Of all the occupations in this world that can truly be called admirable, I can’t imagine many that ought be closer to the top of the list than United States Marine or Children’s Charity Worker. So you can imagine that I have a deep, abiding respect and admiration for “Toys For Tots,” a Marine Reserves-run program that collects and distributes donated gifts for children in need during the Holidays.

Check them out HERE:
http://www.toysfortots.org/
(and maybe show some donation love while you’re at it, eh? Tis the season.)

These people… this program… are good in the plainest, bluntest sense of the word. And anyone who would try to use it for their own ideological agenda, (or worse, for cheap, bad-faith publicity,) anyone who would taint something like this, well… there’s a few other words for that.

And, sadly (but predictably,) when it comes to the tainting of the simply good, no force of the modern age is more brazen or more determined than organized religion.

Set faces to stunned:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15717485/

“LOS ANGELES – A company that sells Bible-quoting Jesus dolls said it was surprised and disappointed that the Marine Reserves’ Toys for Tots program turned down its offer to donate 4,000 of the talking dolls.”

By the way, “Bible-quoting” is a fairly broad term. Details:

“According to one2believe’s Web site, the button-activated, bearded Jesus doll recites Scripture such as “I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again” and “Love your neighbor as yourself.”“

The bolding of the text is mine, for emphasis. Get the problem? This doll doesn’t only talk, and doesn’t only offer “Bible quotes,” it proselytizes for a specific version of a specific religion. Do you think that’s an appropriate thing for a non-denominational charity to be distributing? If you do, would you object to Richard Dawkins dropping 4,000 “there is no god”-emblazzoned teddy bears into his nearest Toys For Tots bin? If the local chapter of Hezbollah wants to toss in some “Baby’s First Burka” kits, are you cool with that, too? Howard Deans wants to kick-in his brand new mascot “Zowie-Howie The Bush-Whackin’ Donkey?” Hm?

Here’s the Marines’ reasoned response:

“Bill Grein, vice president of Marine Toys for Tots Foundation, in Quantico, Va., said the offer was turned down because Toys for Tots doesn’t know anything about the religious affiliations of the children who receive its gifts.

“We can’t take a chance on sending a talking Jesus doll to a Jewish family or a Muslim family,” Grein said Tuesday. “Kids want a gift for the holiday season that is fun.”

How much y’wanna bet he said this with an unsubtle hint of “you’ve got to be f*cking kidding me” to his voice at the idea that his organization even has to respond to something like this.

And by the way, I’m not buying for a second “one2believe” had no idea this was going to be an issue. They’re a business, which requires a certain amount of competency and common sense to exist. This was likely, in my estimation, a deliberate, knowing act either to use Toys For Tots to send indoctrination materials to children; or maybe even worse… to use them for a sleazy publicity grab.

Think about that second one: This is a religious organization, which means they probably know at least one, oh, I dunno… CHURCH!? Which tend to have their own ties to very powerful and well-organized charities? Ones that could garauntee that these Christian toys reached Christian children (or at least don’t have the ethical objections otherwise that Toys For Tots does?) So why go to the trouble of wrapping up 4,000 dolls for a secular charity which common sense would dictate MIGHT have an issue with them?

Could it be that they knew (or at least were pretty certain, this MUST have come up before) that the donation would be refused and did it purely for the media attention on them and their movement that this would innevitably garner? Hm? After all, it makes a catchy headline, even my local news carried the story. And it’s garaunteed to gin-up the “They’re takin’ the Christ outta Christmas!!!” contingent, so don’t be surprised if you see this as a “special report” from Bill O’Reilly as part of his asinine “War on Christmas” bitching.

If anyone from “one2believe” is reading this, let me be clear: There’s two possibilities, neither of them good. Either you really did have no clue this would be a problem, in which case you are unbelievably dense and deserve to be ridiculed for it…

…OR you knew exactly what you were doing, in which case you tried to use a charitable organization run by the United States Marines to (one way or another) propagandize on behalf of your agenda, in which case you deserve far worse than ridicule. I happen to believe that at least ONE of those dolls you made is based on a real person, and if I know anything at all about Him, He is not thrilled with you right now.

Merry Christmas.

…because Marvel/Sony will probably ask everyone to “cease and desist” showing this pretty soon. (Hat-tip to AICN)

What we’ve got here looks to be a good-quality copy of the “for fans only” ComicCon teaser for “Spider-Man 3.” It’s rough, with unfinished FX work, animatics and storyboards standing in for some of the bigger moments (which you’ve now seen in-full in the official new trailer) but it’s the one little tag at the very end that’s the reason to look: A fast but final-looking shot of VENOM.

