The Boys -- The Sherman Brothers' Story

Normally a movie about the guys who wrote the songs for Mary Poppins and Bedknobs and Broomsticks wouldn't pique my interest, but after I heard David Feldman gush about this on his podcast, and after I found out that the director is married to a certain comedienne named Wendy Liebman who just so happens to follow me on Twitter...well, I was SOLD.

Great movie. Great story. Great movie. Good story.

Thirst

I just met this girl who taught English in Korea. Thought I'd give Thirst a whirl.

No Way Home

How come it took me this long to realize that Tim Roth was such a terrific actor? Is it because I never saw Rob Roy?

My Life as a Dog

Most of childhood is stupid and embarrassing, but eventually you realize that it's all pretty funny.

American Grindhouse

I wanted more Joel M. Reed and less Kroger Babb.

Solitary Man

Someone should hurry up and start http://fuckyeahmichaeldouglas.tumblr.com

Reality 86'd

During the summer of 2001, back when I was but a college livin' man at the University of California, Berkeley, I listened to Rollins Band's "Joy Riding With Frank" every single goddamn day. Each and every day from May to September whether I was sitting on BART, cruising to Safeway in my 1986 Mazda, or shutting my eyes trying to fall asleep at two in the morning after I'd finished watching The Late Late Show with Craig Kilborn, I had nothing but thirty-two minutes of hollerin', guitar bloops, and slappy bass fills rattling through my head. My roommate totally (deservedly) made fun of me for it, probably because he knew that it wouldn't be long before I'd come home late one night so jonesing to hear this song I would wind up snapping my headphones in half as I stumbled toward my bed.

This bed, I should point out, wasn't really even a bed at all. It was a twenty-five year old sleeping bag on top of a mattress pad on top of my olive green shag-carpeted bedroom, a bedroom which, I should also point out, wasn't really even a bedroom at all. It was our living room that'd been partitioned into a pretend bedroom by a plywood sheet that was screwed into the ceiling and decorated with charcoal-drawn orchids.

That was pretty much how I lived all through college. I slept on the floor and listened to shitty rock music from 1987.

Life Is Hot in Cracktown

Buddy Giovinazzo has no choice in life but to make movies about dopesick panhandlers who mentor child prostitutes, pre-op trannies who are flat-out gorgeous, and teenage gang-bangers whose hearts ache for their departed sisters with such intensity they pee on rape victims and beat old men half to death just to get through the day.

Sherrybaby

I knew Maggie Gyllenhall was a great actress when I saw that part in Secretary where she dabbed water off her blouse and you could see the shape of her boob.

Vengeance

I don't read reviews anymore so I have no idea how highly folks regard this thing, but I'm confident that if Vengeance had come out in 1973 Tarantino, Eli Roth, and Patton Oswalt would fucking love it.

Doug Stanhope -- No Refunds

Like everyone else I've always enjoyed comedians. I remember lying in bed watching Comic Strip Live on Saturday nights, downloading the audio for Chappelle's Killin' Them Softly off Napster (I didn't actually see the video for another three years), and talking close personal friend Chris Daly into driving me around for an extra forty minutes just so we could listen to the rest of Skanks for the Memories in his car. But over the past two years I've decided that I don't just like stand-up comedy, I love it. It all started in February of 2009 when Matt Timmons told me I should listen to Adam Carolla's new podcast. I'd been listening to Fresh Air and The Sound of Young America for a few years by then, but hearing Carolla's show changed everything. I remember sitting at work hearing Carolla and David Alan Grier bullshit for an hour, Grier telling stories about his parents' divorce and how his psychiatrist father wrote Black Rage, and all of the sudden I realized how much was missing from my life. From then on, all I wanted was to have clever conversations with smart people, reference Billy Jack with 40 year-olds, and have a dad who penned a treatise on Black Power.

I spent the rest of that year listening to every episode Carolla put online. And then when I got tired of that I switched to Marc Maron's WTF and Greg Fitzsimmons. I spent the entire summer listening to Bill Burr's Monday Morning Podcast, and anytime I had two and a half hours to spare and a hankering to hear about DMT and pornography I didn't hesitate to download the latest episode of The Joe Rogan Experience. Comedy has really spoken to me, and it was all because of the podcast medium. Thinking about it made me realize that what I like about stand-up had nothing to do with wanting to laugh and everything to do with the comedians themselves. I liked their miserable and bitter lives, so full of loneliness and 12-Step Meetings. I liked their failings with women and their arguments with...everyone. It all made sense to me, and I could relate to nearly all of it.

So for the past two years this enthusiasm has turned me into a bit of a lunatic myself, drunkenly haranguing friends and family with tales of my own self-loathing and non-romantic non-entanglements, every minute of every one of these debacles I fantasize as training sessions for my own Evening at the Improv. I know it's after last call and we're standing on the corner outside your building, but in my head I look like Rick Shapiro and sound like Bill Burr.

Sinbad -- Nothin' But the Funk

Hey, c'mon. Sinbad's funny.

