The Paostian Deal

Passengers
Anne Hathaway, Patrick Wilson, Andre Braugher, Clea DuVall, Dianne Wiest
Director Rodrigo Garcia
Writer Ronnie Christensen


Sadly this plane crashed straight into the "Whaaaat?" category. Not only was it a bit dragging, but disappointingly predictable too. Even when the story spun out of control you could still pinpoint how, when, where and with what dialogues the mess would be resolved. The only mystery that lingered was, "How the hell does Anne do her eye makeup?" My mum Nicole Kidman's version remains more fabulous. But at least the what-really-happened scenes in Passengers was scary enough—for aviophobics, that is. My twin sister Anne was the only lovable thing in the entire 90 minutes. And Patrick's eyes.



The Women
Meg Ryan, Annette Bening, Debra Messing, Eva Mendes, Jada Pinkett Smith, Bette Midler, Candice Bergen
Director and 2008 Screenwriter Diane English
From the play version of Clare Boothe Luce and 1939 screenplay of Anita Loos and Jane Murfin


The admirable point with this strictly estrogen-only flick was that it stuck to its original idea: women and "real beauty." Then again, if I were to use the silver screen as part of a campaign for a bath soap I'd not forget that it's still a movie and a skit-ish presentation of scenes isn't "real beauty" for your ticket's worth. It was almost like staring at a corkboard slaughtered with Post-its of the entire color spectrum. Well at least all the eye bag action in this Women was justified with that effing "real beauty" gig. I guess. That, but NOT how Debra Messing kept channeling Will & Grace the whole time.



Madagascar 2: Escape to Africa
Voice actors Ben Stiller, Chris Rock, Jada Pinkett Smith, David Schwimmer, Sacha Baron Cohen, Bernie Mac, Will i Am, Alec Baldwin, Cedric the Entertainer, Andy Richter
Directors Eric Darnell, Tom McGrath
Writer Ethan Cohen



What was MTRCB thinking, rating this movie General Patronage? Not only did Madagascar 2 escape to Africa, it also zoomed almost past PG-13 with all the adult humor splashed all over. Uh, "the union wants maternity leave"? Animals dating? A lion beating an old woman crazy? "Moto moto means hot hot"? JULIEN?? Thanks to flicks like these we can expect a smarter-ass generation of youth taking over in a decade. FUN!

Quantum of Solace
Daniel Craig, Olga Kurylenko, Judi Dench, Mathieu Amalric
Directed by Marc Forster; Written by Paul Haggis, Neal Purvis and Robert Wade

It was rather swift, but this 007 did manage a grand hour of realistic fist fights, amazing stunts, icky corpses, touching reunions and fabulous tailored wear. Or is that statement simply too much excitement over some tricky bridge to a promising Part 3? Anyhoo, divine hair styling for Daniel and Judi too!

City of Ember
Harry Treadaway, Tim Robbins, Bill Murray, Saoirse Ronan
Directed by Gil Kenan; Screenplay by Caroline Thompson

I'm not really sure what Walden Pictures had in mind putting together a cast whose names you can't pronounce without a degree in tongue twisting—that's "Sir-sha" Ronan for you—only to lead and lose you into a big world of vagueness. When a massive blackout hit the City of Ember into total darkness, it sure felt more preferred not to have the lights come back on.



Nights in Rodanthe
Diane Lane, Richard Gere, Viola Davis
Directed by George Wolfe; Screenplay by Ann Peacock and John Romano

It was actually a hit at "lonely and cheating wives:" Flirting men look sexy no matter their age; women are simply, comical. Plus they appear to regress to their teens at the tiniest interest in extramarital affairs. Acting was very good, but the Gere-Lane tandem didn't really seem right... Story was quite predictable, but it had a nice ending. Though I still wish they snuck in Gavin Rossdale's "Love Remains The Same" somewhere in the cuts.



Max Payne
Mark Wahlberg, Mila Kunis, Nelly Furtado, Olga Kurylenko
Directed by John Moore; Screenplay by Beau Thorne

A production design dollhouse which costumes were grander than the plot itself. And again: Mark Wahlberg was misplaced. He should really stop accepting roles entailing scenes of drama or any other involving strong emotions. That or he enrolls in speech and drama classes.



Eagle Eye
Shia LaBeouf, Michelle Monaghan, Rosario Dawson
Directed by D.J. Caruso; Screenplay by John Glenn, Travis Wright, Hillary Seitz and Dan McDermott

Chase scenes were too polished they were almost synonymous to Lea Salonga's fabulous singing. That and a disappointing ending stained what could have been a nice feather to LaBeouf's kiddy hat. Oh, yes: Shia is still a boy.