(Note: Non-fans looking to remain 100% pre-info free may want to think twice, as this WILL essentially tell you where Topher Grace’s character’s story seems to be going.)

UPDATE! Told ya that wouldn’t be up for long. Hope most of you got to look at it here or elsewhere, at least. For now, here’s the screen-grab that matters:

One thing immediately jumps to me: This would indicate that Venom won’t be in the actual movie until at or near the very end. Check out the clip, it’s pretty evocative of a “Jason-jumping-up-out-of-the-lake” “Boo!” moment; the type that ideally comes right before or after “The End.” Me, I think that’d make a pretty kick-ass way to tell everyone to start anticipating “Spider-Man 4,” but maybe some might end up feeling gyped? Thoughts?

From iFilm:
http://www.ifilm.com/efp

And the direct link:
http://www.ifilm.com/presents/spiderman3

So… Color me interested.

First, it’s a cracking good trailer. Second, like most good trailers for a film of this type, it’s very good at saying two very different sets of things to fans and non-fans.

To non-fans (or, more accurately, those with decidedly less than Official Hanbook of The Marvel Universe-level familiarity with the pre-movies history of the franchise) it says: “Yup, Spider-Man is back! The story continues! Check out our big new villian, he’s made of SAND! And the cool new black costume is made of some kinda creepy living goo, betcha’ wanna know what THAT’S about! Coming Soon!”

To fans, on the other hand, it’s designed primarily to bring up talking points and questions about canonical fidelity, the better to keep it at or near the forefront of the Film Geek collective experience until the next big trailer and/or casting announcement.

In this case, the main “WTF!??”-generating element (NOT a spoiler cuz it’s in the trailer) is the apparent revelation of what is at least part of the film’s main storyline: Sandman (Thomas Hayden Church) is apparently responsible for the murder of Uncle Ben Parker back in movie #1 (not sure how that works yet… the car-thief guy had an accomplice?)

Make no mistake, letting this point out early is probably very deliberate: The “bad guy just happens to have had hand in heroes formative-tragedy” bit was a groaner waaaay back in the 1989 “Batman” and has remained a sore-spot for fans ever since (see: “Daredevil.”) So getting it out of the way now is a preemptive move. Also, going back to the non-fans, it allows them to set up the idea of Sandman as the film’s major source of evil… and in doing so, give fans a peek at what might shape up to be an interest plot-point involving the mysterious Black Costume.

Fans, y’see, are pre-aware that the Black Costume is not only alive, it’s a bad thing and the eventual heralding of super-baddie Venom (aka “the BAD Spider-Man.”) They also know that, in most tellings of this story, the Black Costume (aka “Symbiote-Suit”) causes trouble by driving Peter Parker toward his darker, nastier impulses. If you watch the trailer close, it’s clear that Sandman isn’t exactly a master-of-evil… he’s a thug, scared witless and out of his league, and doesn’t even seem to have much enjoyment over his newfound super-powers.

Translation: This will be a big part of the “inner conflict” being represented by the classic-suit vs. black-suit outer conflict; Spidey fighting the urge to revenge-murder Sandman and instead do the right thing and bring him to proper justice.

I like it.

From IGN:
http://movies.ign.com/articles/743/743897p1.html

“In a report that has been picked up by various European news outlets, Affleck told the press at the London premiere of his new film Hollywoodland, “By playing a superhero in Daredevil, I have inoculated myself from ever playing another superhero. … Wearing a costume was a source of humiliation for me and something I wouldn’t want to do again soon.” “

It’s helpful to remember that, in context, Affleck is offering these thoughts in relation to his most-recent boxoffice dud, “Hollywoodland,” in which he plays doomed TV “Superman” George Reeves. However, myself and IGN can’t be the only ones who find it kind of, well… “huh?” that Affleck is this regretful over appearing in a not-great superhero flick when he’s done so much worse elsewhere. “Gigli?” “Survivng Christmas?” “Jersey Girl?” “Paycheck?” Let’s get real here: Wearing Daredevil’s horns didn’t kill this man’s career, wearing Jennifer Lopez’s leash did.

Part of this goes to (at least partially) illuminating just why “Hollywoodland” eventually didn’t work despite decent-enough acting from all involved. The film failed, ultimately, to address the central irony of Reeves’ tragedy: The irony that his Superman performance, even if he never took it very seriously… his embodiment of the icon so captivated the audience that it eventually consumed him. It approached the material with the tired, old-guard, “serious actors beware!!!” elitist skew that Reeves was degraded by “Superman’s” silliness, when it now strikes me that he was more-accurately eclipsed by “Superman’s” pop-culture godhood.

