiana Jones and Star Wars poop-farms come to mind, although as far as I’m concerned, those franchises are still only trilogies. Let’s just pretend those other four “films” never happened, shall we? Oh, sorry; five “films”—someone keeps letting George Lucas make Star Wars movies, only now they’re fully computer-animated instead of being only 95% computer-animated. Don’t you have enough goddamned money yet, George? FUCK!

But I digress. I’m not here to chastise Hollywood for butt-fucking yet another good idea to death. I’m actually here to praise them for somehow managing to churn out what is arguably the best piece of summer entertainment I’ve ever seen. The Dark Knight’s hype was grandiose, yet the movie itself still managed to deliver more than any ad campaign could have ever promised. Try swallowing this: from the same studio that brought you Batman and Robin comes yet another comic book sequel…but with a dark and complex story, featuring stand-out performances by an all-star cast, one of whom posthumously gives us one of the best villains in movie history. Sounds like total bullshit, right? Nay, good readers. It be the gospel.

Now I’m not saying this film is flawless. Even after three viewings, I still can’t figure out why Batman doesn’t just send Gordon to save Dent and rescue his beloved damsel in distress himself (aside from the fact that blowing up your love interest is fucking NAILS, Brothers Nolan!) And I just can’t shake how forced Heath Ledger’s laugh seems to me throughout the film. (In the dead man’s defense, that shit ain’t easy to pull off, and it’s the only chink in an otherwise masterful performance.) AND, in a movie filled with Batmen and Jokers and Eric Roberts of all people, my disbelief only became unsuspended when not one of those ferryboat passengers was able to blow his condemned counterparts straight to hell. (But perhaps that’s more telling of my own lack of faith in mankind than any glaring misstep by the filmmakers.)

Which brings me to the point of this little column, dear readers: the fact that a Batman movie can make me question such things as my faith in mankind is nothing short of extraordinary. The mere notion that an escapist popcorn fantasy could elicit such thought and emotion from even one its viewers is simply astounding. If for no other reason than that, this movie has raised the bar for me. Not just for action movies or comic book movies, but for movies in general. The Dark Knight showed me that movies don’t have to be just 90 minutes worth of mindless, useless drivel aimed at temporarily satiating an increasingly apathetic, idiotic public. Movies can make you feel, they can make you THINK. Hell, they can inspire you to write blogs about how inspired you are to finally be inspired again by this medium that once so inspired you! In short, movies are still everything I hoped they could be.

So I add my voice to the hype for The Dark Knight. But now I’ve probably built it up too much. Maybe you should go see The Clone Wars instead. I hear George Lucas needs the money. Douchebag.

Tales From Dodger Stadium: Ejected

My buddy Ian is the biggest Dodger fan I know. I live right across the street from the
stadium, and we often go to games together. A couple months ago we went to a game, and for
the first time (for me at least), got kicked out.

Most of the time when I go see the Dodgers it's to sit in the nosebleed section. The tickets
are cheap and the view is decent if you can get seats somewhere between 3rd and 1st base (and
you usually can). The only problem with that section is that sometimes it gets rowdy. Now
don't get me wrong, I ain't scurred. I'd just rather not leave the game having actually
joined a gang. I'll do my jumping in on the streets, thank you very much. I should clarify
that if you're wearing Dodger blue you're pretty much in the clear. If you have a Dodgers
tattoo you're even better off. I saw a fan once with the Dodgers script logo tattooed across
his chest diagonally, and the same thing in reverse across his back. These are fans.

A few times, though, I've made the mistake of going to games with my friends, who are pretty
much all Arizona fans. And I made the added mistake of bringing them to a Dodgers/Dbacks
game. My buddies got a little, how shall we say, shit-hammered and started supporting their
team vociferously. We got pelted with limes and garlic fries, but made it out with our hides.

On another occasion, one of my friends was wearing a red U of A shirt that said "Don't tell me to
sit down" on the back. The Dodgers were playing the Angels, so he wasn't wearing the
opposition's gear (he wasn't, in fact, wearing any pro team's gear). None of that mattered to
the four GIANT cholos behind us. They saw red, and that was all they needed to see. It got
so bad I put my Dodger hat on my buddy's head. That didn't help. Things were starting to get
out of control, and I felt we had a legitimate reason to fear for his safety, and by reason of
association, ours. A few seconds later this was confirmed by two security guards who showed
up and told my friend "Sir, we have to move you now. For your own safety." Much easier to do
that then face multiple thugs I guess. They moved him down about 6 rows. Wow, thanks. That
just made the objects hurled at him hit a bit harder. A full beer got dumped on him, and he
took off his red shirt (and not because it was wet). He put on a sweatshirt and tried to make
himself small. Luckily, right at that moment, a girl in an Angels hat stood up, turned around, and gave the double middle finger to everyone behind her. She was joined by a middle aged guy in Angels gear, and the crowd turned its rage on them. After several minutes more, the actual cops showed up and arrested all four thugs.