Body of Lies
Leonardo DiCaprio, Russell Crowe, Mark Strong
Directed by Ridley Scott; Screenplay by William Monahan

Very admirable how the writers bravely presented in such an expensive manner their pessimism on the world crisis that is war. While it is a non-girl flick, ultimately it also became a showdown on who pulled off the better botox: DiCaprio, or Crowe?



The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor
Jet Li, Brendan Fraser, John Hannah, Michelle Yeoh, Luke Ford, Maria Bello
Directed by Rob Cohen; Written by Alfred Gough and Miles Millar

This is Brendan's signature... everything, I get that (but gawd all his yelling was so... ugh!). But pretty please, we don't need any more boring has-beens: Jim Carrey currently owns that department. Hurray for Jet Li, boo for Maria Bello. Half-yum for Luke Ford.



Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2
Alexis Bledel, America Ferrera, Blake Lively, Amber Tamblyn
Directed by Sanaa Hamri; Screenplay by Elizabeth Chandler

That goddamn pants suffered the Sequel Syndrome almost miserably. Everything felt too fast it looked like the makers only wanted to get the whole Traveling Pants legend done and over with; they kept giving AND fixing ALL dilemma of all four leads and the effort was quite obvious that they seem to had forgotten it was a movie and not an HBO mini-series. (Nor a horror flick: Somebody give Alexis Bledel blood transfusion, quick! Or better yet, suck a few pints from Ugly Betty there already!) Props to America and Amber, but Part 1 is still way lovelier.



Tropic Thunder
Robert Downey Jr., Ben Stiller, Jack Black, Tom Cruise, Brandon Jackson
Directed by Ben Stiller; Screenplay by Ben Stiller, Justin Theroux and Ethan Cohen

This wasn't a movie. This was a long exercise for your decision-making skills: Do I like it, or not? Do I laugh, or not? Do I know research on Scientology, or what? Interesting opening sequence, though.



Igor
Voices led by John Cusack, Molly Shannon, Jennifer Coolidge, Steve Buscemi, Sean Hayes, John Cleese
Directed by Anthony Leondis; Written by Chris McKenna

Animators for film have yet to name the god among themselves, and sadly those behind this one seemed to lag. "What poorly-dubbed telenovela is this?" ran in my head long after I finished my popcorn. Oh well. I guess it's the price for giving up childhood in exchange for coffee and porn: You will never enjoy things simply for their cuteness ever again.

It's been ages since my last trip to the cinemas. So even with "ang pula na ng mga mata mo kulang ka sa tulog" red eyes and feet exhausted from window shopping, I wholeheartedly grabbed the now-elusive opportunity to watch a movie when it waved at me; life is short. I was debating with myself and my empty head which to pick between Big Stan and Death Race. While the ticket lady was comparing the number of available seats for both flicks, I felt a subtly moving force... I was too tired to bother looking for the source of the strange... feeling. Stan had won my shallow being and I was handing out a crisp bill when suddenly:

"Hoy, ano ba? Ano'ng oras pa kayo aalis diyan sa Quezon City? Nandito na kami sa Makati, ang tatagal niyo! (What time do you plan to leave Quezon City? We're already here in Makati, slowpokes!)" My soul was there and then filled with surprising energy, the likes of which I only get from pizza, 13th month pay and James McAvoy.

Annabelle Rama was right beside me.

DEFINE STARSTRUCK. Hello! Not only is she among my favorite TV personality nowadays, but she's also my most super favoritest TV personality nowadays! In a split second my arm halted for a bit and with half-lives of their own my brain overruled me and my mouth blurted, "One ticket for For The First Time, 5:40." Apparently, my idol has that dissecting effect on me; that's how fabulously powerful she is. Anyway I was also planning to see that flick, for patriotism, her presence simply pushed me to do it now.

Pinoy movies since the 90's has always been more about make-up and physical projection than stories and actual acting performances. Especially in this case, with two of the local entertainment industry's dynasty offsprings at play—KC Concepcion and Richard Gutierrez—the default settings is just like that. However, I now, um... bend, corrected: For The First Time—after a looong time in Filipino movies—proved that some "golden children" do ACTUALLY work for and deserve their family's supposed fame. And let me just say now for clarity that we are NOT talking about a Gutierrez. KC has jumpstarted, fastracked and now almost done it: own the Filipino (sucker) showbiz devotee.

