I remember when I first started looking into Hugh Laurie's back catalog, I found that this guy had some really impressive range. Originally seeing him in House, I didn't even realize that Laurie is English. He can really lose himself in a role, be it a crotchety but brilliant doctor, or a goofball Prince of England.
Which is why I find it so surprising that he spent most of his early career being typecast. Case in point: The Legends of Treasure Island. To this point, it seems as though most of Laurie's work has been as an ignorant, but well meaning aristocrat. But in 1993, however, the creators of Legends introduce Laurie to new territory as a voice actor. And how do the creators of the show exploit this new medium for Laurie? By making him an ignorant but well meaning aristocrat...and a bird.
If you take a look at this week's clip (starting at around 7:35) you'll see what I mean. The good news is that if you find yourself entranced by the whimsy of this animated tale, you're in luck because it's one of those shows that nobody gives a rat's ass about so YouTube has complete episodes posted. I, however, will just assume that the show ends with them finding treasure on an island of some kind.
That was just fantastic. I literally got through the door about 5 minutes ago after seeing The Warrior's Way and I feel obligated to proclaim it's glory. This movie just stamped a smile on my face that may not go away until 2011.
Now, I have to make a confession. I love movies. But they don't have to be great movies. In some cases, I'd prefer they weren't great movies. There Will Be Blood, for example, is supposed to be a great movie. I could barely get through it. Yes, yes, I get it. A man's greed and ambition will leave him empty and joyless. And then he'll kill a skinny preacher with a bowling pin. I still don't get why I had to waste two hours of my day watching it.
If I'm going to waste two hours, I'd much rather it be by watching The Warrior's Way. Subtlety? Who needs it. Character development? Kiss my ass. Plot? Ha. Let me sum up the plot for you. An assassin (played by Korean star Dong-jun Jang) refuses to kill the last remaining member of his enemy clan because she is only an infant. His clan then starts to hunt him down, and he escapes to a small town in the U.S.'s Old West where he befriends a girl (Kate Bosworth) who's looking for revenge against an evil colonel (Danny Huston). The assassin and the girl fall in love, and then a whole bunch of people get shot/cut to ribbons with swords.
If you think I've spoiled the ending for you, then you're an idiot and I'd like for you to be on your way. Of course a lot of people are going to die. This is exploitative trash, and that's why I love it. Everyone knows exactly what's going to happen, but that doesn't make it any less awesome when a faceless ninja dives through machine gun fire to slice off the arms of its user, causing said machine gun to fall on the ground and spray fire at random asshole cowboys.
And by the way, when I mentioned the love story between Dong-jun and Bosworth, I basically mean sword training montages interspersed with lingering looks and I think maybe one kiss. Just enough to show the audience that this guy has something to fight for now. We wouldn't want him to just go around cutting off heads for no reason. We're not mindless animals here, folks.
Plus, I'd be remiss if I forgot about the appearance of one Mr. Stephen "Captain Barbosa" Fry. This has got to be the absolute ugliest man I've ever laid eyes on. But he's still more man that I could ever hope to be, and this movie is no exception. In fact, if I have one complaint about the movie, it's that there wasn't enough Stephen Fry. That, and through the whole movie he never said "Damn! Ninjas." Come on, guys. When you basically center your previews on a phrase like that, it should pay off in the actual movie.
Other than that, however, there isn't anything bad in this movie for me to complain about. That's because it's all supposed to be bad. And it is. It's a terrible movie. But like I said, it put a big smile on my face. And in the end that's all I ask. Bravo to Rogue Pictures for being willing to distribute such delightful schlock. I look forward to their upcoming opus, Season of the Witch. It's got Nicolas Cage in it. I don't think I really need to explain myself any further.
Editor's Note: Ha! I called myself the editor...I'm awesome. Anyway, we have our very first guest post today, courtesy of the little woman. I promised this was coming a couple of weeks ago, but she didn't get around to writing it for the crappy excuse of having an actual life to lead. Oh well. Enjoy some estrogen-laced ranting!
So, as all two of you know, the Grump and I were lucky enough to travel to Florence (Italy not New Jersey) for our honeymoon. It was an amazing trip and I'm sure you guys have kept up with the hub's posts concerning our awesome time there. While most of the things that the Grump saw as major enjoyment roadblocks (like not knowing the language...oh, wah) I simply ignored as I most likely had a glass of chianti in hand at the time. However, as a coffee drinker, my honeymoon buzz was nearly disrupted by the lack of a decent cup of joe anywhere in the country.
