In the video portion that is part two of yesterday’s piece, there was so much to say about Lars von Trier’s Melancholia that didn’t make it into the review, sadly, or it would have been half an hour long. No doubt we could have waxed even more poetic about Kirsten Dunst’s breasts, too, but we seem to have given that enough air time as it is.
What didn’t make the cut is that Melancholia isn’t just a great film, it is the anti-Tree of Life, which in the footage now lying on the editing room floor, James called “pseudo-spiritual cack.” This is the film that should have won the Palme D’Or, not TOL. Robert De Niro, the head of the jury this year, is clearly becoming something of a sentimental old buffoon if he couldn’t see it.
But wait: those Hitler/Nazi statements of von Trier’s at the press conference. Forgot about those. Bad taste trumps great art every time, for a time. We take that back, Mr. De Niro. Carry on.
Oh, and James doesn’t really have jet-black eyebrows and beard, and beady, creepy eyes. We had to increase the contrast on the video to see Chris’ face properly.
There was some terribly sad news last Wednesday: Sarah Palin announced she isn’t running for president. The fact that the final gong on that tuneless, talentless cabaret act was utterly muffled by the untimely demise of a truly great man, Steve Jobs, was the definition of poetic justice, and will set the tone for the Moosehead MILF’s rapid slip into obscurity. However, I shall miss Tina Fey’s impersonations. Fuck, she was funny.
Hopefully this picture will soon be a still from Celebrity The Price is Right.
Joe McGinniss’s article in the Daily Beast had a decent paragraph that summed up just how dangerous this whole episode was:
Chris and James take things a little more seriously for a review of Bennett Miller’s Moneyball, which should win a pair of Golden Raspberries this year for the suckiest title and worst trailer, which lead you to believe it is Brad Pitt’s answer to Jerry Maguire. It isn’t. Indeed, overall it is very different than what they both thought it was going to be.
The duo’s sententiousness is interrupted by Antoine the Cat, who comes in looking for Chris’s fruit, but finds none.
Chris and James go at each other in reviews of both Brighton Rock and Drive, which was a mistake because it made the video almost too long to post on YouTube—the minimum is fifteen minutes, just so you know next time you put up your apple crumble recipe. There are a lot more similarities between the two films that were edited out as a consequence, and we’re not just talking genre and personality disorders. So from now on, one movie at a time:
We’ve already run Baker’s review of Midnight in Paris, but Chris is a huge Woody Allen fan, and felt he needed to be fully self-expressed about it on tape. There are moments in the review when his hair becomes like the Statue of Liberty’s torch, such is his passion for the old pedo.
(Note: the reason Chris is always eating in these reviews is he tapes them on his lunch break, and eating fruit allows him to drink beer and not look like Rachel McAdams.)
In an impromptu experiment, Chris and James alternately shred and build up Evan Glodell’s Bellflower in a recorded Skype conversation (change the settings on the bottom bar after it starts playing to 480p so you can see Chris’ hair better):