Party Favors for April 30

ATLANTA - The Braves are no longer America’s team.
Two years ago TBS announced it would stop showing the Braves and carry a package of major league games on Sunday afternoons featuring American and National League teams. It didn’t seem like it would really happen. For three decades TBS and the Braves went together like the clear and the cream on Barry Bonds. This split was crazy talk. But that all changed a few Sundays ago. Catching the Cubs playing the Phillies with the TBS logo was jarring. There was no “home” team. After three decades, the world had changed. The Superstation that gave us Biff Pocoroba was officially off the air.
What really stinks is that my cable box has the Fox regional sports channel that now carries the Braves games. But those games are blacked out because we’re considered Baltimore Orioles’ territory. I want to see how Chipper Jones copes without his brother Andruw. Orioles owner Peter Angelos is an evil man. Why does anyone care about his dumpster diving squad as they battle the Tampa Bay (Devil-less) Rays?
Now that Tampa Bay wants to be called the Rays, shouldn’t they be legally obligated to have at least two guys named Ray on the squad?
The highlight of this baseball season so far is the rise of Hank Steinbrenner. For the last few years, the Yankees front office has been as silent as a mortuary. Reporters have been buffing up their obits for George Steinbrenner and collecting their “I remember the time George.....” columns for that special edition. We haven’t seen the elderly George losing his temper in the owner’s box since he’s been in hiding down in Florida. He occasionally sends out a carefully worded press release. But a card ain’t the same. We need his mealy mouth. There’s been too much respect for the men in pinstripes than disgust at the so-called Evil Empire. These polite times seemed destined to last 79 years as the quaint Steve Swindal, George’s son-in-law, was being groomed to take over the team. But luckily Swindal was kicked out of the bedroom and board room. Daddy wasn’t letting an ex-in-law swing his bat. Son Hank became the new face and voice of the Bronx. Hank has already mocked Redsox Nation, Jonathan Papelbon, Joe Torre and A-Rod. He jackhammered concrete on a Sunday to remove an Ortiz shirt from the new Yankee Stadium. He’s great theater. He’s got a face that makes you feel proud flashing the bird at his luxury box. Here’s hoping he makes 2008 a crotch grabber. Hank reminds us that you can’t spell Yankees without a few of the letters used in A-holes.
CELEBRATE CHILD ABUSE
This year the Independent Spirit Awards bestowed their “Someone to Watch” trophy on Ramin Bahrani for his Chop Shop. The film is about a 12 year old boy in Queens working in the auto business. Bahrani is a filmmaker to watch - if you’re an agent of New York’s Child Protective Services.
A recent interview to promote Chop Shop sounds like it should be police testimony instead of an article in New York Magazine (nymag.com/movies/features/44209/index1.html).
“When Bahrani noticed that Polanco had a habit of holding his hands near his chest, he would slap his arms and yell, “Fag! Pussy! You look like a fag!” When Polanco couldn’t quite get angry enough for one audition, Bahrani broke a clipboard and screamed in his face, “You fucking pussy, do something!”
Who does this crap to an actor during an audition? What child actor gets slapped on the set by a grown man? And what parent allows this to be done to their child? Bahrani also took pleasure in letting his actors abuse each other for the sake of getting that shot.
“At 9, Alejandro witnessed a murder in a bodega on his street—one night filming, sirens went off and he was freaking out, and I remembered that,” says Bahrani, whose scene called for Alejandro’s character to discover his sister having sex in a car with a strange man. “I gave the guy a fake gun. I said, ‘Hold this to Izzy’s head.’ The moment comes, Alejandro saw that gun, and he freaked out—he attacked that motherfucker, cut his nose, ripped his shirt. And that’s the take I used. Now, tell me: Is that fiction or documentary?”
Perhaps we should ask Dr. Josef Mengele if his experiments were science or torture? This is the attitude you’d get from the producer of snuff films. The Independent Spirit Awards should be extremely proud for bestowing an honor on an adult who has no problem abusing a child for the sake of his cinematic art. Would any of the Independent Spirit Awards voters allow their children to be treated this way by Bahrani? Would any of these voters sit quietly and watch their kid get slapped and called a “fucking pussy?” This sets the bar high so that the next “filmmaker to watch” will have to execute half of his cast. Maybe Victor Salva will finally get a belated “filmmaker to watch” honor for Clownhouse?
DVD SHELF
