The Screengrab : katt williams

Unwatchable Recap: 81-90

Scott Von Doviak — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 19:00:00 GMT

Welcome back to the Unwatchable Halftime Report. We’re getting ready to tackle the 50 worst movies the Internet Movie Database has to offer, but before we get there, let’s take a little breather and survey the wreckage we’ve left in our path. Yesterday we checked out Unwatchables 91-100, so let’s move on up to the next ten.

90. The Bat People. “If The Bat People is notable at all (hint: it’s not), it’s as one of makeup guru Stan Winston’s earliest efforts, though I suspect he’d leave it off his resume if the IMDb didn’t exist. When we finally get a full view of the transformed John, he looks less like a bat than an extra who stole a mask from the set of the Planet of the Apes TV series.”

89. Bloodlust! “The exclamation point means extra thrills! At least, I wish it did.”

88. College Road Trip. “Fathers, it’s not a good idea to sneak into the sorority house where your daughter is staying and hide under her bed. In fact, it’s a good way to get tazed. And young ladies, if your dad hides under your bed, that just means he loves you. But not in a creepy way. Really.”

87. The Sidehackers. “Vince Rommel (gravel-throated biker movie stalwart Ross Hagen, a poor man’s Steve McQueen) is the king of the sidehacking, “a new and exciting sport filled with thrills and spills you’ve never seen before.” And after you’ve watched The Sidehackers, you still haven’t seen them, despite the copious footage on display. Many minutes of sidehacking are presented for our consideration, none of them exciting in any way.”

86. Hobgoblins. “We’ve all heard of doing more with less, but somehow Sloane has managed to do less with less; if he spent any more on Hobgoblins than I spent on lunch today, he didn’t get his money’s worth.”

85. Battlefield Earth. “For a while, we were all so happy for Travolta and his big screen comeback. By the time Battlefield Earth rolled out, there probably wasn’t a person left on the planet who was still happy for him besides his agent.”

84. It’s Pat. “The premise was so thin that the true joke of the sketch quickly became: Can you believe we’re doing this fucking Pat sketch again? So it’s no wonder that the 1994 feature film version became a punch line long before it was given its belated, limited…I hate to even call it a ‘release.’ More of a parole, really.”

83. First Sunday. “The only point of interest is the flamboyant choir director played by Katt Williams, who walks a fine line between mincing gay stereotype and recently arrived space alien.”

82. American Soldiers. “Your old-timey war movies may have been cliché-ridden, but at least you could count on some reliable caricatures like Brooklyn, Country, Mad Dog, Four Eyes, Mama’s Boy and Sarge to help you tell the members of the unit apart. Here you have Sarge, and I think there’s another Sarge, and definitely a medic called Doc and then a bunch of beefy guys with very few acting credits among them. One of the Sarges spends most of the movie in a stretcher, so I was able to keep track of him pretty well.”

81. Soccer Dog: The Movie. “There’s a million family flicks like this – in fact, there’s a whole subgenre of “dogs playing sports” movies like Air Bud and its sequels, and even a Soccer Dog sequel, European Cup. (There’s also the baseball-playing monkey movie Ed, but I have a feeling we’ll be getting to that eventually.)”

91-100

Unwatchable #69: “The Perfect Holiday”

Scott Von Doviak — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 18:00:00 GMT

Our fearless – and quite possibly senseless – movie janitor is watching every movie on the IMDb Bottom 100 list. Join us now for another installment of Unwatchable.

Folks, I’m taking the rest of 2008 off the Bottom 100 beat. I need a break and there’s no time like the holidays, am I right? Your regularly scheduled Unwatchable series will resume in the new year, and there can be no doubt 2009 will be one for the history books as we count down the 57 worst movies of all time. But before I call it a year, we have a bit of catching up to do. As you may dimly recall, I had to skip #69 on the list because it was not yet available for home viewing at the time. That excuse has expired, so it’s time for a very special Christmas edition of Unwatchable: The Perfect Holiday.

For the most part, this is your basic, run-of-the-mill holiday warmedy tailored for African-American audiences. Beautiful, well-to-do Nancy (Gabrielle Union) is raising three kids on her own since divorcing hip-hop star J-Jizzy (Charlie Murphy), and all she wants for Christmas is a man under the tree. OK, not literally under the tree. Really, she’d settle for a compliment from a nice fella with no shady ulterior motives. Her daughter informs a department store Santa of this wish, little realizing that under the snowy white beard is a suitable nice fella, songwriter Benjamin (Morris Chestnut).

For reasons that eluded me, Benjamin passes himself off as an office supply salesman as he first compliments, then woos Nancy, much to the chagrin of eldest son John-John (Malik Hammond), who holds out hope of his parents getting back together. We know there’s not much chance of that happening, as J-Jizzy is a self-absorbed, womanizing jackass who can barely be bothered to cobble together a quickie Christmas album. His producer Delicious (Katt Williams) doesn’t smell a hit single until he accidentally plays a demo tape submitted by Benjamin. The tape contains a treacly holiday ballad that would make Lionel Ritchie weep hundred dollar bills, so J-Jizzy rings up Benjamin and offers him a recording deal. Benjamin is excited until he realizes he’s talking to Nancy’s ex-husband and sitcom-ish complications are about to ensue.