Even taking Affleck at his word here, it’s likely that the specific dwelling on “Daredevil” as a source of scorn is very much intentional: The same old-guard that still makes the rules on the “high-art/low-art” division also march in lockstep to the “Hollywoodland” vision of such material. Every scrap of dwindling hope they can get that the Geek Age of Cinema isn’t here to stay is ambrosia to them, and this sort of quip coming from an actor is usually designed to appeal to them so that “______ is back to making real films again!” becomes part of the reviews.

Very nice.

Sacha Baron Cohen, aka “Ali G,” “Borat Sagdiyev” and most-recently the gay French Nascar rival in “Taladega Nights,” is undisputedly one of the most talented comedians on the planet right now. And with “Borat,” a feature film mockumentary expanding on a character from his “Da Ali G Show,” he may eventually have to add to his credits having provided perhaps the most profoundly important foriegn influence over American comedy since “SCTV.” This is the funniest movie of the year.

The premise is simple: Cohen inhabits the persona of Borat, a popular TV reporter from the impoverished Central Asian nation of Khazakstan, who has been sent to America to film a documentary about U.S. culture in order that his countrymen may learn from it. But here’s the gag: Cohen-as-Borat films his own encounters with real people who are not in on the joke. As far as the various politicians, newspeople, celebrities, business owners and passers-by know, the man they are speaking to really is a strange little man from a country they’ve never heard of.

And so we have it: Real-world reactions to a character who isn’t real, but seems to be. And what a character he is, an all-in-one summation of every caricature ever drawn about wacky Old World tourists; at once a naively innocent yokel (yes, thats a live rooster in his luggage) and a boorish, misogynist anti-semite (Cohen is Jewish.)

He’s designed, it seems, to bring out the silliest in people regardless of their culture or ideology. His accent and overly-affectionate greetings draw threats and shock from “conservatives,” but he mines the best comedy gold in what amounts to an all-out assault on “progressive” cultural relativism: Without the lingering spectre of Political Correctness, “Borat” wouldn’t work. It’s the dogged determination of “sophisticated” Americans and Euros to excuse the ridiculous (and often outright offensive) words and actions of certain groups and/or people because “well, that’s their culture, and we have to respect those differences and be open minded” that makes their reaction to Borat so damn hillarious.

For example, it’s funny enough when Borat casually asks a gun salesman which weapon would be best to kill a Jew (Jews, we are shown, are regarded as demonic creatures of myth in Borat’s Khazakstan) but the real hilarity is watching the salesman continue to grimmace his way through the sale, eventually reccomending a 9mm. If he followed his apparent gut instinct and simply told Borat to get the hell out of his store, it wouldn’t be nearly as funny. (Ali G worked a similar duality, mocking both the absurdities of African American hip-hop culture AND the absurdities of white British youth trying to emulate it.)

It must be said, though, that the film get’s it’s most prolonged laugh for one of it’s scripted moments: A scene of bewildering gross-out physical comedy as Borat engages in an impromptu nude fistfight/wrestling-match across a fancy hotel with his surly, overweight producer. The scene is funny enough to draw tears, which have the added advantage of obscuring some (but not all) of what has to be the most unpleasant male nudity put on film in a long time. Other scenes, like the running subplot about Borat’s quest to find Pamela Anderson or a surreal moment involving the live bear that Borat is keeping in his ice cream truck transportation, prove that Cohen and company are as adept at scripted comedy as they are at improvised lunacy.

The comedy is so inspired that it’s generating humor without even trying: Khazakstan, the real Khazakstan, is so enraged by the film (the Khazakstan Borat comes from is a fictionalized place defined by poverty, incest, prostitution and a festival called “The Running of The Jew,” and was filmmed in Romania) and the prospect that people might mistake Mr. Sagdiyev for a real Khazak that they’ve allocated government funds to produce a historical epic to “refute” Borat, and last month even sent their ambassador to the White House in order to conference on improving U.S./Khazak relations in the wake of the film. Guess who crashed the party, or rather stood outside the gates and drew all the media attention.

Amazingly, the film is only playing in 800 theaters… but at the time of this writing the boxoffice numbers are coming in showing that “Borat” defied all analysts predictions and out-performed the assumed juggernaut “Santa Clause 3.” Come Monday morning, all of Hollywood will be abuzz about one thing: A low-budget “niche” spoof about a man with a fake accent asking bystander’s stupid questions is now the number one movie in America. There will be reverberations, a ripple effect, maybe a Best Actor nomination for Cohen (though I betcha Borat will be a presenter either way, just wait) etc. Comedy filmmaking just got it’s biggest refreshment in years.

