I've got an absolutely great idea for a new game show. This is my idea, so don't steal it. The show would be called You Bet Your Balls. It would be a standard trivia question type of game show, but with a little twist: the contestant puts his very testicles on the line. Round one would consist of a set number of questions. Each question answered correctly is worth some cash. For each incorrect answer, the contestant has his nuts squeezed in a Christmas style nutcracker. The second round is a little different: the contestant must correctly answer ten questions to move on to the next round. In the allotted time, the host will ask as many questions as necessary. But it isn't just a ticking clock you have to worry about, no sir. At the start of the round, the contestant's balls are placed in the mouth of the nutcracking soldier. When the timer starts, the nutcracker begins gradually squeezing tighter and tighter until: A. The contestant gives ten correct answers B. The contestant's gonads explode You've got to keep your wits about you in this fast paced round! The third and final round is similar to the first in that each incorrect response yields a ...

You know how the young kids these days are always using the Facebooks for their social networking and whatnot? Sure you do. Even people's moms can effortlessly make their way around Facebook now. (If there were no moms, there would be no Farmville.) So you probably also know all about how Facebook wants you to "Like" everything by clicking on a little link, and then once you Like some things it will tell you about some other things you might like to Like, based on other people who Liked the same things that you like. Here's one it gave to me recently. The suggestion for something I might like was "action movies." A little generic, perhaps, but okay, sure, I like some action movies. Now here's the justification it gave for suggesting that to me: Many who like L'Avventura like action movies That's a head scratcher, I have to say. Yes, it's true, I like L'Avventura and I like my fair share of action movies. But, starting with one, it's something of a leap to reach the other. If you're not familiar with L'Avventura, allow me to explain. It's a 1960 film from director Michelangelo Antonioni, and the first in a thematic "trilogy" that includes La ...

Recently I was watching Body Heat, Lawrence Kasdan's 1981 directorial debut. It's a great movie, working both as tribute to the film noir of the 1940s and on its own as a part of that genre. It was Kathleen Turner's first movie, too, and it's probably the most thrilling debut of an actress since Lauren Bacall in To Have and Have Not. The movie is probably most famous for all the steamy sex scenes between Turner and William Hurt. Now, I love this movie. But when I was a child, one of the movies I watched over and over and over again, as children do, was Who Framed Roger Rabbit, which is also an excellent picture. But because it was such an important part of my early life as a viewer, any time Kathleen Turner opens her mouth to speak, I can't help but think: Jessica Rabbit! With that in mind, the sex scenes in Body Heat take on a disturbing tone, don't they? I mean, you kinda can't help but think of Roger Rabbit taking the place of William Hurt during all those passionate encounters, and that's just plain wrong. Roger Rabbit should not be doing that! I was also watching the ...

I just saw the most totally awesome typographical error. It was in a list of various vitamins and health supplements and whatnots, and it read: GINKGO BALBOA  "I don't hate Balboa. I swallow 200 mg of the fool." "Prediction: memory enhancement." (P.S. I know that taking ginkgo biloba doesn't actually do anything. But Ginkgo Balboa definitely would.)

The release of a new James Bond movie used to be a big deal for me. I've been a lifelong fan of the big-screen adventures of everyone's favorite secret agent. Not all the movies have been great, but for most of the run of the series they averaged out to be pretty good, a reliable every-few-years source of enjoyment. Then, in 2002, came Die Another Day, Pierce Brosnan's last outing as 007 and one of the five worst movies I've ever paid money to see in a theater. I was absolutely repulsed by the movie's oppressive badness. The experience of watching that movie was like when you're a little kid and a bully pushes you down and farts on your head, except the bully was thirty feet tall and the fart was in deafening Dolby surround sound and lasted for 133 minutes. Now, I'm usually of the opinion that the reboot of a series of long standing is a pointless and often lazy technique, but when it was announced that the next Bond movie, Casino Royale (2006), was going to be a back-to-basics restart of the Bond franchise, I thought perhaps it was the only thing that could redeem Agent 007. Still, ...