So on to my own experience of being ejected. Ian and I walked over to the park. We had field
level seats, but way out by the foul pole on the first base side. One thing I've learned is that you can get those seats fairly cheap, and then move to field level seats closer to home plate. You've got your access to the field level, and that's all you need. So many people don't show up or leave early, that you can always watch at least half the game from a pretty excellent vantage point. So about the 6th inning, we moved. Things were going fine until we spotted some open seats further in and in the FRONT ROW. Now THAT'S field level. We mosied on over. About five seats away from our target I noticed that a security guard on the field was watching us. She let us take the seats though. I knew that if we behaved ourselves, we'd be fine. Unfortunately I didn't know that behaving yourself in this part of the ballpark now means not swearing.

Something happened at second base, and Jeff Kent, the Dodgers' second baseman, didn't like it.
He started arguing with the umpire and the Joe Torre came running out. I didn't see the play
because we were too busy taking our fake seats. Anyway, it got heated and resulted in both
Kent and Torre being ejected. So whatever it was, there was probably a legitimate beef there,
right? Ian yelled "aw, that's BULLSHIT!" to the field, and the security guard had what she'd
been waiting for. She immediately came up to the wall and asked to see our tickets. "Alright, alright, we'll go back to our seats. I'm sorry," Ian said. We went about 8 rows up to some other seats we could pretend were ours, not near anyone by about 4 rows, and sat down. Play resumed. Ian soon found another thing to bitch about, or maybe it was the same thing, I don't remember. But he was just being a fan. Anyway, a morbidly obese member of AARP in front of us turned around and told us (Ian) not to swear, because there were "womenfolk" around. "Did you just say womenfolk?" I asked. He neither responded to or looked at me, but proceeded to get up and come up to the row in front of us and walk in until he was right in front of Ian. He started arguing with Ian about being polite, which quickly turned into threats to take Ian out into the parking lot and fight him!

It should be noted here that Ian was handling the situation very well. He didn't stand up, he didn't raise his voice once, and he didn't even swear. Meanwhile, this fat old tub o'lard was calling him every name in the book and spitting when he talked. He wouldn't look at me once, despite my repeated declarations of "Sir, you are spitting on us. Sir. You are spitting on us, sir." I was determined to be the polite one. Finally Ian had had enough, and told the old man that if he really wanted, he'd meet him in the parking lot and slug him. He actually used the word "slug." I was amused by that.

Finally the guy goes and sits down. Way to represent civility and chivalry, asshole. Next,
an entire row of women who, I kid you not, actually had sweaters tied around their necks 80s
yuppie style, proceeded to argue with Ian. He had suggested that all he was doing was being a
fan, and that if they were fans they should have been outraged at the play like he was. The
first one said "Um, excuse me, we have season tickets here. Do you know how much those cost?
We ARE fans." "Oh yeah?" Ian replied. "What division are the Dodgers in?" She had nothing.
"What LEAGUE are they in?" he asked. She snorted and turned around. Could it have been a
"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer" snort? Maybe. But I tend to think she just didn't know.

The next thing we knew, four police officers and 2 security guards were standing over us. I
naively thought they were there to find the big fat old guy who was spitting all over,
threatening violence on people and moving several rows to do it. But no. It was for us. We
were instructed to get up and come with them. For what? I asked. For swearing, came the
reply. Are you serious? Yes, apparently they were. We got up and slowly followed them out,
to a chorus of boos from the crowd. I enjoyed that quite a bit.

When I asked if we were really being kicked out for swearing, I was told that yes, we were,
because it is against the fan conduct policy. When I asked why the old man who swore, spit,
and committed assault on us according to the legal definition wasn't being kicked out, they
said they would "look into it."

The fact is that baseball is now primarily a rich man's game. People are paying hundreds of
dollars for field level seats, and the owner of the team is catering to them. Bars, club boxes with waitstaff, private bathrooms, and all sorts of amenities are being added, and Frank McCourt has plans to do another $500 Million worth of "renovating" to the place. It mostly consists of a mall and restaurants (you still won't be able to take public transportation to the stadium). And these wealthy people don't want a real, gritty, baseball experience. They want to watch it like it's on tv in their beige livingrooms. If they could bring their overpriced couches with them they probably would. It's more about being seen, and the presige that comes with being able to afford expensive season tickets than it is about the team or the game. Never mind what division the Dodgers are in. They are called the Dodgers, right?

Long gone are the days when the iron worker or carpet salesman sat next to the wall street
broker in a cramped Brooklyn shithole on a hot summer day. Now the working class sits in the
bleachers or the upper deck. I despise the violence I see sometimes in the cheap seats, but
the elitism down on the field is just as bad. Contrary to popular belief, baseball is NOT a family affair. It isn't cricket or golf, people. Those guys out there? They take steroids. They chew tobacco. They spit and scratch their balls on tv, and they kick and punch the shit out of each other when they get mad, which because of the steroids, is all the time. They say the F word. They cheat on their wives. They drink, smoke, and eat like pigs. And they don't get kicked out just for swearing.