I started drinking coffee in college, mostly just to get going for my 10:00 a.m. classes. God, I miss college. Anyway, I was introduced to coffee through the roach trucks on campus.
Mmm.Grease.
This is coffee that had been brewing for about three days before the cup was shoved into your hand by Vlad, who may or may not be a convicted felon in the old country. Zombie-like, you totter the first few feet towards your class while taking your first tongue scalding sip. What happens internally is only what I can describe as a Van Damme kick to your frontal cortex, tongue and vital organs. Externally, for me anyway, it looks and sounds something like this:
Needlessly to say, I reached the point where this kung fu showdown with my early morning brain function is something that I now require to start off my day. So, imagine my surprise when I asked for a coffee in Italy and the waiter plunked this down in front of me:
"I feel like I'm gonna break this damned thing."
I know what you guys are thinking. "Mrs.Grump, (because you guys are polite) that appears to be an espresso. Coffee-zilla. Even for an addict like yourself, it should be more than sufficient to satisfy your coffee jones." Well, Grumpites, it's not. I like to enjoy my caffeine buzz. Savor it, if you will. And I just can't do that when there's only a quarter of an inch of metallic tasting liquid with an entire pack of sugar thrown in.
Puzzled, I consulted my trusty Frommer's. Skipping past the potential set up they give you for being roofied by someone named Gio the second you step into a bar, "caffè" is listed as the Italian word for coffee....and espresso. Seriously? So a couple of days and almost one full espresso cup later, I overhear a table of French tourists ordering a "caffè americano". I know, right? The last group you would think would order anything "americano". So I give that a whirl and I'm given a cup of something that was quite obviously espresso watered down with the spit of the cafe waiters. Ugh. Good thing it's socially acceptable to order wine at eleven in the morning on a Tuesday here, otherwise there would be dead bodies littering the piazza.
So to bring this rambling post to a conclusion, my coffee confusion was cleared up about a month later when I stumbled upon this post by The Oatmeal, who I absolutely love and am also a little afraid of. While I don't agree with his assessment of the whole Italian/American coffee situation (Espresso with or without water blows goats either way in the categories of taste and strength), I'd recommend reading it before you venture off into the land of Italy. Or just have a backup cup of diner coffee waiting for you like I did when you land.
After last week's tangent that had little to nothing to do with Hugh Laurie, I'll try and stay on point as we take a look at Jeeves and Wooster, a.k.a. A Bit of Fry and Laurie, 1930s Style. For those of you who read more than I do (don't be too impressed with yourselves) you might know Jeeves and Wooster as characters from the short stories of P.G. Wodehouse. The series was adapted for TV by Clive Exton, whose prior work includes the epic period piece Red Sonja.
And the Oscar never, ever goes to...
One thing that I have to share with you from the show is the opening sequence. You'll see that Hugh Laurie is nowhere to be found, but you'll also find that the theme song will be stuck in your head for a better part of the day.
As the following clip will show, there isn't a whole lot about Jeeves and Wooster that will surprise you if you're already familiar with the work of Fry and Laurie, aside from the fact that Fry plays the straight man a bit more than in the past. Laurie, as usual, is a buffoon, and similar to his turn as Prince George he's even dumber for not realizing that he's a buffoon. The humor is a bit more low-key here, and to be honest a little of this show goes a long way for me, but it's still worth a look.
I need to make a correction from Monday's post. In my ranting about the insufferable nature of patriotic pop music, I incorrectly named "Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue (Angry American)" as the worst thing ever written. This is a grave error. It is by no means the worst thing ever written, and I apologize for making such a statement.
After all, how can "Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue" possibly be the worst song in a world where this exists...
Now, it may surprise you to know that I actually like Christmas music. I even look forward to when the local douche bag top 40 station goes to all Christmas music after Thanksgiving. It gives me time to forget that I'm a cynical asshole for a few minutes on my ride home from work. That's why I get extra fucking pissed when I hear these idiots from Newsong spew this shallow, bullshit bowl of nothing.
I mean, come on. Shoes? Fucking shoes? Of all the things that you could have come up with to shamelessly tug on the old heartstrings you're giving me footwear? And don't give me any kind of weak crap about how it's meant to convey the simple innocence of a child trying to show his love the only way he knows how. If I'm dying of the unnamed disease that is apparently killing the mom in this song, my kid had better not come at me with a pair of goddamn shoes unless he wants me to smother him with the pillow from my hospital bed.
