It’s going to be hard to follow-up yesterday’s round-up, in which Dan expressed general disdain for the current allotment of industry news, but I’m going to give it my best shot in today’s “I Don’t Give a Fuck” edition. Be warned, there will be gratuitous profanity.
We’ll start with Russell Crowe, whom I haven’t given a fuck about since The Insider eight years ago now (how I miss those carefree Mystery, Alaska days). Crowe apparently has grown as weary as we have become with watching himself onscreen, so he’s now set to go behind the camera, where he will perform something called “method directing,” in which he will draw upon his own emotions, memories, and experiences to bark orders and generally act like the prick that he is. The movie he’ll be directing is titled Bra Boys and adapted from a documentary that I don’t give a fuck about, which focuses on three Australian brothers who start an underground surfer movement in a suburb of Sydney. I’ll assume that the “Bra,” in the film’s title is not meant to refer to the female clothing barrier with the impenetrable clasp but to the synonym for “bro,” uttered by those don’t give a fuck about proper enunciation. The project will be produced by Brian Grazer and Ron Howard’s Imagine Entertainment, because they are the only two men left in the world who actually give a fuck about Crowe. More power to them.
And in casting news that I don’t give a fuck about, Jet Li has signed on as the villain in The Mummy 3, which might have been otherwise give-a-fuck-worthy, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s the freakin’ Mummy 3, which Rob Cohen (The Fast and the Furious, xXx, Stealth) will direct with all the enthusiasm and eagerness of Nicole Ritchie at a pie-eating contest. Which is to say, he’ll indolently film everything in sight and haphazardly vomit it back onto the screen.
In sequel news that no amount of convincing could possibly persuade me to give a fuck about, Disney is fast-tracking a sequel to Wild Hogs. Let me repeat that to those who are in an impenetrable state of denial: There will be a sequel to Wild Hogs. Indeed, for those who didn’t get their fill of man-boobs the first time around, Tim Allen, John Travolta, and Martin Lawrence are set to experience yet another mid-life crisis. I understand that this time around, they will exchange their Harleys for trophy wives and combine homophobic humor with Viagra jokes for a best-of-both-worlds effect. In other words, they will mock one another’s masculinity while chasing each other around with tiny, tiny erections. Somebody will stub his penis. Hopefully, in Tim Allen’s eye.
I’d tell you about last weekend’s box-office numbers, but frankly, I don’t give a fuck. The one with all the chiseled, grizzly men and multiple phallic symbols kept its position at the top of the box office, raking in another $32 million. The one that nobody cares about with that female actress that no one really likes but insists on seeing her films anyhow put up around $18 million. The one with the ventriloquist dummy and the guy from NKOTB fizzled, pulling down $8 million, while the funny comedian who only appears in unfunny films continued his streak of unfunny flops, eking out a paltry $5.6 million.
There are a slew of new releases this weekend, none of which I can muster up the appropriate energy to give a fuck about. The widest release is TMNT, which has something to do with turtles, sewer systems, and a lack of respect for Renaissance art. Then there is The Last Mimzy, which is about … oh, who the hell knows? Mimzies, I suppose. There is also a movie with the guy who is brothers with that guy in NKOTB, which is called Shooter. I’m guessing that it’s not a Whit Stillman comedy of manners about the urban haute bourgeoisie. Finally, in the one kind of interesting entry (oh, all right: I kind of give a fuck about this one), Don Cheadle and Adam Sandler will star in Reign Over Me, a post-9/11 drama about post-9/11 things of some sort.
Oh, and for the masochist in all of you, here is what must be the absolute worst trailer I’ve ever seen. If you manage to watch the entire two minutes and forty-eight seconds without nodding off, you’re a stronger person than I. I’ve tried twice now, and I can’t get past the minute-and-a-half mark. Honest to God, I think it was filmed with a 1987 camcorder and edited together with two VCRs.
Dustin Rowles is the publisher of Pajiba. He lives with his wife in Ithaca, New York. You may email him, or leave a comment below.
The Daily Trade Round-Up / Dustin Rowles
Film | March 23, 2007 | Comments ()