Why are you trying so hard to *not* get laid?

Someone has got me watching Supernatural. There's not a whole lot one can say about about pretty boys Jensen Ackles traveling about the country battling demons and the like. It retreads about every other Buffy plot minus 65% of the wit. But who cares? Pretty boys! Jensen Ackles!

Even better than the show is having the excuse to read Drunken Bee's season 1 recaps. Below, her greatest hits:

The Hardy Boys Resolve to Exercise More

Praise Allah, Hallelujah, and Shalom, we pan up on Jensen as he slumbers face-down on a bed wearing little shorts. Unnecessary strings wail in the background as we hear keys fiddling in the lock, and then see a large figure looming behind this weird glass-brick wall between the door to the motel room and the room proper. Dean's eyes snap open, and the strings continue to wail even though the one-celled organisms living in the dust on my television know it's just Sam. There's no need to start every scene with a little mini...SURPRISE!, is my opinion on the subject. Sam comes into the room holding coffee and says, "Mornin', sunshine!" as Jensen pushes his chest off the bed, craning his neck backward, in a total beefcake pose. Then Jensen's thighs move this way. Then Jensen's thighs move that way. Then Jensen's thighs decide to get out of bed. I'm thinking this would not be a bad way to continue the recap. What are Jensen's thighs doing? WWJTD?

***

And it's dialogue like this that make me love my job. Listen, I subbed in for Al Lowe on an episode of Deadwood and I'll take Padalecki's ungrammatical grunts over Ian McShane's iambic pentameter any day. This show is a recapper's dream: 30 minutes of grunted dialogue, 15 minutes of walking around corners in spooky places, done.

The Lord God Your Hardy Boys

Back in the car, Plain Jane and Rich keep smooching. I'm sorry I have to keep saying "smooching," but I think it is the most accurate description of what they are doing. This time Rich reaches up behind her neck to try to untie her slut sack's halter tie. Plain Jane pulls back and is like, "listen, I know you receive lots of mixed messages about what women want from men -- and about seventy-five percent of those messages are indeed somehow connected to Julia Roberts -- but I'm here to tell you that women do not, in fact, want to get paid for having their naked ass pressed onto piano keys, nor give up satisfying careers as sleek fashion photographers to take care of your kids, nor find some man to rubber mallet them into the wedded bliss they've been running away from for years, nor have very public breakdowns about their cheating husbands, nor act completely nonsensically about their "best friend's" totally nonsensical wedding all while sporting the very prominent shoulder pads common to food critics (WTF?), nor do ANYTHING ELSE that Julia Roberts spent doing in the '90s, and ESPECIALLY we do NOT want to endure a boob fondling like that totally gross one Jason Alexander attempts to unleash on Ms. Roberts in Pretty Woman, the one that UNFORTUNATELY made us cheer in relief when Richard Gere came riding up in white pleather to the tune of mothereffing Roxette. Those are some things we do. not. want."

The Hardy Boys Go Off To See the Wizard

She seemed somewhat cute, but only before her mouth started moving, because once she starts talking you notice that she has an incredibly short upper lip, one that makes it impossible to look at her and not think about that little piece of skin that connects your lip to your gums and nobody wants to think about that, ever, right? They make hitchhiking chit-chat, and the more she talks the more awful it gets. She has completely wooden delivery, so much so that I'm wondering if maybe I simply fell asleep for a few years, woke up to find that Padelecki's career did not turn out exactly as he had planned, and am now watching a porno. I mean, her real name is Nicki Aycox, which has a certain, well, Just Add Lube quality to it.

The Hardy Boys Get Religion

As Dean wakes up, he looks up at The Rev, who stands there with his Blind Man's smile, and beyond whose shoulder lurks a nattily-dressed demon with the face of a Shar-Pei and also pretty much the same face of the villains developed for a critically-acclaimed episode of that critically-acclaimed television show that I certainly don't want to have to bring up week after week, and so will just leave unnamed because we all know what I'm talking about, and, yes, it does rhyme with "Huffy the Cast-Iron Conveyor."