The biggest danger now for her—as with other dynasty babies—is to become her predecessor, her mother. First let's describe the movie this way: FTFT is an e-p-i-c divided into two parts, the first half being a series of Bubble Gang skits helmed by the rockstar Candy Pangilinan and the other half bearing Maalaala Mo Kaya's aura via, of course, KC and her support Richard. (What can we say? The stars' mother networks perpetually want IN on EVERYTHING.) FTFT had a fairly acceptable story enough to keep you from regretting that popcorn bucket. Given that, and following the premise opening the fifth paragraph of this post, we can now say the flick had its fate naturally relying on the acting "prowess" of its cast. Which only half of them satisfactorily delivered, but nobody really noticed save for the main course: Sharon Cuneta's firstborn.

Philip Salvador needs to step away from the tensed-face technic patented by Maricel Soriano. Pilar Pilapil should stay just as fabulous. TJ Trinidad needs to confess. Waaay overdue Richard needs to learn acting. And his daddy Eddie to make real films like all veterans should and for beefcakes stop piggybacking on his kids. CANDY PANGILINAN ROCKS. Denise Laurel needs to shut up, and Karla Humphries to stay away from face powder. Gee Ann Abrahan, Beatriz Saw and Bruce Quebral need to disappear, NOW. Bubbles Paraiso needs to redirect herself and her entire life to more useful things away from filmmaking. KC needs to review mommy's entire filmography and learn to AVOID EMULATING SHARON CUNETA.

She gave an applaudable performance in For The First Time. But some Sharon-ness just reeked off the big screen and it was a bit tiring.

But what do I really know. Or care. I saw a movie with my idol and that's fabulously enap.

And that's that. There wasn't even a memorable theme... sound, other than Brendan Fraser screaming like a gorilla. Good lord he's like a Vin Diesel in tutus. He so needs a new trick. It's so old. He's so old.

Move on.

Aimless, absent-minded-ly simple, yet subtly charming: Mamma Mia!, which now also translates to, Holy Cow, Meryl Streep Is A Headbanger. And Pierce Brosnan is one hot lip-synching piece of ass, hot being the operative word—except when he pranced around in the encore in the trademark Abba catsuit. Now that was OFF. On the other hand, the film generally served a good purpose of showing the world how the ever-omnipotent Hollywood actors can also make complete clowns of themselves and still mine gold. And that's a compliment for my granny Meryl: Silly antics, superb acting, lotsa money. Not one shy moment. Amanda Seyfried was also swell, both in the singing and acting-out-a-bimbette categories. I haven't seen the stage version but I'm betting the simplicity of the screenplay aimed to keep the musical's original execution.

Which made the film appear somewhat lost. After Streep's acrobatics in the Mamma Mia and Dancing Queen numbers in the first half, the story began spinning in all directions and the effort to rope it all together in the last 10 minutes was pretty obvious. And again, a little more creativity could have salvaged most of the single-shot performances. It was a musical tribute, and the songs needed to be performed, I know, but it should never be at the expense of the audience's yawns. Glancing back at The Producers: more humor would have been nice too for MM. Luckily in the end the film conveniently used the human emotion trump card and smoothly closed the curtains without leaving the audience—or at least the ladies—scratching their heads, let alone disappointed.

Seyfried played Sophia, a young bride-to-be who wanted to meet her biological father before she ties the knot, and who subsequently invited her mom (Streep)'s exes over, played by Brosnan, Colin Firth and Stellan Skarsgard a day before the wedding in hopes of pinning down the truth—for everyone's sakes. The movie went on versing and discoing among the characters' positions in the plot, ultimately chorusing in an unexpected ending. Julie Walters, Dominic Cooper and Christine Baranski also starred.

SPOILERS, including the flick itself.

Waiting for its DVD release should give everyone ample time to brush up on their mythologies before finally mis-spending on watching Hancock. Well, not really; you just need something sensible to talk about after heating the couch. Meanwhile, Superman fans are advised to spend their money wisely, like seeing everything else but Hancock. It's too trivial to escape the label of stupidity: With all the resources the production had, why of all executions imaginable did they have to emulate the one thing almost everyone in this universe knows? When the hero's music theme finally played it became more boo-worthy than amusing: You're not Clark Kent! If not for the "rules of the gods" twist, the let-us-now call pysstonites (verbal kryptonite, only it infuriates the gods instead of weakening them, it was actually cute) and Charlize Theron's fabulous waistline and eye make-up, the film was simply a poor rip-off. Will Smith was--as usual--tiring. So was the repetitive giveaway cut-scenes when a plot about superheroes are mandated to build mystery, thrill and surprise especially for the first 20 minutes. And what's up with all the asshole action? Either the makers had a fetish or they each have a closet full of wigs. Now I'm missing Ororo Munroe. 4 out of 9.

