the Daily Buckman

happy birthday Jean Simmons

-gatsby-

there's a character in my last screenplay that's based directly on an ex-girlfriend of mine combined with jean simmons from the movie, "the grass is greener." (which is a fantastic movie, one of my favorites).

i've loved her from the first time i saw her in the film version of guys and dolls.
my mother raised her boys on hollywood musicals and classic comedies; my brother danny and i, much to her delight, know not just the songs, but quite a few scripts in their entirety- having watched the videos like today's kids watch the barney.
jean was sergeant sarah brown, and her scenes with marlon brando will always make me smile. you could be stabbing me and robbing my house, and if in the background jean simmons was singing "if i were a bell" on the television... i'd be smiling.
if i had a time machine, the first trip would be back to a carefully calculated place at which i stood a chance with jean simmons.

this and a british accent.
uh, killin' me.
so when i was checking out tonights AMC and TCM guide on tivo i noticed a couple of her movies, which led to me finding out today, the 31st, is her birthday. (which designates her an aquarius as well, my god)
anyway, happy birthday jean; you're a godammed goddess...

(a blast of static from the great beyond comes crashing in through the mundane drone of gatsby's masturbatory ode to the cinema of yesteryear..)

Ah, hello fans. No need to introduce myself, as it's painfully obvious who's just dropped by with a bit of unsettling news. I couldn't bear to see my sniveling compatriot Gatsby continue his love affair with this imposter! Some of the worms that I employ in the entertainment industry were horrified when they read through this *cough* posting and found, much to their chagrin, that stupid, stupid old Gatsby had been the victim of some foul, press release trickery. The photographs so lovingly included in this little diatribe are actually retouched FAKES which have been circulating through offices and archives for the better part of thirty years. Since Old Bug always makes it right, even when it hurts, I've included a rare, early photo of Simmons taken before Guys and Dolls. Get it right, Gatsby- we're starting to attract attention.

Great Moments In Cinema (Part One)

(another trademarked, somehow familiar blast of eerie static)

Uncle Geezilius- I see you are lazily dawdling through another homoerotic sub-genre of equestrian cinema verite: love stories involving horses. Should I save Timmy from the burning barn or be mounted by Goliath, the gorgeous (but ill-tempered) Arabian stallion my father purchased from market last fort-winter? Oh, you're such a girl with your stupid questions. It always makes me think of a great joke I told at a very inappropriate time in mixed company.

A man enters a federal penitentiary. He is obviously first-timer, and very nervous. He is escorted to his cell, where his cellmate, a large, 250-pound gorilla of a man, turns and cordially greets him.

Cellmate: Looks like you're new here. I'll tell you what- I'll give you a choice. You can be the man- or you can be the woman.

New Guy: (Thinks briefly) Well, I guess I'll be the man, then.

Cellmate: Fine. Bend over!

But I'm getting off the subject, which was Gatsby's longing ode to our four-legged friends and those courageous, pre-pubescent boys and girls who are either saved by or savagely made love to by these magnificent creatures. I often think about how I used to quietly masturbate to International Velvet and then cry sweet, comforting tears into my sweat-soaked pillow.

You know, reminiscing about all of these magical moments makes me think of my first kiss. Oh, young love. Those stolen, furtive moments where our eyes would lock in a smoldering arm-wrestle between lust and primal wanting. She was thirteen, and I was thirty-four- I shudder when I think of what could have been, mon cherie. Forgive me, gentle reader- the fog of time has swirled around my legs and gently tugged at my dingus. Oh, yes- the cinema- and all of those great, great moments I wanted to share with you. Tomorrow.

END TRANSMISSION.

counterpoint-gatsby-

holy christ.
i feel as though i've just walked downstairs to the den to find the berber torn up around a chasm belching forth demons.
everytime i think i'm walking the line between funny and poor taste, i catch old bug's voice off to my left, about a hundred yards into the inappropriate side, flirting with a young asian boy or telling someone they're a fat slob or something.
well, kudos old man!!
i can't wait to read about the dirty groping experience you tie into tomorrows "great moment of cinema" i can see you now, slowing down your 93 geo storm and pulling over to the curb, folding up your collapsable porsche sunglasses as you retrieve a gigantic science-class-tape-recorder from the passenger seat...
"idea for some disturbing smut to confuse and upset children," you slither.
your military sized mobile phone rings; you answer-
"yes old bug? we have your aptitude test results; looks like you're perfectly suited to be a filthy lecher. report to the career development center to pick up your giant lapels and gold medallion necklaces."
amazing.