The Hardy Boys Get Some

Cassie continues to run around shutting shutters, which, whatever. This goes on for a while until she grabs her phone, dials it, and then yells, "Dean! Deeeaaaann!" into it. "Dean" what? "Dean, come save me from a posturing truck"? I don't know. And I know this is a silly show, which is fine, but this scene really bugs me because, you know, African Americans lived for decades with the horrible spectre of there appearing out of nowhere the blazing bright light of a cross on fire in the front yard, followed by the possibility of being dragged out of their homes and beaten or killed. Is it really in the best taste to revise this awful cultural history into one involving...a killer truck with really bright headlights?

[I just couldn't understand why she didn't run down to the basement...]


The Hardy Boys 2.0
The boys swamp through the lush and verdant Texan landscape on their way up to the front door, remarking on how run-down the place is. Dean taps on his tiny little machine, which unfortunately does not reside in his pants. The EMF reader isn't working due to some interference that I don't care to recap since it, too, has nothing to do with Dean's pants.


The Hardy Boys and the Art of Getting Laid

Commercials. Every time I see one of those Revlon ads with Susan Sarandon and Julianne Moore powdering their noses together and laughing so exaggeratedly at how beautiful they each are, I can't help imagining that immediately before and after the shots, those two bitches are rolling around on the ground, trying to rip each other's wigs off. Julianne has her teeth clamped into a pit-bull grip on Susan's ear and is all "raarrraaarr" shaking her head from side to side and the director's like, "Uh, Tony? Could you please separate them? Okay, great. Roll camera!" Then they get in their chairs, do their bit with the laughing and the powdering, until "Thanks, ladies. That's a wrap!" and then they're immediately on the ground again, Susan's broken the heel of her right Blahnik, and Julianne's hem is all ripped as she windmills her arms at Susan but Susan is holding the tiny bitch effectively at arm's length. But maybe that's just me, though.

I am currently in the first third of season 2 and I have observed the following: Jared Padelecki needs to get a haircut and take an acting class, Linda Blair is VERY bad actress, and no one does death like Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

A naked time traveler from the future, of course...

Oh, Brisco County, Jr., why did you leave so soon? See, this was the first scifi western to be canceled by Fox. (Sorry Browncoats!) And what a nutty ball of cheese it was: bounty hunter Brisco heads after the man who killed his federal marshal father, master criminal John Bly. That part I remembered. Upon watching the DVDs, it turns out there's this whole time travel, super powerful orb thing that can make one hero-strong and/or have eternal youth. (It's all kinda vague, but you gotta expect that from the guy who created Lost.)

The orb/time travel deal was clearly not thought out ahead of time, so the wonky plot holes and deus ex machinas are just par for the course. And diaglogue is pretty hackneyed, too. At one point, Bly throws up the evil jazz hands and actually says, answering for why he wants the orbs (dirty!): "So I can rule the world!" There might have been a 'BWAHAHA' too, but I'd have to check.

Of course, Brisco, is a blantant homage to the old film serials and dime novels, so the plots, both obvious and ridiculous, are almost expected. And the cast and writers delve into the show so wholeheartedly and are having so much fun it's hard to not enjoy it. Especially, the snarky, platonic man-love between Brisco and fellow bounty hunter Lord Bowler, played to the hilt by the dearly departed Julius Carry.

That said, it had moments of true wit, usually in the form of Pete Hutter:



And did I mention Brisco is played by Bruce Campbell? There ya go.

You're just two white stripes.

Finally, after years of hearing about it, I've seen Ladies and Gentlemen the Fabulous Stains.

It's not a good movie. Music producer Lou Adler wanted to direct a movie so...here it is. And the script is kind of a mess (apparently, not the original writer's fault and she had her name taken off the credits for for the original release). But it's fascinating nonetheless. Fifteen-year-old (!) Diane Lane is an orphaned teen who has a punk band (with no drummer) that creates a cultural firestorm. She's angry, confrontational, and unapologetic, and amazing.