What My Monster Mom lacked in creativity and--surprise, surprise--originality, it salvaged itself with the fulfillment of its one true promise: Annabelle Rama. That. Woman. Is a natural. Never mind the lousy executions. Never mind the over-stretched EXTRA scenes. Never mind the family affair happening in the flick, although I wonder why they left one child out of the picture that titillated all naturally... gay minds. (Happy states, people.) The flick simply re-enacted the much-publicized and much-much-loved hostility between Rama and daughter Ruffa Gutierrez. Translation: The production only needed additional make-up and more jewels on Rama and they were done. It's actually a good business move, since everyone in the flick invested on their strengths. Ruffa with her twang. Annabelle with her... self. Eugene Domingo with her... self also. And director Jose Javier Reyes with his magic (or casting, except for Bubbles Paraiso who should just absolutely stay in the modeling industry while learning other sentences other than "Are you sure, girl?") in turning everyday, normally-offensive material into something light, hysterical and even part friendly. It was a good evening laugh.

SPOILERS.

WHAT'S HOT: James McAvoy. Move over Tobey Maguire, there's a new hot dork in town. In Narnia 1 James was cute as Mr Tumnus, the perv goat guy. Now he's cuter even with only two legs. Plus he plays with guns now and those lovely blue eyes paired with leather jackets are the best offset for the lack of a six-pack. But now that I think about it, I was so busy staring at his eyes that I forgot to check if he can act or not...

HOT: Wanted's script. While the sufficiently linear presentation had a few twists obvious to neurotic minds further-corrupted-by daily crime news and personal goals to get back at bullies in high school, the story did make up for with littered surprises, subtle humor and nice tracking.
NOT: Morgan Freeman. I think he mistook Wanted for another Almighty installment.

HOT: The positioning of gore. Think of Wanted as a Sesame Street version of Kill Bill: You know exactly when skulls will explode and blood will cover the screen and so you can synch your puke reflexes.
NOT: The gore. You people are sick.

HOT: Amazingly, Angelina. On her first scene I gasp-whispered, My gawd Nicole Richie has an actual movie? A few minutes later, Lara Croft was grinning with a gun with a tablet PC attached to it then I knew I wasn't in Neptune. In this flick Jolie didn't act. She strutted for 2 hours simply to let the world know that she's still in control. Even the fag who kept whining about why he hates aisle seats was wowed. And no wonder she went anorexic: Plus-plus-size women can't play sandwich with trucks and tunnel roofs. CG tricks or no.
NOT: Me missing a step at a 7-11 branch and almost pulling a Miriam Quiambao in front of bystanders. I think I was emulating Fox's chin-up walk and forgot I wasn't yet an expert stair strutter...

HOT: The red carpet-vibe at Shangri-la's Cineplex. In cinemas like this you don't go to the movies to watch films. You wait until everybody gets in, then PARADE yourself to the middle row just before the lights go off. Not bad for a minute of celebrity-hood, on a weekly basis.
NOT: Sitting next to a latecomer colegiala who moronically knows nothing except the words, "Euww raaats, grosssssss!"

HOT: The Calayans' new billboard along EDSA-Guadalupe. It's a quarter pounder yum-burger with lotsa cream cheeeeez.
NOT: A gazillion Koreans jogging along EDSA at 1AM. I'm not kidding with gazillion. A surprise "EDSA Quatro" can be an adventure for the virginal but the thought of it wasn't exactly thrilling especially when I'd already been sweating in my spare top because of the tropics. A revolution of fair-skin people IN WHITE jogging uniform is a whole other story.

HOT: Payday.
NOT: 17 days before the next.

HOT: Morgan Freeman saying, "Oh, crap".
NOT: Yeah, the gore. Huge sickleS through an old lady's chest? Sick, sick, sick!

HOT: The Loom. "Destiny chose you". "It's in your blood". "Control your fate or let it control you..."
NOT: Yeah keep encouraging closet serial killers and junior maniacs, you idiots.


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BTW this is a tribute to the "film" a torrent of which I'm saving for a fatally blank Sunday afternoon: Hottie and the Nottie. I had planned to give it a shot but on my way to the cinemas I was distracted by tummies doing somersaults at the Philippine Belly Dance Festival and so yeah Paris Hilton--correction: Pares Hilton, according to a tongue-wag in an MRT line--is still a runner-up in the Actual Talent department. Pares Hilton. The line was so stagnant I thought somebody had begun selling "rice value meals" to resist insanity.

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Speaking of dorks: Shia LaBeouf leads an action flick? Wow. The male Anne Hathaway.

This is the problem with making a name in TV first: You end up turning the cinema into an insanely oversized boobtube and annoying the rest of the animal kingdom. And this is the problem with making a face in TV first: Your fans will notice even the micro-est of drops of botox. Or, in this case, the lack of it: Made Of Honor. For balance in the cosmos I understand the need for a "guy version" of My Best Friend's Wedding and the need to mock Cloverfield with an as-crazy-slash-stupid cinematography in a mushfest; but how Patrick Dempsey still plans to continue deluding himself that he's a movie actor is now beyond me. Watch the flick if you want to hear Oasis in a sunny Scotland slideshow.