So far so bland, but on the family holiday movie scale, there’s nothing out of the ordinary to justify The Perfect Holiday’s place in the Bottom 100. Except…I haven’t mentioned Queen Latifah and Terrence Howard, have I? Well, they’re in the movie too, although I’m not sure I could tell you why. I guess they’re angels or magical elves or…some sort of shape-shifting Greek chorus, anyway. They keep appearing in different guises – security guards, hot dog vendors and such – and Latifah even introduces a little magical realism into the proceedings late in the game. She’s one of the movie’s producers, so I can’t stop her.

Still, that’s hardly enough to warrant a spot as one of the 100 all-time worst, particularly with an appealing and funny supporting cast (notably Murphy, Williams, and Faizon Love) to distract from the ongoing sappiness. The past couple of years alone have seen far worse Christmas movies, including The Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clause and the deadly Vince Vaughn duo of Fred Claus and Four Christmases. While channel-surfing the other night I came across that atrocity with Ben Affleck and James Gandolfini’s big scary beard. Surely that would have been a very special holiday Unwatchable for us all to enjoy. Ah well, fear not – cinematic sewage galore awaits us in the new year.

Previously on Unwatchable:
58. Ed
59. Don’t Go in the Woods…Alone!
60. Carry On Columbus
61. Yu-Gi-Oh!: The Movie
62. Turbo: A Power Rangers Movie

Unwatchable #83: “First Sunday”

Scott Von Doviak — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 18:30:00 GMT

Our fearless – and quite possibly senseless – movie janitor is watching every movie on the IMDb Bottom 100 list. Join us now for another installment of Unwatchable.

I’m not the world’s biggest fan of writer-director-cottage industry Tyler Perry. I know he’s got a loyal following that will fill theaters every time he serves up his patented mix of sermonizing, self-help platitudes and ham-handed ensemble comedy, and I’m fine with that. It just so happens he makes the sort of movies that are the exact opposite of anything I’d find entertaining. But having said that, I would gladly sit through a triple bill of Diary of a Mad Black Woman, Daddy’s Little Girls and Why Did I Get Married? if it meant I would never have to see First Sunday again.

You know Perry has truly arrived when the cheap imitations of his work start showing up, and that’s what we have here, despite an ad campaign designed to trick the slow-witted into thinking First Sunday is the latest installment in Ice Cube’s Friday series. In a way, that’s not fair to writer-director David E. Talbert, whose work in African-American theater on such plays as The Fabric of a Man and He Say…She Say…But What Does GOD Say? actually predates Perry’s career. But it’s clear that the success of Perry’s movies opened the door for more of these inspirational urban comedies.

Mr. Cube (as the New York Times calls him) and Tracy Morgan play two goofballs from the Baltimore ’hood who can’t seem to hold down a job or stay out of trouble with the law. The first few scenes are so rushed and technically inept that it’s hard to be sure, but it appears that Cube and Morgan get involved in a scam to sell stolen wheelchairs on behalf of some Jamaican gangsters, then get caught and sentenced to 5000 hours of community service. (Even Bubbles from The Wire wouldn’t bother with these jackasses.) This is the last straw for Cube’s baby-momma Omunique (Regina Hall). Unless the Ice Man comes up with $17,000 to finance her beauty shop, she’s moving to Atlanta with their son.

There’s only one obvious solution to this dilemma, which is, of course, to rob a church. Unfortunately, Cube and Morgan undertake this task while a meeting is in progress, and soon find themselves holding pews full of kindly church ladies hostage. At this point, lame slapstick comedy is replaced by preachy tedium as the befuddled pastor (Chi McBride) and his flock go to work on these two miscreants. The only point of interest is the flamboyant choir director played by Katt Williams, who walks a fine line between mincing gay stereotype and recently arrived space alien. Another way to differentiate Talbert’s film from the Friday series: the chances of a Next Sunday would appear remote.

Previously on Unwatchable:
84. It’s Pat
85. Battlefield Earth
86. Hobgoblins
87. The Sidehackers
88. College Road Trip (pending)

Take Five: Days of the Week

Leonard Pierce — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 22:00:00 GMT

Opening wide this Friday is David E. Talbert's First Sunday, which should represent the final nail in a coffin which contains the mouldering remains of Ice Cube's reputation as an American nightmare. Younger Screengrab readers may not realize this, but Cube was once a rapper who so terrified white America that they put him on the cover of national news magazines, where he sneered and scowled his way right into your scaredy-bones. Now he just makes comedies that Steve Martin is too busy to bother with. Anyway, Talbert is being claimed as the new Tyler Perry, which, depending on your inclinations, is either a refreshing change or a dire threat. We were sort of hoping that First Sunday would function as a pseudo-sequel to the Friday films and would, at the very least, treat us to the spectacle of Cube and Katt Williams having to sit through a really long, dull sermon while stoned out of their gourds, which is an experience we've all had at one time or another. Unfortunately, it's no such thing, so here's some other movies you can look forward to after this endless Sunday is over.