Sleeping Dogs Lie

I've been a fan of Bobcat Goldthwait since I was a child, and when I say "fan" I mean I saw him on television and he made my dad laugh. The guy also had a funny voice and walked out onstage with his pants around his ankles. It was a three-point frozen rope right into a young boy's heart.

Goodbye Solo

I really liked this movie. I spent a long time sitting on the sofa trying to remember why I wanted to watch it in the first place, and then I finally gave in and looked it up on my phone's IMDB app. Turns out it was written and directed by the guy who made Chop Shop. I liked that movie too.

Entre Nos

Movies in Spanish remind me of when I went to Mexico. That was a great few weeks of my life. I drank a lot of Nescafe and wore a big stupid hat. And then my sunglasses and camera got stolen and I stopped shaving. And to think that I came awfully close to talking myself out of going. Such foolishness!

The Missing Person

Michael Shannon is dark and intimidating, and he worked with Billy Friedkin. He is my new favorite actor.

Wendy and Lucy

I like some sad and miserable shit.

Which Way Home

And to think that at 14 all I wanted was to watch Assault of the Party Nerds on late night USA. Some kids grow up a lot faster than others.

A Midsummer Night's Sex Comedy

Kinda scared this might be movie about wood nymphs and pan flutes 'cause the title makes me think of the box art for that Calista Flockhart Midsummer Night's Dream, but the Woodman came through with a picture that was goddamn charming and poignant as all hell.

Night Shift

I liked Michael Keaton, but I loved Winkler's corduroy blazer.

And Everything Is Going Fine

The hi-def's not worth it, but what a great movie. All hail the ghost of Spalding Gray.

Dog Eat Dog

Shaky, gritty, sweaty. Violent? Sold.

The Human Centipede: First Sequence

If you were part of the Human Centipede, which segment would you be?

I think most of us would want to be the guy in front. But honestly, isn't that the guiltiest of segments? Think about it: you can use both arms, turn your head, and hold a conversation. You can even eat a tasty meal! As far as a Centipede existence could go, life is pretty darn great. But here's where the horror comes in, and it's the most evil type of horror, a psychological pain that you will never escape since all the while you know, you know, that some poor fucker has his mouth sewn into your butthole, and behind him? Another poor fucker whose mouth is sewn into that guy's butthole. So while you have a wealth of creature comforts and get to enjoy the freedom of pretend mobility, you will never ever ever forget that each and every one of your natural instincts contributes to the suffering of at least two other kind-hearted souls. Do you honestly think you could live with that burden? With that guilt on your conscience?

The middle segment, now that's the one conventional wisdom abhors.We wouldn't even have a movie if it wasn't for this segment. But to all of you, I posit this: maybe, just maybe, you're the type of person who likes the status quo. Maybe you routinely accept your position in life. If that sounds like you, then maybe this middle segment ain't so bad. Sure, you may subsist on a diet of raw feces and shit in the mouth of a stranger, but you have the luxury of knowing full well that there is nothing you can do about it! You are bereft of any and all decision-making capabilities. Harboring illusions that you can get yourself out of this and improve your life? Impossible. That's actually kind of comforting, right? It's not like you can waste your time devising an escape plan because you can't even talk! And hell, talk? You can't even make eye contact. Everything in your life from crawling across the front lawn to swallowing a quart of diarrhea is going to happen whether you want it to or not. A life without choice, without all free will. How liberating.

But if it's nobility and honor that you crave, then you have one and only one choice. The final segment. Absorbing twice-filtered poo is, of course, a nauseating way to live out your final days, but doing so will only build you into the ultimate martyr. While you may be on the receiving end of the most miserable of miseries, you absolutely cannot make anyone's life worse. Your sphincter releases now-thrice-filtered poop onto...what? The floor? Big deal. You are like Jesus, you are, dying a slow death so that others may live. Choose the caboose, and you will be live for eternity.

60 Spins Around the Sun

Randy Credico uses crowd work to fight unfair drug policy and sleeps on the floor of a disorganized NY apartment.

Directed by Laura Kightlinger. Tweeted by David Feldman. Enjoyed by stand-up fans with Netflix streaming and an hour to kill.

The New York Ripper

I expected eviscerations and eyeball impalements, but I sure didn't anticipate any big toe frottage, razor blade nipple slicin', or broken bottle lady stabbin'. Not sure about this Fulci character.

Joan Rivers -- A Piece of Work

Joan Rivers is amazing. While it's easy to see her on HSN and forget that she's still a comedic genius, it's even easier to never ever realize that she works like a goddamn maniac. Fifty years in the biz, folks. If she wasn't great, you wouldn't know who she is.

Good Will Hunting

I didn't see Good Will Hunting until it came out on video and it made me feel fucking terrible about myself because Matt Damon was a genius who chose to break rocks with his dipshit friends and I graduated second in my class and chose to live at home and go to community college.

Today when the movie popped up on the Encore and I stuck around so I could laugh at its corny setups and contrived dialogue, but I stuck around too long and pretty soon I started feeling fucking terrible about myself because I spent an evening trying to make fun of a movie I didn't even like when I could have been out doing something with my life.