Cheers Season 9 has finally arrived. It’s been two years since season 8 came out. Season 9 was the year that Sam Malone regained his bar from the evil corporation. No more ferns in the best little booze joint in Beantown. “Cheers Foul Out” is my favorite of this batch. In order to win a basketball game against a rival bar, Sam suckers Kevin McHale to be a ringer on the Cheers team. The Boston Celtic great looks good and loose while exchanging lines with the cast. There’s also the whole business of Rebecca getting married to her old boss. But what about her feelings toward Sam?
Beverly Hills 90210: The Fourth Season lets the world’s oldest teenagers go to college. Brandon (Jason Priestly) turns out to be a big man on the new campus. Dylan (Luke Perry) is still a little bit troubled. This is best known for being the last full season with Brenda (Shannen Doherty). The Peach Pit gets expanded into a nightclub. Luke and Dylan’s sideburns are still sharp and impressive.
The 4400: The Fourth Season is unfortunately also the final season. In the middle of the writer’s strike, USA network canceled the show. Luckily the final episode of this season works as a finale. We’re not left completely hanging about the future with these people with super powers in control. The nice part about this boxset is plenty of Summer Glau. The wife will watch anything with Summer on the screen. It’s a shame they couldn’t just move this series over to the Sci-Fi channel, but at least it didn’t completely gas out by going a season too far.
Romulus, My Father has Eric Bana trying his best to prove Hollywood hasn’t destroyed his soul. He returns to Australia to take on the heavy role of a dad trying raise his son around his wife’s new boyfriend. Bana’s a cuckolded man. This isn’t quite a return to his master performance of Chopper. Franka Potente (Run Lola Run) doesn’t quite have enough of a devious streak for her wayward wife. This isn’t a happy film. Bana needs to do a project that lets him show his comic chops.
The Adventures of the Young Indiana Jones: Volume Three, The Years of Change arrives just in time for the fourth film. This boxset contains the final batch of TV movies elaborating on the education and experiences of Indiana Jones. There’s plenty of World War I action along with early treasure hunts. Sean Patrick Flanery shines as the young Harrison Ford during these prequels. The bonus features are as entertaining as the films. For folks who aren’t quite sure about the historic characters and events, you’ll get educated fast. Documentaries that accompany “Hollywood Follies” will appeal to fans of early films. “Erich von Stroheim - The Profligate Genius” should have been a bonus feature on Sunset Boulevard. This is a gold standard for how a TV show DVD need to be presented.
Sick Nurses brings a fetish dose of Asian nurses to the world of horror. Turns out a hospital in Thailand is doing evil things with the bodies. The young nurses on staff must pay a harsh deductible to an evil spirit. For those with a fetish for an Asian nurse on the toilet using a pregnancy test wand, you get your dream. It is nice to see that the folks in Thailand are closing the Gore-cinema gap with Japan and South Korea.
THE DAY THE RABBIT DIED
Playboy Magazine is officially a shell of its former self. A pal had a March issue of the mag in his bathroom. Naturally I flipped through it for the articles. Instead of being enlightened with award-winning, incisive journalism, I witnessed the third sign of the Mayan Doomsday (coming on Dec 21, 2012): the prestigious “Playboy Interview” was Chad Kroeger of Nickelback. For decades this long form question and answer was the ultimate tribute to a public figure. This feature gave us Martin Luther King and Malcolm X. Jimmy Carter confessed he’d “committed adultery in my heart many times.” Brando, Kubrick, Castro, John Lennon, Bill Gates...Kroeger? Why did the editors of Playboy feel compelled to let the loser from Nickelback blabber about how he could suck himself off? Couldn’t this had just been a regular article if you needed to suck up to the Hootie Nation?
Why has Hugh Hefner forsaken us? Did he dedicate a Playboy Interview to Scott Stapp of Creed? Maybe soon we’ll get the Playboy Interview with Hannah Montana, Spongebob Squarepants or Arby’s Oven Mitt? They’re popular, too.
With this low point in journalism, no intelligent man can ever defend his subscription to Playboy with the “I only get it for the articles” excuse. You really want to admit your need to know that much about Nickelback? Just confess to your kids that you get Playboy for wank material when mom gets moody and won’t put out.
CHARITY NIGHTS
If you’re the promotion night manager of a baseball team in the International League, how about throwing a Dunder Mifflin appreciation night when the Scranton Wilkes-Barre Yankees come to town. Give fans a discounted ticket if they bring a ream of copy paper to the game. Your team can give the paper to a local charity. Whenever the Pawtucket Redsox arrive on the bus, you can host a Peter Griffin lookalike contest. Bonus points can be given to any guy who glues a scrotum onto his chin.

WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN

Why didn’t the reunited Led Zeppelin do a stadium tour of America this summer? At first I was rather skeptical of how they’d come off at their O2 concert in London. They had been so deflating on Live Aid (notice their set is missing from the boxset) and the Atlantic reunion. Plant and Page’s tour was interesting, but so overly augmented with guest musicians that it looked like Sun Ra and his Arkestra minus the flashy hats. Two hours of the surviving three members and the son of the drummer didn’t exactly inspire me to put a second mortgage on the house and hop a Gulfstream to London.

Over the weekend Augie broke out an audience bootleg of the reunion concert. In one of those rare showbiz instances, the hype lived up to the reality. Jimmy Page played like he had taken out a soul equity account with the devil. Robert Plant’s range might not match his vocal performance from the L.A. Forum in 1973, but it still has the swagger. And John Paul Jones brought it all back home when he broke out the keyboards for “No Quarter.” Only thing missing was a 30 minute take of “Moby Dick” since John Bonham’s dead.

It’s easy to understand why Pink Floyd didn’t take to the stadiums after their stellar set at Live 8. Those guys would eventually kill each other on the road. What’s the real reason behind Led Zeppelin not launching the Mothership? Are they waiting for the mint to print up enough cash for the outrageous ticket prices? Nosebleed tickets for the Eagles cost nearly as much as a full gas tank. Led Zep could ask $200 for third level seats at the Staples Center and it’d be a bargain.

THE OTHER WHITE MICK

Even with all the push, I avoided Shine A Light at the IMax theater. Do I need to see Mick Jagger and Keith Richards at 60 feet high with wrinkles that resemble a travelogue of the Grand Canyon? Hearing all the buzz made me hunt down a few BBC live concerts of the Rolling Stones from the early ‘70s. Contrary to what your lame classic rock DJ says, Mick Taylor made that band the greatest live show. His short tenure on guitar is almost airbrushed over as if he was just a session guy who was allowed to stand with the rest of the guys. Taylor was able to pull off amazing blues riffs that wrapped around Keith’s catchy chords. He elevated their game. He wasn’t flashy on the stage, but Taylor brought the wicked to the Satanic Majesties. I’m not going to post any links, you can hit any search engine with the right words to locate these live gems that deserve an official release. I would have seen Shine A Light if Martin Scorcese had been able to talk Mick into joining them on stage for “Midnight Rambler” and “Brown Sugar.” That’s cinema worth 60 feet of screen.

THAT’S MONEY

I’m not repulsed watching the Food Network’s Guy Fieri pimping for TGIFridays. Unlike certain chefs on that channel, the host of Diners, Drives-Ins and Dives appears in his natural environment as he pushes the latest deep fried and grilled concoctions on the striped table.

I’m creeped out by the ads featuring Pat Robertson and Al Sharpton on the sofa talking about climate change. Maybe we wouldn’t have so much hot air in the atmosphere if they didn’t have to talk so much.