And I'd also like to know what kind of values this family has instilled in this kid, where he thinks that Jesus really gives a shit what his mom's wearing on her feet when she buys it. As if Joan Rivers is going to be waiting in the tunnel of light to bust her chops if she's not wearing Manolos. "Oh! Can we talk about that hospital gown? It's so assisted living! But that could be forgiven if her brat of a son would have bought her some decent shoes!"
Ugh.
And what the hell is Rob Lowe doing in the shitty TV movie based off this shitty song? I didn't even find that out until today. This man is Sam Seaborn! He was a senior aide to the president of the United States of America, and he deserves better than that!
God, now I've gone and gotten myself depressed in this season of love and family. Thanks a lot Newsong. I hope your exploitation of empty sentimentalism makes you feel really good about yourselves. It's thrilling to know that you're likely richer than I'll ever hope to be. Merry Christmas, trouser stains.
After a lovely Thanksgiving holiday of eating turkey and not writing any posts, it seems I'll be following up last week's non-House Hugh Laurie segment with....another non-House Hugh Laurie segment. But in my defense, I'll be doing so with an aspect of Hugh Laurie that we haven't seen yet, which is Hugh Laurie's ability to write and sing ridiculous songs.
The song I chose for this week, "America," hits a particular note with me for two reasons. First, I cannot fucking stand when pop musicians cash in on American patriotism. And yes, I'm looking squarely at you, Toby Keith. "Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue (Angry American)" may be the worst song ever written in the history of anything being written. If you haven't heard it, do yourself a favor. Don't. Just don't ever.
Basically, a man who has made his living playing a musical instrument has taken it upon himself to warn terrorists of the ass-kicking they have coming. But, lest you think his motives for writing a song about American patriotism in the wake of 9/11 are anything less than pure, just remember Keith simply had to write it as a tribute to his father:
It wasn’t written for everybody. And when you write something from your heart - I had a dad that was a veteran, taught me how precious our freedom is - I was so angry when we were attacked here on American soil that it leaked out of me. You know, some people wept when they heard it. Some people got goose bumps. Some people were emotionally moved. Some cheered, turned their fists in the air.
Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. Fuck you times a million. There is nothing more nauseating than watching the macho posturing of a man you know has never been put in harms way for a single day in his life. This is just a shallow rallying cry for people looking for any excuse to shout "America, fuck yeah!" without any hint of irony.
Which brings me to the second thing that "America" brings to my mind. Fellow complainer Lewis Black made the best point that I've ever heard about mindless country pride in a bit on his CD, The End of the Universe. I can't seem to find the exact quote, but it comes down to this: Imagine you have a coworker who wanders around the office continually shouting "I'm the best motherfucker in this place!" Eventually, you and your fellow office mates will rise up and slay him.
Yes, we live in a great country with a lot to be thankful for, so we should enjoy it and even be proud of it. But do we need to rub it into the faces of everyone we know just to make the point that we think their lives are a big pile of dogshit? For Christ's sake, let's settle down a bit, huh?
So...um. I think this post has taken a bit of a turn. Perhaps its time to get to the clip before I get too lost up my own ass. Enjoy some light musical satire, folks!
If there is anything I like more than movies and movie trivia, it's crappy movies that big name actors would like to forget they were ever in. If I ever met, for instance, Adrien Brody, I would not dream of mentioning his Academy Award winning performance in The Pianist. Shit, I've never even seen that movie. Nor would I ask him what it was like to act the part of a disabled person in The Village, or how hard it was to bulk up for Predators. Nah, if I ever met Adrien Brody, I would smile, look him in the eye, and say "I loved you in Angels in the Outfield."
If you didn't know that Adrien Brody was in that movie, don't worry. I'm fairly certain he forgot he was in it, too. But everyone in showbusiness has to work through that crappy movie, either to get started or to make a house payment. And Hugh Laurie is no exception.
To be fair, I know very little about this week's pick, a 1989 movie called Strapless. The synopsis on IMDB is some drivel about an American doctor who goes to work in London and meets some guy and blah blah blah whatever. What's important is that Hugh Laurie is neither of these characters, nor is he anywhere in the vicinity of top billing. In fact, I'm pretty sure the following montage is at least 80% of all of Laurie's scenes as the character Colin.
So for all I know about the movie, Strapless could be a cult hit in England. It may be what kicked his career into high gear, paving the way for his introduction to the U.S. as Gregory House. But seeing as that breakthrough didn't come until a decade and a half later, I'm going to say that's a big no. I just hope he bought something really cool with the money. A minibar, perhaps?