I haven’t had a decent sleep since yesterday morning. And it’s all because of my stupidity, a child-traumatized man and The Happening.

The film was good. So good that it forced me to pretend to be asleep all night. Why and how I let myself be fooled into watching again something very disturbing—after my icky point-of-trauma in the 2004 remake of Dawn of the Dead—is beyond me. I should’ve known better than to expect wonderful things from free premiere tickets.

When bizarre suicides began happening in a Philadelphia park one cloudy day, America suspected terrorists had unleashed shitty airborne virus to drive humans to want cover pictures on tabloids and Ripley’s Yearbook in unthinkable ways: car keys to the eyes, strap-less bungee jumping, Lawn-mow Me Over, My Temple Needs A Bullet Now and Time To Feed My Arms To The Lions. Yet science instructor Elliot Moore (Mark Wahlberg), despite his perfectly systematic methodical thinking, soon realized there’s no solving it and even running away from this unfathomable happening isn’t gonna save anybody. Was it the trees? Was it the hot dogs? Was it the old couple who love hot dogs? Or was it that thing on her head trying hard to pass as her hair? So bothered Elliot’s wife Alma (Zooey Deschanel)’s—and everybody’s—head while ransacking a model house-&-lot unit. The clock ticked, a widow with anger management issues slapped cookie lover Jess (Ashlyn Sanchez)’s little hand, yet everyone in and everyone watching the silver screen was left clueless of the shit until the last cloud rolled in the closing credits. Shivering!

What wasn’t thrilling, however, was Mark’s performance. He knew he was acting, but the moviegoers needed not to. All his moves were almost that predictable, when he’s no longer shooting undies ads for Calvin Klein. Zooey deserved more claps, even including the minute scenes where she looked like Shannen Doherty whose effectively pretentious acting I miss.

SPOILER. Now of all the things, why did Shyamalan have to use trees and wind? Why turn something so-everywhere into something so scary? People have it hard already with global warming and all—now they have to worry about backyard grass having genius IQs too? Then again I would have walked out of the theater had he used huge rats with bloody fangs and red contacts…

And how come dogs never get infected with these mind-messing viruses, when they too piss on plants? More importantly, why did they have to use the granny-distorted old doll tandem?? It’s always so creepy. And girly. Old-girly!

Yet, on the other hand, M. Night could very well be offering just another explanation on suicides, notwithstanding how silent or gory victims commit the already-disturbing act. Hello, it kinda like happens everyday. Break-ups? Bankruptcy? WAISTLINES OVER 36? Duh.

The Happening is an enjoyably absorbing film, if you’re into that whole Armageddon-paranoia thing. Plus it has a better ending than Signs. It was quick, strangely to-the-point and leaves one helluva pair of eye bags to match that impossibly fast heart rate. Except if you’re me.

I grew so paranoid I wanted to sleep over at the driver friend’s house. Then I remembered his girlfriend was in the passenger seat. So I had to resort to my second best diversion: flirting with the neighbor.

His name is Ariel. He’s taller than I, dark and lean. Blah, blah, blah. Last words before moving on with the night? “It’s happening.”

Regardless, the Sex and the City Movie deserves a fuckin’ A, if at least for letting the still-craving fans hear once again Carrie’s jokes, Miranda’s convictions, Charlotte’s hopes, Samantha’s moans and the now-classic SATC music theme. Not to mention, basking again in the trademark portrayals of Sarah Jessica Parker, Cynthia Nixon, Kim Cattrall and Kristin Davis as New Yorkers—women—happily wrestling life and love. It’s like coming home from a surprise lunch with your boss and his museum-lover wife. Ah-ma-a-a-a-zing wedding and New Year’s Eve scenes! More than any forecasted blockbuster ratings, the movie adaptation is one nostalgic, fabulously grand gift for loyalists of the phenomenal HBO series that ended four years ago.

Which was, a bit unfortunately, scarily obvious in the reels. Not too idiotic not to ask, but can people really age that much in four years? The girls are forever lovable, but if not for the Speed Racer-ly taste in set design—hi there, theeeese are colors—and mouth-watering pocket-humbling clothes, one could mistake it for "Desperate Grannies The Movie".