The King of Comedy

Does this Sandra Bernhard have screeeeeeeeen presence or what? Not only does she hold her own against Bobby D and take that nasty slap from Big Joey Levitch, but she plays Masha with a pitch perfect sense of desperation and bravado that you're can't help but be frightened, annoyed, and increasingly attracted to her all at the same time. It's impressive stuff, man, and it bums me out a little that I didn't manage to hone in on her career any sooner.

Notorious (2009)

I've now seen more hip-hop biopics than I have Hitchcock films.

127 Hours

127 HOURS WAS MAXIMUM SELF OWNAGE. HE DRANK HIS PEE & ALMOST BEAT OFF.

Slumdog Millionaire

Danny Boyle's a real deal auteur motherfucker, son. I'm all in.

The Color of Money

I like these low-key Scorsese flicks because I think we all need to be reminded of how great a filmmaker Marty really is. Now it's not like we ever forget that Goodfellas is the greatest movie ever made every time we watch it on TNT, but, see, that's the thing....it's on, like, every other Saturday. Color of Money, though, ain't never on no Turner network and I have yet to see Loni Love or Paul Scheer talk about it on a VH1 clip show, so when you sit on your couch and fire it up, hell, it's ALL up to you.

Music by Robbie Robertson, script by Richard Price, knock-it-out-of-park cameo by Forest Whitaker, and one seriously tremendous fucking actin' performance by one Paul Motherfucking Newman. Witness the goddamn manliest sonofabitch the world's ever seen. Let's hear it for King Marty. He never let New York, New York get him down.

I Spit on Your Grave (1978)

Finally saw this and only watched it for the Joe Bob Briggs audio commentary 'cause, well, let's be honest here, John Bloom is a bona fide genius. And when I say "genius," I of course mean that Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In single-handedly changed my life.

No, really. My life. Come on, let's check them Highland Cinema/JBB stats:

• 1993 -- walked to junior high on Friday mornings talking about Midnight Tease and Robert Davi.
• 1995 -- emailed JBB from my CompuServe account to get the free copy of The Joe Bob Report newsletter. Afterward, looked up stills of Pamela Anderson from Raw Justice.
• 1996 -- New Year's Resolution to see every movie starring Billy Blanks and/or Dolph Lundgren. Nothing to it.
• 1997 -- Video Picks column in the high school newspaper. Highlights included Attack of the 50 Foot Centerfold/Frankenhooker and Redneck Zombies/Basket Case. Excited when I found Joe Bob's article about Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 in a box of old issues of Rolling Stone.
  
• 1999 -- Drove by a used bookstore in downtown Denver and immediately thought, "I wonder if they have a copy of Joe Bob's Guide to Western Civilization." They did.
  
• 2000-2005 -- College-informed Woody Allen/Michel Foucault hiatus but stayed true to the cause by sandwiching Eaten Alive and The Hills Have Eyes between Chaplin's The Circus and Sayles' Men with Guns. Finally came back around with Cannibal Ferox and Hiroku the Goblin.
  
• 2006 -- Launched The Highland Cinema. Have shamelessly replaced "-g's" with apostrophes ever since.

I Spit on Your Grave is thirty years old and even with all of the overwrought, overblown critical hoopla that the film carries with it, and even with all of the signature Joe Bob analysis and pre-Information Superhighway trivia, this flick is still as uncomfortable and squirm inducing as anything that's come out before or since. Defending it will make you feel like a real jerk, but I think we oughta hand it to Meir Zarchi and Camille Keaton for wholeheartedly committing to a movie that's not about much more than castrating rapists and taking 'em to task with the business end of an outboard motor. I'm not sure I would have "enjoyed" this picture without Joe Bob's voice talking up the camera's feminist gaze, detailing the resumes of every last actor on the screen, or taking apart Siskel and Ebert's oft-mentioned lambasting of the film piece by piece, but I had all of those things and I came away with an even greater appreciation of the finely-crafted Briggs persona and half a mind to send What Have You Done to Solange? to the top of the queue.

Check out Joe Bob as he waxes phi-lo-sophically on H.G. Lewis' Blood Feast. I'm already smilin'.

I Am Comic

I used to hit every metal show that came to town, but at last Saturday's Goatwhore / Watain twofer I spent the entire night agonizing about how best to tweet my desire to make fun of everyone in the venue.

So, yep, guess it's official. I'm done with music. The future belongs to stand-up.

The Hurt Locker

Renner played Dahmer. We're down.

The Cove

Hey, here's something I didn't know: dolphins are FULL of mercury!

Clockers

When I was a sophomore in high school I told everyone that Clockers was better than Braveheart. I'm sure they thought I was nuts, but I think I was ahead of the curve.

After Hours

I have no idea why it took me so long to see this. Absolutely none. Classic.

The Burning Plain

I may be terrified of the sun, but I sure like me some Southwest landscape.

Lucky Louie

I love ya, Louie, but hearing Rick Shapiro on Greg Fitzsimmons' podcast blew my goddamn mind.

Nirvana -- Live at Reading

Dr Pepper --> Cool Ranch --> Boss DS-1

She Hate Me

Total bullshit garbage, but I'm so fucking down with Spike Lee I don't give a fuck. Stay tuned, Miracle at St Anna's on deck!