Look, I get it. Your network basically sucks, you’re looking for a proven hit. John Candy’s gone, Hughes is gone, you think the coast is clear to come in and steal some of that comedy gold. Listen to me you mothereffers: THE COAST IS NOT CLEAR. I REPEAT, YOU ARE NOT CLEAR.
John Candy is our Nationally Adopted Treasure, and John Hughes is ALL OURS. If there was a god, his movie gift to man would be the John Hughes one-two punch of Planes, Trains and Automobiles and Uncle Buck. I don’t want to have to threaten physical violence, but by gum, I have military training and I’m not afraid to lop off someone’s head.
Ahem. *deep breath*
You out there, you may be wondering what all this fuss is about. There I was, having just walked into my disgusting motel residence where I’m doing time until we close on a house next Wednesday. I’m a little bit happy coming off an amazing chile relleno and a shared half pitcher of strong sangria. I sat down and checked out the entertainment headlines for approximately 30 seconds before reaching the one that made my brain screams out all those fucks Steve Martin once spewed at Edie McClurg after trudging across the frozen tundra-ish airport grounds to his rental car parking spot, only to find it empty. And after reading that ABC intends to (again) bastardize Uncle Buck as a series, I wished I was sitting with the head of ABC’s television group so I could say those magic words to her face (which I imagine has a giant mole a la Assistant Principal Hogarth): “Take this quarter, go downtown, and have a rat gnaw that thing off your face! And keep your stinkin’ paws off my Uncle Buck!”
It’s not bad enough that only yesterday, NBC went after Say Anything? At least Cameron Crowe is still around to stand up to them. Oh, is that it, ABC? You think Candy and Hughes are a free-for-all? Well, I am here to tell you, they are not. And if I have to go get Bill Murray, don’t think I won’t. What’s he got to do with it? Well, nothing really — except he was in Stripes with John Candy, and I’m willing to bet that he’ll help me kick some ass — he’s just that kind of guy. (I think).
This message is brought to you by sangria-fueled outrage and a deep, abiding love for giant pancakes and soft-hearted men.