Oh did I say mouth-watering clothes? I meant mouth-watering pocket-humbling, extravagantly beautiful, delectably gorgeous, I-am-so-inspired-please-throw-Hannah-Montana-to-a-wall shit definitive of what Sex and the City is all about: fashion, love life, and sex. Even the “ladies” Stanford Blatch (Willie Garson) and Anthony Marantino (Mario Cantone) looked expensively cute in the wedding scenes. So the fashion was there, and the sex in MTRCB’s undersea-volcano vaults. Re-read about the idiocy. That leaves us with SATC’s ulti-meat: the fab four’s lives as stuck-in-relationships women.

For straight men, alien geeks, chastity belt champions and other non-SATC followers, the movie was just another 2 free hours. The cult members, on the other hand, are the toughest crowd to please. For one thing, they’re used to the faster-paced nature of the TV version, hence the prolonged and lengthened—redundant for emphasis—progress of the movie's story. The core conflict in the plot, Carrie and Big (Chris Noth)’s wedding, was already presented in the first 30 minutes. What happened in the next 90 was just a series of lengthy in-betweens for nothing else but delaying the apparent movie ending. It's SATC's style to cut in on Carrie's dilemmas with the other three leads' character quests, yet apparently you can only stretch things so much in the silver screen. Maybe the writers thought the flick will run for only 20 minutes? SATC historians don't mind indulging in such longevity, but the straight men, alien geeks, chastity belt champions and other non-SATC devotees surely found it, I’m sorry, boring. The writers could’ve given Stanny more exposure than Carrie’s new assistant Louise (Jennifer Hudson) who didn’t really beef up the story aside from her big eyes and bigger boobs. More pink humor could’ve salvaged the film’s dull moments. BUT STILL:

A fuckin’ A to Michal Patrick King. And a fuckin’ AAA to the girls.

Now fuckin' nuke MTRCB.

It makes funny sense, Across the Universe’s title. And even dumb moviegoers like moi would recognize it. After T.V. Carpio sang her lovely lesbo version of I Want To Hold Your Hand, the movie does exactly that: send you across the universe. My mind was lounging with my cousins in Saturn when a sad, old, gay critique ramped down the aisle and announced, “Catastrophic!”, while Evan Rachel Wood was being dragged down the stairs by cops. Very lonely indeed, that fag. It’s a good thing Jim Sturgess was hot as his character Jude and Joe Anderson was cute as Max. At least half the popcorn was worth that huge music video of a Beatles medley masked as a movie.

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Another example of how McDonald's fools us all: No medium-size Coke. Either you let five drops satisfy you with its small glass and 57 pieces of tube ice, or you dream of diabetes with the large glass. I believe that life can be sorted out fast by choosing only between two extremes but when I’m offered imitation iced tea in “just the right” size, more than mocking my beliefs, it’s So Annoying.

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It’s been over seven months since I was transferred to another department in the office. But it feels so slow and it's like I’ve been moved to a thousand teams simultaneously. Multiplicity at its best—I’m practically the company whore who’s called every time a need arises. So I tried to take action:

“How do I apply for a raise?” I asked somebody in the HR department.

“I dunno. You can apply for that?”

“I think so, yeah, ‘coz I heard that you can by… Wait you should know this stuff!”

Me = Sucker.

1. The only way to understand a boss is through the cake he eats during a staff meeting. If he orders it all for himself, then the company is in good hands, for he doesn't need to suck up because the Advertising is doing a good job and his bank account is in the fag of health. If he distributes plates, then you know you won't be having a great weekend for the next 3 months.
2. As always, the only way to end a meeting on-a-loop is to say yes to everything.
3. An effective way to scare muggers away is to look like a hoodlum yourself. Just frown and think miserable thoughts, like the Malacañang.
4. The only way to enjoy Meet The Spartans is to not take it seriously. Seriously.
5. But if you plan to take it seriously, use a torrent.
6. If I will take the film seriously, I shall never look at pizza the same way ever again. Eww.
7. Step Up 2: The Streets has some fantastic street beats--but NOT the gangster boom-boom ones. The opening scene was fun. And that final dance under the rain was funtastic. One other way it's ahead its predecessor it that it has a better plot ending: Stay away from me you out-of-school youth freaks, I'm makin' out with a hot white boy now! Fab.
8. When latecomers barge in on the opening credits, looking for a 20-seat row in a regular theater for everyone to witness, take a deep breath, make sure you're heard within a mile-radius, and ask, "Are we in a coliseum?" Trust me, it works
9. One way to bring hilarious confusion back into your life is to hear a tricycle driver ask you, "Sa'n tayo, 'te? Ay--'pre? (Where to, miss? Err--sir?)" But if you get THIS in a bar, well, then...
   

First, a delayed sweety-peek:



Then, a full-blast trailer-cum-spoiler:



Every day should be May 30!