STORMY MONDAY (1988)

Back before Mike Figgis hit it big, he directed this quirky little neo-noir thriller. It hasn't proven to be one of his lasting legacies as a filmmaker; for everything it does right, it goofs up in some profound way that nearly sinks it — its plot is pretty thin even by the standards of such potboilers, and two fine lead performances by British actors (Sting and a young Sean Bean) are clumsily countered by two dopey ones by American actors (an ultra-hammy Tommy Lee Jones and Melanie Griffith, clearly letting the clock run down on her fifteen minutes of fame). That said, it's worth watching for two reasons: first, it gives you an important stepping point in the development of Figgis' career, should you be interested in pursuing such a thing; and second, it's crazily gorgeous to look at. It features some nearly perfect cinematography by the estimable Roger Deakins, all rain-slicked streets and cheap neon and hazes of cigarette smoke and shadows that people fall into and never emerge. It's all surface; you'll find no depth here no matter how hard you look. But if surface is all you're looking for, you could do a lot worse than Stormy Monday.

IF IT'S TUESDAY THIS MUST BE BELGIUM (1969)

Movies like this must have seemed like such a good idea in the Sixties. Get an all-star cast, or at least as much of an all-star cast as you can afford. Have them rampage around a picturesque collection of back-lot set pieces mixed with stock footage. Stick Norman Fell in there looking pasty and irritated, then stick an unwieldy, ridiculous title on the thing and watch the money roll in. It's not quite clear exactly when Americans lost their patience for this particular brand of witless comedy, but I think it was right around the time this movie came out, which just so happened to coincide with the time at which it became acceptable to talk about smoking marijuana. Still, it's not entirely without its charm; Suzanne Pleshette makes a vivacious lead, Sandy Baron has some amusing scenes, Murray Hamilton reminds us that he once existed, and you get a fun look at what Hollywood thought of Ian McShane before it discovered how good he was at cussing like a sailor who's just had an anchor drop on his foot. It plays even better if you pretend that it was made in 1959 instead of 1969.

BIG WEDNESDAY (1978)

Highly influenced by The Endless Summer and a rash of other surfing documentaries that had hit the screens in the 1960s, Big Wednesday takes a similar visual approach and a comparable 'surfing as metaphor for nascent mystics communing with nature ' storyline, but wraps it all up in a big mushy box of coming-of-age drama by writer/director John Milius, who had not yet discovered that the one thing he loved even more than surfing was killing communists. Based loosely on his own southern California teenhood, Big Wednesday is actually a pretty accomplished film for what it is, but it really soars on the strength of what today seems like an incredibly goofball cast: shirtless, bronzed, toned young beachcombers portrayed by...future acid casualty Gary Busey, future heroin junkie Jan-Michael Vincent, and future Greatest American Hero William Katt. Patti D'Arbanville wanders through there as well, as does a woefully out-of-place Joe Spinnell as Busey's shrink. All in all, not a bad little movie, but one that's highly improved if you're in a Gary Busey state of mind when you watch it.

THURSDAY AFTERNOON (1984)

Right around the time that MTV was robbing us all of our ability to process visual information that didn't come with cuts every fifteen seconds, avant-garde composer, musician, and filmmaker Brian Eno offered a refreshing, if highly unusual, tonic in the form of Thursday Afternoon. Essentially a series of eight nearly motionless "video paintings", Thursday Afternoon was meant to be viewed in a vertical format; the video packaging actually instructed viewers to upend their television sets. Whether anyone actually did that or not, the video was an interesting exercise in changing the video shorthand that accompanies music on screen. Accompanied by music that is highly suggestive of his 'ambient' period circa Music for Airports, the videos bring us nearly static images (of nature scenes, shifting electronic displays, and fashion model Christine Alicino, also the film's cinematographer), and manage to accomplish visually precisely the effect that Eno was going after musically with that ambient work. It may not be the most compelling thing ever set to video, but it's a lot better conversation-starter than your iTunes Visualizer at a party.

SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER (1977)

So iconic is John Badham's 1977 disco document that it's easy to overlook what a colossal impact it made at the time it was released. John Travolta became such a huge star following its box-office-busting run that his fall from grace seemed inevitable and his comeback seemed incredible; with the benefit of hindsight, one might be forgiven for thinking he was the only person in the movie as none of the other actors went on to even remotely the same level of fame. Badham, likewise, never made a film as good as this, or as successful. Endlessly parodied, riffed on and exploited, it's the kind of movie that even if you've never seen it, you feel like you've seen it. It really went off the rails early on; it's impossible to guess from the final product, but it was actually based on an edgy, almost scholarly piece of cultural studies by the brilliant English polymath Nik Cohn called "Tribal Rituals of the New Saturday Night". Still, a few of its dance scenes, its relentless energy, and Tony Manero's slow, arrogant strut through Brooklyn have lost none of their power, and make it clear why this movie meant to its time and place what it did.