Crapping on My Childhood: Robocop 3

Forgive me.  I know I'm 15 years late on this.   I don't care.   Allow me to set the stage. 

Back in the late 1980s before I had a driver's license or a car, my best friend and I would ride our bikes up to the movie theater every Friday.   We did not care what we saw as long as it was a) violent, b) ultraviolent, or c) hyperviolent and preferably starred one of the holy trinity of Schwarzenegger, Van Damme, or Seagal.  The list of bad movies I paid to see as a teenager is perhaps only exceeded by the number of bad movies those 3 actors have combined to make in the intervening decades.



So in July 1987 when Paul Verhoeven unleashed Robocop on an unsuspecting American audience, my mind was, as the kids say, BLOWN.  It was a perfect storm of dystopia, hyperviolence, adult content and dark, dark humor.   Peter Weller, who I'm pretty sure is just barely human as it is, was perfect as the titular cyborg police officer.  And Kurtwood Smith may still be my gold standard for screen villains.  Ain't nobody been written yet that can fuck with Clarence Boddiker*.   Outside of Robocop and his fellow officers, the rest of New Detroit was inhabited by horrifically unlikeable and compelling douchebags, whether they were the alpha male bottom-liners from OCP, Clarence's posse of felonious freaks (most notably Paul McCrane as Emil), or the random weirdos that dotted the Blade-Runner-Gone-Wild landscape (a hostage-taking mayor and the absurd "I'd buy that for a dollar!" guy).



I could write several thousand words about how completely awesome the original RoboCop is.  But that's not what I came here to do today.  I came here to heap scorn and vitriol upon the back-alley abortion that is RoboCop 3.   I avoided watching this movie for 15 years because I knew in my heart of hearts that it would kill a little bit of my soul.   From the trailer alone, it had 3 strikes against it: 1) No Peter Weller, 2) Rated PG-13, 3) Robocop could now fucking fly.  If only the reasons I hated this move stopped at those three.   What else could possibly go wrong?   How about Robocop's nemesis in this film being a samurai robot THAT ONLY LOOKS LIKE A ROBOT WHEN YOU DISLOCATE ITS JAW? The rest of the time, it's just a buff Japanese dude wielding a sword.  Geigh.   Despite this, he somehow gives a very well-armored and armed Robocop a run for his money. If there's anything I've learned from movies (particularly Raiders of the Lost Ark), when you bring a knife to a gunfight, it is going to be a very short fight unless your name is Morpheus or Neo.



And then there's this stupid kid running around.   I don't hate kids or kids movies, but this is fucking Robocop.  If there are going to be kids in this movie, they need to either be murderous drug-dealing anklebiters or marauding pillaging Little Leaguers like the were in RoboCop 2.  Not moppet programming geniuses who, I shit you not, make an ED-209 "loyal as a puppy."   If I need to explain what an ED-209 is to you, you are not my audience and I hate you for not being angered by the fact that Robocop STROKED A KID'S FUCKING HAIR WHILE MUTTERING SOME MUMBO-JUMBO ABOUT LOVE.   I would quote the line, but I wasn't paying attention because I was too busy cutting myself.  I get the whole machine-with-feeling routine, but that, simply, is not how Robocop rolls.



Oddly, the one place where this movie scores, its casting, it completely squanders any opportunity to be cool.   Only Rip Torn salvages his dignity, but I'm pretty sure that's because he doesn't have much, and he always plays "Rip Torn."   But seriously, look at the illustrious group of character actors that litter the credits: Bradley Whitford (The West Wing), CCH Pounder (The Shield), Stephen Root (News Radio, Office Space), Daniel Von Bargen (Malcolm in the Middle, Oh Brother Where Art Thou?), and ubiquitous Japanese old guy Mako (every movie that needed a Japanese old guy).  And to a person, they chewed scenery like Red Man at a gun show.



And I blame it all on Fred Dekker.   This is his last listed directing credit and let us all thank Christ for that. It pains me to type that.   Mr. Dekker wrote and directed one of my favorite horror movies, Night of the Creeps.   But he took one of the greatest action heroes in cinema history and turned him into a flying (with visible fucking effects wires, natch) joke.   Oh and did I mention that Robocop doesn't even show up for the first 15 minutes of the movie?  That's not suspense, Mr. Dekker, that's hating on the audience.



So, yeah. RoboCop 3 = ass nastiness.   Because I can't find a clip of the stupid wires when RoboCop flies at the end, here's a lame fight sequence between Robo and robot samurai guy. Keeping in line with the abyss of suck that surrounds this film, it of course ends 2 seconds before the aforementioned visible wire sequence which I wanted you to hate in the first place.



*Geek note: My buddy was working on a show with Kurtwood Smith and they were alone together in a trailer where my buddy was cuing Kurt's action. for the scene. So my buddy starts asking him about good directors and Kurtwood starts talking about Paul Verhoeven and how he gave him so much freedom to run with his character in Robocop and then proceeds to re-enact EVERY COOL SCENE FROM ROBOCOP with commentary on how and why he came up with his lines and actions. Geek fucking heaven.