At the house, in the utensils bucket, there hides a stranger fork. The case has about 36 pieces of identical spoons, forks and teaspoons for daily use, with the knives in a separate case, and among those 36 kitchenware lurks the fork. What's weird and crazy about that piece of steel is that i always pick it up. Always. ALWAYS. All. Ways. Know how you breathe air unless you're a corpse or a zombie or Bob Marley? That's it. Always. Could be my fault, because I and my siblings have been provided another separate glass with four sets of utensils for our exclusive use and I seldom oblige. Because I don't have enough time to be hungry and play Columbus with my spoon. So maybe that Stranger Fork is trying to tell me that I should do what I'm told especially when it comes to things to put in my mouth? At first, like three years ago at first, I get surprised each time, even amused; yet today, more than convincing, it's become extremely annoying. Then Steve Carell tells us in Dan In Real Life: "Plan to be surprised." Fine, but expect me to keep frowning.

NOT about the film and funnyman Steve. While it has a few minutes of near-dullness because of minimal tracks (Halfway through I thought I heard a snake hiss a few steps away in the left aisle, or maybe that's just because there were only 10 of us watching.), the film is still worth second, third, sixth viewings if only for its tug at emotions concerning sibling revelry, second teenage and human irony. But when there was a track, the scenes got even lovelier. I just hope teenagers and everybody else doesn't think much on "Love is not a feeling. It's an ability." because, well, it's just too tedious. And of course, Steve's antics--soo glad Jim Carrey's away. I'd love to see Carell "dance" like that while "blabbering" the way he killed me with laughter in Bruce Almighty. We can all watch it with President Arroyo for good times. I missed Emily Blunt. And Juliette Binoche made me want to check up on Julia Roberts who is currently owning New York.

Then I moved to a screening of My Big Love. All I know is that Sam Milby seemed more comfortable under all those prosthetics. Made me reminisce on my younger years when I was torn momentarily between choco and vanilla. Much as I'd wanted to conjure my inner
patriot and find points to appreciate in the movie, I was stopped by too much make-up. Way too much. If movies are moving pictures, then My Big Love is a series of moving print ads. But since I was blinking at a widescreen, it was a series of moving billboards. Get a new long-haired Barbie doll, take out its head, then place it on a week-old emptied bottle of Redhorse. That's how almost everybody in the film looked. I even thought it was a film on lesbianism since everybody looked so... made up, especially when the prosthetic-less Sam was on-scene. But that's just me and my oily face. For that they should've changed its title to "My Big Powder". Or "My Big Foundation". Or "My Big Blow-Dried Hair". Cute music theme, though. Oh and let me know when rumors of Kristine Hermosa finally retiring start spreading. Some applause might be in order.

There's a good reason why Spiderwick's supposedly-satisfying filling is so light it sends you afloat because of nearly-boredom: To save you from a series of downer events that would have pounded and pounded on the skull and probably left you underground for the rest of eternity.

Like putting up with a brother that thinks 8:45 is 9:00. When he has no gas left and the gas station he loves is three blocks directly opposite the road to the cinemas. When he still has a girlfriend to fetch from inside a wormhole of a subdivision. When he tells you a cousin is joining the bunch but he is still some 40 minutes away and the opening credits are already running...

Like being held up by a scene where a crazed man points a gun at another pathetic loser on the last crossroad to the mall which was only less than a kilometer away. So much for keeping cool on a weekend--because your car is stuck right in front of the ruckus and you're petrified because you might miss all the movie trailers and a bullet could hit your forehead any moment. It's true, the mental block you experience when confronted with such instances. The nearest similar shit I remember was when another crazed man--covered in blood, presumably beaten by civilians for a crime--ran amok with a knife in his hand in an ER of a hospital where I was helplessly wasting an afternoon because a classmate was too stupid to hug a sparking live wire in a Science fair. That was high school, and I so much as forgot to run when I was right by the door and the bloody hound even strode to my left on his way out. I was thinking of how to fry the classmate should we survive the fuss at those moments, but last night my and our nosy, noisy anger management-challenged neighbors' lives were in a fast flashback in my peripheral vision while staring at that black gun (and that moronic police person who did nothing as he watched the scene on the sides himself).

Like circling a seemingly peninsula-ic mall because the brother drops you off on the wrong side of the continent and you have to run like a rabbit to reach the freaking ATM then the ticket booth before they both close. I swear, it was like Amazing Race meets Survivor meets 911. Not. Fun.

Like going to the wrong venue because your friend forgets to tell you they were in the new branch 35 subdivisions away and it's midnight and the car has already sped off because the girlfriend needs to be home by 1.

Like enduring a jock itch episode of a bunch of menopausal hags suffering extreme cases of Me Attitude, who mistakes your laughter as an insult when it was entirely not, which eventually became about them and their dire need to get laid by Meralco posts.