-gatsby out-

my top five horse movies

-gatsby-

when are they going to stop making movies about horses? don't they know i cry like a girl everytime i watch one?
yesterday i watched seabiscuit, and despite the scene where the birds all startle and fly at once from a lone tree, (so cliche. i say if you're going to use a visual metaphor for a little kid getting into an automotive accident you should go with a mushroom cloud) i found it to be quite satisfying.
like a mentholyptus cough drop, seabiscuit cleared my sinuses right up, and left me wanting more. (i hear that in the sequel he races a steroid enhanced communist horse)

so in the spirit (that's an inside joke for horse movie aficionados) of community i've decided to list my top five horse movies of all time.
starting with #5, seabisbuit.
what a piece of shit, linking the plight of the oakies to the world of horseracing? yes, the starving poor gave a flying fuck about the little horse that could. i'm sure that inbetween scouring garbage heaps for edible food and selling their children for gasoline to get to cali, the deathly poor couldn't get enough horseracing. but, the camera work truly was fantastic. i really felt like i was riding the horse, and that's why i watch these things. the racing bits in which toby talks to that other jockey guy about whatever, (thank you bull durham) and then casually just slips the horse into another gear and speeds away? fantastic. i didn't know horses did that.
the message of this film was delivered succinctly by toby, (we're close) "it's not in his legs georgie, it's is his heart."
you make me cry ONE MORE TIME maguire, and... damn. anyway i give this movie a rating of 13/17. which i think says a lot.
#4 hidalgo.
i didn't see this movie, only the preview, but i can just imagine the funny things that horse did. i mean aragorn is drunk or something and the horse just keeps egging him on? hilarious. the horse makes him race him in some big desert race!! what? crazy horse.
#3 the black stallion.
i don't remember even a second of this disney blubberbus. what i do remember is that my little brother danny, like 8 at the time, cried his sensitive eyes out. it was a horrible embarassment to him for years and i took advantage to remind and mock him at every opportunity- in fact i should give him a call.
#2 whatever that movie was called where that hot chick would dive on horseback from way up on a ladder into a circus pool. it was called "chase your dreams" or some such girly thing.
i saw a directors cut of that film in which they compared the number of horses they went through to the number of "general lees" they destroyed on "the dukes of hazard." amazing.
and my number one horse movie?
#1- the horse whisperer.
i could make a big stupid joke about talking to horses here, but honestly... that movie totally captivated me. when they have the accident and find the wounded horse under that little bridge with it's chest muscles torn and hanging... uuuuggggghhhhh. killed me.
first the severity of the crash, the tragedy, the poor poor horse... some little girl died, the other might never walk, whatever; i'm on the edge of my seat- WHAT ABOUT THE HORSE?
and part of me has always wanted to be redford, (coincidentally the remaining me has always wanted to be paul newman) so, you know, what a movie. i've only seen it once, so if it actually sucks don't tell me. right now it's happily filed in my memories as good, could you not ruin this too for me?

-gatsby out-

the wizard of id part 2

TRANSMISSION from gatsby-

WOW!
i have to share this with you-
after my wizard of id review the other day i continued to peruse old strips and i found a number of errors- like, continuity and timeline errors.
even in one of the strips in the last post.
check this out:

i mean come on, THAT'S a lamp. what's up brant parker? did they have electricity back in the wizards time? clearly this oversight escaped mr. parker.
this discovery made me crazy to find more errors and i just started reading and reading.
you'd be surprised how many mistakes i found.
somebody needs to start proofing these strips.
see if you can spot the problem with this strip:

did you see it?
i didn't catch it at first glance either, but i like i said, i was a hound at this point.
here's a blown up section:

TELL ME THAT'S NOT A FUCKIN' MOTORSCOOTER!!!???
what the?...
this is just like that scene in "the untouchables" where sean connery's shirt button is buttoned, then unbuttoned... and then buttoned again.
unbelievable.