Wish we knew where she got the "We don't put out" bit - was she attacked? is it all just an act? She's not virginal as we can plainly see from her getting it on with Ray Winstone in the shower (for real naked! at 15! what the hell?). Is it a reaction to the small town-there's-nothing-else-to-do-but-fool-around-and-get-knocked-up life path? This, like Mama Mia! probably shouldn't be analyzed to closely.

I will say that I'm completely bummed that there's no soundtrack available.*



Holy crap, that's Ray Winstone! Looking all hot and dangerous without aid of CGI! And he kinda rocks as a singer too!

The bit at the end - shot two years after the rest of the film - with the Stains cleaned up as New Wave pop band? You could totally get away with Lane's outfit today:


Walk down Bedford Avenue on a Friday night and I guarantee you'll see some iteration of it.

Oh, and I don't want to forget the one bit that is actually a moving piece of cinema: Christine Lahti, playing Laura Dern's mother, speaks to a television interviewer about her admiration for her daughter and nieces making a life for themselves, 'havin' fun,' and being icons for a new generation. Lahti is such a magnificent actress, never overplays, and ALWAYS makes me cry.

And I leave you with, again, Ray Winstone:

And Ray Winstone:

I KNOW.

(Get the DVD. Listen to Diane and Laura's commentary. LOVE.)


*You can hear the songs and think of at least five bands who were clearly influenced by this movie. This year's Stains-lovers: the Vivian Girls.

Honey, honey, nearly killed me...

Mama Mia!, what a fucking mess.

Let me clear up a few things up before I dive into the film itself.

First: I love musicals.

Second: I love ABBA.

But I never saw the stage version of Mama Mia! because I find so-called jukebox musicals kind of a cheat, creatively speaking; structuring a flimsy plot to wring the last remaining cultural/financial viability out of an existing batch of pop songs seems just plain lazy. That said, it has been done well in the past but this ain't MGM in the 1940s and 50s.

Still, let's start with a positive jam...

The good

• ABBA - I've owned Gold since high school. "Dancing Queen" is one of the best pop songs ever recorded, so the music is not a problem here. And even with actors who can't sing worth shit, the songs still hold up.
• The cast - Clearly, they were having a blast. Watching Stellan Skarsgård getting accosted by a gaggle of nubile, young actress, I could imagine him thinking: Fuck this von Trier/Dogma 95 bullshit, I'm goin' for bubblegum musicals from here on out!
• Amanda Seyfried - Having watched her in Veronica Mars and Mean Girls, I knew she was a capable actress. Had no idea she had such a sweet hummingbird voice, and it's that voice that holds this monstrosity together. She was luminous.
• Christine Baranski - Why she doesn't work more is a mystery. Why she only got one solo in this film while we had to hear Pierce Brosnan caterwaul through the Bjorn/Benny catalogue also boggles. Too bad the young man she serenaded was gayer than a Pride parade.

• The Men - Are hilarious and game (Colin Firth was especially hilarious) .... and, sweet merciful Zeus, they're handsome. I get the whole Dominic Cooper thing now; he should never wear a shirt. Ever.
• The scenery - Greece is pretty.
• The Greek chorus - Literally, a chorus of Greeks. It was the wittiest aspect of the whole movie.
• "Voulez-Vous" - The only musical number that actually worked in the entire film, coordinating plot, staging, choreography, and song to effectively heighten tension, character, and story. You know, like a real musical.
  

The bad

• Direction - Who is Phyllidia Lloyd and why is she allowed behind a camera? She's an opera/stage director with no film experience. Why would you put her in charge of a hugely anticipated, star-studded, multi-million dollar major studio project centered on a Swedish pop musical? She doesn't know how stage a number for the camera or how to move the camera or where to put actors. Her 'keepin' it real' concept - numbers set on the beach and cliffside where Meryl Streep was almost blown away by the wind - was just a big giant FAIL. Why couldn't the producers have gotten someone who actually knew what they were doing, like say: Rob Marshall, who has been nominated for Oscars and Tonys and actually won awards for choreography and film direction OR Baz Luhrmann who has created some brilliantly insane musicals and could've made this film something exciting to watch instead of it being rather sad and frustrating* OR P.J. Hogan who has actually made a movie about about weddings set to an ABBA soundtrack. **

Oh, the possibilities...