Spiderwick promises a colorful fantasy adventure (well, at least to the kids), but halfway to the flick you begin to believe that if this is the best expansion the screenwriters could come up with, then you can scrap the book series off your To Buys. (Then you cry: Aren't there any mermaids? Ghosts? Gnomes? Where are the dwarves? Baby dragons? The effing unicorns???) Good acting from the protagonist family, but I liked the smartass pacifist Simon-honest angry Jared (twin?) tandem best. Cuuute goblins. Icky and noisy on the side, but still extremely cute. See? Trying to be scary but firmly stays in La La Land. Spiderwick only almost had the same impact of the most imaginative diary of a teenage drama queen, thank goodness, otherwise--also remembering the unfriendly personnel of Alabang Festival Mall who should all quit now rather than pester everyone with their constant need to go home--I'd be in a coma right now. I want my three goblins.

As we all tend to neglect the basics of Survival In The Suburbs, it can be beneficial to occasionally eat your own words. I devoured mine last night and went to the movies... alone. Again... and surprisingly, it couldn't be nicer. In fact, I enjoyed it so much I even successfully contained my ballistic urges when the dumb colegiala I accidentally sat near to yelled "Euww! Gross!" on a gory "scene", a mobile phone on exponential volume from the middle aisle woke the whales in the South Pole and a crapbag to the far left kept theorizing on the ending like she was challenging a PUJ's honk. I saw two: Juno... and My Best Friend's Girlfriend.

The first one's a laugh. Literally. Ellen Page brings weirdo-hood to a whole new shining level--most probably better than running through walls and dancing with Iceman. She's so effectively funny you'd think she's the support role critics would love the most. But she is the fabulous lead in the unpretentious flick and we hafta hand it to her. And the combo of wit and music is even nicer, what with the rest of the characters with distinct personas also completing the notable movie experience. If sarcasm is optional, then Juno has a lot of options. Smart, honest, and charmingly real, the film can be a new Code for Casualness, the trait we best get back to before we fill Armageddon's glass past its brim. Life hurls "happening shit" at you and Juno tells you'd be better off handling it like a sane, thinking person than tire yourself (and others) with needless drama before actually doing something about the "happening shit".

Like taking off as soon as the bell rings because if not, you're gonna miss the darned 6:15 show even if you run like an ant dying to pee (Bad enough that you'd already missed the trailers, so there goes a third of your ticket). You pack up, wave good-bye and be contented they at least declined your invitation with an actual "No". After all, you opted to be UN-cool in the first place and you'd rather try enjoying a movie than throw cash at Stallions and it's only right you casually do your thing and live with the prospects of finding a seat in the dark by yourself Till Kingdom Come. (More Digression: As soon as Juno was "loading", right after the trailer of Inkheart, a Fil-Am tod walked in with his yaya. "I can't see anything! I can't see anything!" he begged. Either he was blindfolded, blind or both. He can't be stupid. He's 5. The yaya's the moron because she forgot her function as a labrador.)

Not to mention the adventure you'll have bulleting from your messy desk to the cinemas. I was a race car with the soul of an angry rhino. Wouldn't it be nice to just yell "Fire!" or "Piolo in bikini!" or "Piolo in bikini on fire!!" on a cramped escalator, because you feel like it, just to speed your way at 6:10 without earning glares? Or ask, "Who named you Holly Angel Paraiso? WHY are you named Holly Angel Paraiso?" and not flinch. Or how about the freeing, "Get over yourself, bitch, I'm not sleeping with your boyfriend!" because, well, you're really not (and he's only playing you as well) and Whore Paranoia just won't shut up? It pays to be real. Why don't we try it.

It could be that I was still reeling from the funtastic that's Juno, but I actually enjoyed My Best Friend's Girlfriend too. And we all know BFGF isn't about the sickeningly predictable plot or Valentine's or blockbuster ratings, heck it isn't even about Richard Gutierrez--at last, fuckette, and JC de Vera was hotter in the flick too--but about GMA 7's big retort to Angel Locsin: Marian Rivera. And how bad she makes girl Locsin regret ever going ober da bakod. In the movie either she's naturally funny or the writers made an amazing job matching Marian with her role, Grace. Never mind the usual dialogues stretched in lengths. Watch Marian and appreciate her effective attempts if only at being a comic--and that's more of her race with Angel, as the gal also tries her hand in "comedy" via ABS-CBN's Lobo. If the Curly Dumb Blonde rumors were true: There's nothing like a laugh trip to recover from an excruciatingly boring Monday and for that I'd like to congratulate a pal who has stuck phones to her eardrums for the rest of her life. Marian has won me over. Casually.