-gatsby out-

END TRANSMISSION

the wizard of id

TRANSMISSION from gatsby-

i'm changing my tone.
i don't want to be so negative all the time.
so once and awhile i'm going to review comic strips- nice light fare...
today it's the "wizard of id" a collaboration between the cob-webby skeletons of brant parker and johnny hart, (yes of b.c. fame).
the wiz was a favorite of mine a long long time ago.
i recall childhood trips to the grocery store, spending my allowance on mad magazine and paperbacks of the wiz, b.c., and whatever else i could find to give me that sweet comic fix.
revisiting the strip, as i have for this review, i was pleased to see it's evolved with the times.
i can even sense a bit of political commentary these days.

and notice the subtle commentary here:

of course i have my favorite characters. "bung the sot" always cracks me up with his antics.

and what about this gem?-

that poor bartender!! but he always gets his revenge doesn't he?

a classic through and through. i must say it was nice to dust off my memories of the wiz. in times like these, with all the dying and such, it's pleasant to fall back to the fond triviality of youth on occasion.

right on wizard!!
-gatsby out-

END TRANSMISSION

harold and kumar go to m. night shamalahan's village

TRANSMISSION FROM gatsby:

in a word, fantabulous.
harold and kumar have done it again. when is the academy going to pull its glamorous head out of its sequined ass and honor these monsters of comedy with, (at least!) a nomination?
i rented the anticipated h&k/shamalamahan collaboration last night and was rocked by it's seamless combinaton of incredibly long and pretentious shots and pot humor.
it was majestic.
who would've suspected really mediocre cinematography would blend so perfectly with the antics of this generations multi-ethnic cheech and chong?

i'll go again...
actually h&k was funny.
easy one-dimensional characters, clever dialogue, and farcical situations delicately layered over a mirthfully insouciant plot. (which word are you gonna look up first buckman?) harold was the frustrated asian investment banker with a fondness for "sixteen candles" and his pretty neighbor. kumar was the indian butch cassidy, a talented medical student bent on smokin weed and eatin sliders. together they would endure endless hijinks towards the repletion of their munchie induced fixation on white castle.
my favorite part of the movie? the unconcerned way in which subplots were dismissed.
no i take that back; my favorite part was the scene in which neal patrick harris, (yes doogie howser) playing himself, did a line of coke off a naked stripper's ass as they hang out the sunroof of harold's stolen car.
i give h&k a big thumbs up, i got exactly the laid-back laughs i wanted, (if i smoked pot i'm sure i'd buy the dvd) and will gladly shell out the fourteen dollars required by the time the sequel hits the theaters
also they sang "hold on" (oh wilson phillips where have you gone?) in a stolen blaze orange bronco- INTENSE!!
gave me goosebumps, again, WAKE UP ACADEMY!!

next. shamallomar.
that kid needs his ass kicked- kicked up and down the street.
"the village" was basically a weak thirty minute twilight zone episode stretched by box-office capital into a feature. who told schmallahan slow = art? every shot, every revelation was treated as though it was a marvelous clue. maybe there were hidden laser-art pictures of giraffes or dolphins in these shots, i don't know, i can never see those, but otherwise the photography was bland. he made such a point of everything being neutral browns and pastel blues and yellows that i think he expected everybody to faint whenever red entered the palette.
this is somebody that's been told he's an artist too many times.
AND, keep away from the metaphors shalanaham, the trite message you've thickly applied doesn't make your half a story any more important.

end transmission.

(burst of garbled white noise)

Well, well, well, if it isn't my incontinent old pal Dirty Dingus McGee with his semi-literate take on not one, but TWO cinematic turds. Truly, my friend, you are scraping the bottom of the cinematic barrel with your selections today- a straight-to-video dud that was accidentally sent to theaters first, Harold and Kumar do Whatever is an example of bad money spent poorly. Oh, how funny is stoner comedy? As funny as a 37-year old waiter who gets high after work in his one bedroom apartment by HIMSELF- I could imagine the mood on the set after the first few scenes had been shot: quick, furtive glances among the crew, followed by trembling, whispered comments:

"this movie sucks ass, man."
"uh, are they for real? I quit."
"I think I just crapped in my pants...because this movie sucks so bad"

Although this is just a vivid re-imagining for you, lovely reader, be assured that those comments were really uttered. If I ever met anybody connected with this bullshit film, no matter how remotely, I would punch them in the mouth. And not just any old punch, friend- no, no, they would get the infamous "Donkus Punch-aroo."

