Brightest Young Things

In which Jason Griffenhagen (of Death by Sexy , sharp dresser, and ingenue) reviews (post-release) whatever movie was number 1 in the box office the previous weekend, and tells everyone why its fucking terrible. or good. By 4th week into summer blockbuster season he is tired, exhasperated and ever so profoundly ADHD as he faces YET another sequel: (illustration by Evan Keeling)

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End

This movie totally made me wet.

When writing this column, I'd have to admit that I usually have some idea of where I'm going with it. I have the points I'd like to get across, a sprinkling of bon mots that I've come up with, usually a paragraph or two* about myself, and, if you're lucky, an actual opinion about the movie I'm supposed to be reviewing. This week I'm stumped. I'm gonna just make it up as I go along and see where it gets me. I suppose its serendipitous that the team of writers that penned the latest Pirates movie seemed to use the same method.

Now, don't get me wrong. I know nobody is going to see Pirates film's for a tightly woven plot, only Johnny Depp's tightly woven dreadlock wig and the spectacle! The giant sets, the elaborate costumes, the Rube Goldberg-esque adventure sequences. Unfortunately, with the third installment, its frankly old hat, and nothing in particular stood out. Where, in the other films, there are truly memorable sequences such as the fight on the giant wooden wheel, the third has no such scenes. There are, however, a lot of occurrences of Jack Sparrow cutting a rope aboard a ship, and inevitably flying into the air landing wherever he wants.

To the film's credit, it certainly didn't feel like its 2 hour 45 minute running time. Which is pretty good for a film as rambling as this one. Like I said before, it certainly feels like the filmmakers were making everything up as they went along. I couldn't even remember what happened in the last one, so I was fairly confused as to what was going on.

Truthfully, I have nothing much to say about this movie. Its basically watching a slightly worse version of the last movie, which itself was a slightly worse version of the first one. This is pretty much what I'm expecting out of every other installment of every movie franchise this summer. Not a lot. The best thing I can say about all these movies is at least that the studios are putting a lot of money into the special effects, and those aren't boring the shit out of me.

Whatever. I've got other things on my mind. Like Knocked Up coming out next weekend. And the fact that Superbad looks superhilarious, too. Everyone needs to go watch the R-Rated trailer for that, and come back and tell me how fucking funny Seth Rogen is. Incidentally, he's one of the (many) celebrities people tell me I look like. Although last weekend someone told me I looked like Val Kilmer when he was in the Doors movie. Which would be pretty nice if that person was a girl. But it was some gay dude. Unfortunately I think I look like Scott from the Disney channel's Imagination Movers and my God, that does chafe the brain so.

It certainly doesn't help that these awful movies have been invading my dreams lately. Last night I had a very intense one in which one of my teachers turned me into a Shrek-like Ogre. I don't even want to ask anyone what that's supposed to mean. After that, I was feeding Keira Knightly a hot dog while we were riding a train that kept going in and out of a tunnel, until a gigantic Harry Potter poured a giant bottle of milk all over us, drowning the train, and sending us off to sea, where the train then ran aground on a tiny circular island.

Then all these tiny little pygmy versions of me ran out of the woods, jumped on top of me and began to shove gummy bears up my nostrils until I suffocated and died. Then an angel that looked like Tobey Macguire flew down from the heavens and saved me. He then brought me to a Liberace concert, where for some reason, I had to impersonate Liberace. I'm not sure what all that means, but it made for some terrifying night sweats.

Maybe I need to drink more rum, like Captain Jack. I don't think the whiskey is working out too well. Plus, it's The Summer of Hot Monkey Sex**, and the proverbial living is sleazy. So use a clean washcloth, eat lots of horny goat weed, and don't forget to pack the pampers, kids.

You never know when the Shithammer Freaks are gonna come after you. You gotta be prepared***.

Next Week: Knocked UP!!! Oh…and remember when I mentioned Dane Cook's serious role? Well, he's finally on deck with Mr. Brooks. Til then…God Help Me, Kiddies…the edge is approaching, and I can feel the crosswinds taking me away.

*or four. But who's counting, really?

**well, the hippies had the Summer of Love. Since I feel like I'm witnessing the fall of Rome, I guess Hot Monkey Sex will hafta do.

***Those last few paragraphs are what we in the business call rambling nonsense. This is what Hollywood Movies are doing to me.