Great success!

FINAL RATING: 9/10

This newest feature from the venerable Aardman animation house isn’t quite one for the ages like most of their previous efforts, but that doesn’t mean it’s not great fun in it’s own right. A bit slight, yes, but it finds a good balance of fun somewhere between “Chicken Run’s” earnest pluck and “Wallace & Gromit’s” dry mock-sophistication and settles into it nicely.

The biggest change of note to Aardman fans (or animation buffs in general) is that the famously stop-motion devoted company has opted to dip it’s toe into the CGI pool for this one, apparently a concession to the sheer difficulty of creating a film which takes place almost-entirely in, on or around moving water. Stylistically, though, it’s obvious that great pains have been taken to ensure that the character models and movements replicate the studio’s signature style. Another welcome mainstay, more pronounced than even in “Wallace,” is Aardman’s unabashed affection for the cultural quirks of their native Britain.

Hugh Jackman (late of “The Prestige” and, as the film takes great joy in reminding us, “X-Men,”) dons his broadway-honed “rakish fop” hat as the voice of Roddy St. James, the pampered pet rat of a wealthy British family (are rats more popular as pets in England?) Roddy spends his life in, literally, a gilded cage; but when left alone leads a rich fantasy-life amid toys and dolls which seems almost enough to make him forget that he is, well, alone. One home-invasion by boorish sewer rat Sid (Andy “Gollum” Serkis, who just got done giving Jackman a hard time in “The Prestige,”) and botched ejection attempt later, though, and Roddy is hurtling down the toilet drain and into the London sewer system, here imagine as a bustling urban metropolis of cockney, working-class rodents.

So, yes, we’re in “African Queen”/”Romancing the Stone”/”Temple of Doom”/pampered-city-slicker-forced-into-real-world-jungle/ghetto territory once again, though this time with an amusing gender-switch: Roddy as the archetypal Brit aristocrat and tomboyish salvage boat captain Rita (Kate Winslet) as his only hope of navigating the way home, a way that becomes blocked both by Roddy’s own naivete and the larger danger of The Toad, (Sir Ian McKellan, aka “Magneto,” heh!,) the local gangster who’s got a bizzare fetish for all things Royal Family, a beef with Rita and a genocidal scheme in mind for his rodent “inferiors.”

Okay, the plot is formula. You know more-or-less how this is going to play out. You know that Roddy will fall instantly in-love with Rita after watching her perform some great feat of daring, that he’ll come to learn the value of friendship, etc. You can even likely guess the how/why/when of Rita coming around on him, and maybe even what all the random references to World Cup Soccer are building to. But it’s the getting-there that’s fun.

The Aardman wit is as sharp as ever, but what works best here is the excellent “physical” comedy of the characters. Deliriously-funny bits emerge from such odd places as Roddy attempting a song and dance routine for an elderly woman who mistakes him for Tom Jones, or a showstopping sequence involving a frog mime and a camera-phone that must be seen to be believed. Even what seem like tired gags turn out to be gems, like Jean Reno’s supporting turn as Toad’s hitman cousin Le Frog, a running gag which seems to incorporate every single worn-out joke about the French but somehow makes them funny again; and even the obligatory sequence of crotch-hit gags come off fresh and funny.

I had fun with this, very-much reccomended.

FINAL RATING: 7/10

The worst thing about child abuse, aside from the abuse itself, is that it’s one of those crimes that tends to create a cycle: Abuse victims will often group up with damaged psyches which will lead them to commit abuse against others, and so-on and so-fourth, essentially just bringing more and more abuse into the world. Augusten Burroughs, for example, endured an excruciatingly abusive childhood which he then turned into a bestselling memoir called “Running With Scissors,” which has now been made into a film of the same name, which is right now abusing the HELL out of anyone who makes the mistake of seeing one of this year’s crappiest movies.

Plotwise, the story plays out like nothing so much as some kind of campy PSA warning against the dangers of permissive parenting. Augusten is being raised by an exasperated alcoholic father (Alec Baldwin) and a psychotic mother (Annette Benning.) Mom is the bigger of the two problems, a clearly unbalanced lunatic obsessed with Anne Sexton who fancies herself a world-class poetess in the making, under the constant delusion that her husband, men in general, society, the world etc. are conspiring to “oppress her creativity.” Nuttiness leads to divorce, which leads to psychotropic drugs, which leads (evnetually) to Augusten being shipped off via adoption to mom’s gonzo psychiatrist Dr. Finch (Brian Cox) and his eccentric (as in “Addams Family” level) family.