I've just finished watching Anchors Aweigh, the 1945 musical that first paired Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra. I'd never seen the movie in its entirety before. The only part I had seen is the famous sequence where Gene Kelly dances with Jerry the Mouse. I rather suspect this is the only part most people have seen, and they probably couldn't even name the movie it came from. That's too bad, because it's really pretty good. It isn't up there with your big-time classic musicals like My Fair Lady and Singin' in the Rain, though it was nominated for the Best Picture Oscar, but it's a hell of a good time. I personally liked it much better than the more critically lauded (at least nowadays) An American in Paris.  It's got plenty of good songs, a charming though light-and-fluffy story (but that's what we expect in an MGM Technicolor musical, right?), and Gene Kelly's always wonderful dancing. A dance with Kelly and Sinatra, who ably keeps up, to the song "I Begged Her" is my personal favorite. And then there's the dance with Jerry Mouse. Though it's unfair that the rest of the movie seems to have been forgotten, this scene deserves every bit ...

If you've read just about anything I've written on this site, then you know that I tend only to like the mustiest, fustiest of movies and that my opinions on film are more in line with critics than with the popular audience. But this isn't always true. Sometimes I disagree with the critics and the audience. As an example, let's take the 1981 movie Chariots of Fire. It's the true(ish) story of some British runners in the 1924 Olympic Games, it won a slew of awards (including the Oscar for Best Picture), and it's beloved by critics and moviegoers everywhere. Not by me, though. It's not a movie I'm prepared to come right out and say is bad. I think it's probably just as good as people say. But, for whatever reason, I can't get into it at all. I'm not sure exactly why I don't like it, but there are a few possible reasons. Most obviously, the movie's about running. In terms of physicality, my lifestyle is more akin to Jabba the Hutt's than Carl Lewis's, so a celebration of the runner's art isn't exactly up my alley. Yet I don't think this is the reason I don't care for Chariots of Fire; ...

As a dude who watches a lot of movies (not that you'd notice, given that I haven't updated my movie website in thirty thousand years), I naturally have encountered DVDs from a wide range of sources and manufactures. Often, these DVDs fill me with rage. Attention, the makers of laser-encrusted picture wheels! You should be listening! It's not just I who demands the following changes. 1. That shit at the beginning—FBI warnings and such—should always be skippable. DVDs from some studios will let you and those from others won't, but all of them should. Home video is not exactly a cutting edge idea; we've all seen the warning a billion times, we all know what it says. We should be able to skip gaily past it because we fucking know already, leave us alone! It gets even worse when you can't skip all the other legal disclaimers (Paramount, I'm looking at you right now). You know, the message about how "the opinions expressed in the interviews and commentary" yadda yadda yadda. We've seen that so often we all know it just as well as the FBI warning. Throwing it up on the screen in multiple languages, each as unskippable as the last, ...

Yes, boys and girls, it's time once again for me to talk about my relationship with Superman. Sometimes in these little therapy sessions I complain about not being able to watch anything featuring Superman, sometimes I'm defending Superman from assorted detractors, other times I'm realizing that perhaps I shouldn't bother with watching or defending the character. This is another one of the last kind. See, I watched Superman II today and wasn't exactly surprised to find that, though I enjoyed the film in my childhood, it actually pretty much sucks. But I also realized something else as I was watching the movie: This whole secret identity thing is completely stupid. Remember that scene in Superman II where Lois Lane is convinced she's figured out that Clark Kent is actually Superman? She's so sure of herself that she throws herself into the Niagara River, where she'll surely be killed unless Superman intervenes. But rather than risk exposing his secret, Clark Kent nearly lets Lois drown before coming up with a way to clandestinely keep her from spilling over Niagara Falls. And this is the guy that loves Lois, remember? Yet keeping the whole "Clark Kent = Superman" thing a secret is so important it trumps ...

Now, far be it from me to say anything unkind about the 1964 TV special Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. It's a wonderful thing that each of us looks forward to all year long. But the consarn thing always makes me get a trivia question wrong! See, my friends and I frequently play this Trivial Pursuit-style board game where all the questions are about the movies and theme parks and television shows from the Walt Disney Company. We play it a lot, so repeated questions have a tendency to pop up. There's one in particular that I always seem to get. It asks the name of Bambi's girlfriend. And every time I'm asked, my mouth immediately opens and pours forth the word "Clarice." Then, about a second and a half later, I scream "DAMMIT!" This happens every single time. If I'd allow myself a moment to think, I'd undoubtedly come up with the correct answer, which is Faline. But when asked to name a lady deer, my brain immediately fires forth Rudolph's girlfriend Clarice, and all other lady deer are just going to have wait in line. Which is as it should be, really. I like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer a lot more than I like Bambi. That's ...