On to The Village- a crappy, boring humdrum of a narrative that further cements M. Night's reputation as an insomnia repellent and tired hack. Wow, not another 'twist' ending- is that, like, your trademark- to keep your half-awake audience lingering on until the anticlimatic finish- to compel theatergoers to angrily leave and vow never to plunk down seven bucks to endure another relentlessly boring assault? Dude, you kept us hanging on with Unbreakable, which was quite good despite being overlong- and you shat on us with Signs, which amazed us with its level of suckiness (Oh, there's an alien in the living room- hit it with your baseball bat and some water- game over!) Did I miss something? Oh, just that smell- the burning wreckage of your career. Hands on the wheel, M- remember, hands on the wheel.

gatsby counter counter-point

oh buckman.
you haven't seen either one of these movies and you know it. yet look at how eager you are to spit fire. what's going on buddy? why have you unleashed the wrath of a tenth level dark wizard?
childish invective like that always makes me think the author must not be able to get an erection.
you need a hug possibly- from a man huh? a little man-hugging would have you chirping like a 50's housewife.
well do what you've got to do buckman, (like watch what you're about to comment on) buy a crystal, whatever- and, the next time you add images to my side of the post will be the last time you play the piano.

END TRANSMISSION

Blaxploitation Volumes One, Two and Three

Transmission from Old Bug:

(crackling static) If you want to be a true mcNasty and make all the chickenheads jealous at the red light, your music has to be correct. I'm not talking about retarded hip-hop, either; I'm talking about the classic foundation that every jughead with a mac laptop and protools who calls themselves a "producer" has liberally sampled from (and by sampled I mean straight-up stolen.)

Disc 1 has the obligatory riffs everybody knows: everything from James Brown to Curtis Mayfield is represented. But the lesser-known joints, like "Home is where the hatred is" and "Children of the Ghetto" is pure, undistilled pimp juice.

Disc 2 is more of the same, but includes rarities by Angela Brown and WAR. (yes, rarities- they did more than just "The world is a Ghetto.")

Disc 3, subtitled "the Payback", is super-dope. "Summer in the City" and "Masterpiece" are standout tracks here as well.

Less reading, more listening. Stop perpetrating and steal these albums from BitTorrent. (Oh, I mean, go buy them from a chain music store, which will virtually guarantee that NONE of these artists get compensated for these thirty-plus year old tracks- that's a much better idea.)

GATSBY'S counterpoint-
what is the fucking deal here?
i'm gone for thirty seconds and you add "blaxploitation" and "insatiable teens?"
what's it gonna be buckman? record reviews of everything you already listen too?
FACT: buckman has no subwoofer in his chrysler imperial.
you cannot possibly be qualified to review the smoove blaxplotation funk of the seventies without being able to hear the baseline fool.
also you know nothing of insatiable teens.

END TRANSMISSION

(short burst of unintelligible static)

Old Bug here. Hey, it's Gatsby, you old so-and-so. I see that time has not been kind to you, my crusty old butt-nugget, so I will have to swoop in once again and unmercifully pick apart your tattered counter-point. After I correct your glaring typo- uh, is it third BASE you want to steal, or is it your theory of gay puppetry that you are BASING your conclusions on, or is it the BASS that rocks my 88 while your girlfriend's gum falls out of her mouth at the apex of her butt-clenching orgasm (her third, my first) Oh, the dent I left in her uterus will most definitely not be covered by her PPO co-pay.

Sorry, off-subject. Bug knows all about blaxploitation, son. Besides my extensive collection of mad European acid jazz, I've got a pipeline straight into the golden ghetto of the seventies, baby girl. Everything from Millie Jackson (All the Way Lover) to William De Vaughn (Be Thankful for what you've Got) and in-between, funky fresh in the flesh in my Lee Jeans. As a matter of fact, I'm going to be unveiling a pimptronic-6000 streaming winamp station for re-education purposes. make sure you tune in, Gatsby, so you can dust off your lexicon.

END TRANSMISSION.

 

ISSUE #1

So, another blog has sprouted from the earth, for clearly, this is what the internet needed the most: more aimless traffic to be shuttled from one site to the next. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I owe you, Old Bug Bug. This should be a good ride.

End Transmission.