I’m at a loss to explain how something this bad get’s made. It’s not as though I’m naive enough to expect great or even decent films to regularly be made from poor-me “recovery” memoirs, the whole shebang reaks of Starbucks and Oprah before you even know what exactly it is, after all. But the sheer level of misfire on display here is staggering. How does this happen? Was it directed by various apes? Did the writers get to the part where Augusten comes out as gay and decide that meant they should play the whole thing as Jon Waters-wannabe camp?

The casting of the otherwise talented Joseph Cross as Burroughs is a disaster. He’s supposed to be playing this character as a 13 year-old, but so clearly resembles an adult as to completely neuter what ought to be part of the story’s central “ick”-factor, Augusten’s obsessive relationship with a pederast (Joseph Feinnes, channeling Christopher Lambert for some reason.) His performance otherwise is decent, but he’s stuck as the “lead” in a film that’s more concerned with it’s cast of eccentrics than with it’s actual star.

Ironically, the film forgoes most of it’s focus on Augusten to focus on his mother, Deidre. Ironic because the film SEEMS to understand that this psychopath’s delusions of stardom are what destroyed her and those around her, but dives headlong into turning her into the main feature of the film. Yes, Mrs. Benning, we get it. You play self-obsessed bitches better than anyone in Hollywood. Good for you. Now, let’s try doing it in a good movie.

There is one scene in the film that serves to define the entire experience: That would be the moment where Dr. Finch calls the family into the bathroom to look at his morning bowel movement, literally insisting that this shit MEANS something!

No, it doesn’t.

FINAL RATING: 1/10

Note: This review does not spoil the central surprises of “Saw III.” It does, however, involve discussion of the central surprises of “Saw” and “Saw II.”

The “Saw” movies, now totalling three films, are strangely compelling “endurance-horror” gorefests which thus far have all shared myriad shortcomings (some questionable acting, noticeably-constrained budgets) and have all largely overcome them through visual invention, narrative cleverness and a great central figure in “Jigsaw,” who’s shaped up to be at least the most welcome (serious) addition to the pantheon of horror icons in a decade or more.

The pitch: Jigsaw is an especially diabolical serial killer… who technically hasn’t “killed anyone.” He likes to place his victims into lethal traps and provide for them a fairly simple escape… with a catch: The escape will involve the endurance of horrifying physical and/or psychological torture. See, Jigsaw fancies himself a kind of extreme life-coach. His victims are people whom, in his view, are wasting their lives; and his “tests” are designed to FORCE them to appreciate the little things… like, say, being able to draw another breath.

“Saw” eventually revealed Jigsaw to be a frail cancer patient (Tobin Bell) who’s actions are motivated by his apparent disgust with those “wasting” the life he’s soon to lose. “Saw II” revealed a sidekick in the person of Amanda (Shawnee Smith) a former drug addict and rare survivor of a Jigsaw test who’s taken his message to heart. “Saw III” opens with the tying up of loose ends (read: survivors) from the previous sequel, and establishes a troubling new mystery: Someone is setting up Jigsaw-style traps with a new twist: The escapes are phony, and death is garaunteed.

The real Jigsaw, meanwhile, is not long for the world but, regardless, has set up his torture chambers for one more big game. His subject this round is Jeff, (Angus MacFayden,) a man losing his grip on family and reality due to the hit-and-run death of his son. The test: to present Jeff with the various players responsible for his boy’s death, all locked up in brand-spanking-new Jigsaw deathtraps, and give him the chance to either free them or watch them die. Jigsaw has his usual cryptic reasons for wanting to see how this one turns out, and to that end he’s kidnapped a trouble female surgeon to keep him alive to the end… or else.

Everything that worked in the previous installments works, everything that didn’t still doesn’t. On the plus-side, the structure is still wickedly ingenious, the surprises are still nasty and the pace still cooks. On the down-side, the threshold of disbelief is still stretched pretty thin, and some of the acting is still pretty questionable. The latter isn’t a problem for Bell, an ever-reliable character actor who’s turned Jigsaw into a genuinely fascinating movie-psycho (and who will richly deserve the better roles he’ll be belatedly offered now that this franchise has raised his profile.)

The film puts itself into a corner with the Jeff character. Problematically, he’s never believably insane enough for there to be any tension as to whether or not he’s going to let anyone die… but if he WERE it’d be harder to root for him to survive. It’s not a deal-breaker, but it doesn’t help. Fortunately, the side-stories involving Jigsaw’s makeshift medical care (and Amanda’s growing mental breakdown) are more interesting and provide this installment’s best gore: Onscreen power-tool brain surgery. Nice.

This can only go on so far, but for now the franchise remains worthy Halloween fare. Recommended.

FINAL RATING: 7/10