• Editing - This film was a cornucopia of overlong static shots with no transitions and weird, random cuts that completely take you out of the moment. (SEE: End shot of Sophie's three dads bidding her farewell on the dock at night, switching awkwardly from a nicely lit silhouette shot on a soundstage to an overhead shot done on location and then back to the silhouette.) The credited editor actually has a pretty impressive resume, so I'm gonna give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she just had little to work with.
• Choreography - "Retarded" is the word that came to mind regarding the dancing in this movie. Just look at what they made poor Christine Baranski do! It was mostly glorified line dancing and pantomiming lyrics. I wasn't expecting Bob Fosse, but I hoping for a little imagination.
• Screenplay - Done by the book writer who has some teevee experience. So many plot holes (Where did Sophie's friend's come from? Did she go to college at some point?); so many incongruities with time and age. And the characterizations: where did Skye come from? The fight between him and Sophie was the most compelling part of the whole movie. I wish I could've known more about them besides that they're hot and in love. And when did Colin Firth's character meet his hot Greek boy and decide to come out? Oh, and has no one heard of paternity tests? Is Greece cut off from all technology?
  
• The Women - You'd think that a major film written, produced, directed, and starring women would maybe break free of the usual female archetypes in movies today, but alas we get: the resentful single working mother, the martini-ed cougar divorcee, and the spiky-haired workaholic spinster desperate for a man. Lloyd actually had Meryl Streep and Julie Walters running from and/or chasing men on rooftops, over tables, and shimmying down drainpipes like some poor man's Wile E. Coyote cartoon. I know it's a musical comedy, but couldn't they get some laughs without using humiliating stereotypes? Again, where is the imagination?
• Meryl Streep - Here's a toothpick to get all that scenery out of your teeth, honey. I adore her, but she really needed to pull back the obnoxious, harried mother bit. Too much yelling and arms flailing like she was Tom Cruise in Vanilla Sky. She could've pulled back some on the musical numbers too and let the songs do some of the work. "The Winner Takes It All" is a powerful song on its own (and Meryl does belt it out admirably), so there's no need to be fist-jabbing Tae-bo style. (You're mad at Pierce and his beautiful chest fur; we get it.)
• The Greeks - Kept in the background as chorus, as servants, as poor villagers to be enlightened and freed by Western pop music. Is this a Brit/colonial patronizing thing? Kinda bugged me.

After all that, I feel like an ass because my mom just adores this movie, seeing it twice in the theater, buying soundtracks for everyone she knew, and watching the DVD twice plus all the featurettes within 24 hours. She doesn't geek out on pop culture stuff as much as my dad and I do, so I love that she's indulging herself and don't want to denigrate that. And I did find some of it quite enjoyable. It just irks me that this much talent was misused. Also, I am a hateful crank. Forgive me, Mom!



*Though I hear that's what Australia is like. Clearly, he needs to get back to his nutty, musical roots.
**Reminding me that: 1)Rachel Griffith's used to be Australian! and 2)I actually bought this movie on VHS way back yonder in high school and I still have it. Long live Porpoise Spit!

Sex & A-Ha

Sex and the City
Again, late in the day, with a zeitgeisty flick assessment. Though I watched the series as a dose of weekly fluff, I was kinda hating it toward the end because they made Carrie such an abhorrent character. Flawed heroines are fine, but a vapid, thoughtless thirty-something woman who has shown no sign of growth over six years isn't worth my time, especially not 2 1/2 hours (?!) and $10. So I skipped the theater-going for this one. But my mom sent me her DVD of it, so why not veg out and see how the girls fuck up their lives this time?

The WTF...

• So materialism is what wrecked Carrie and Big's first go at marriage, yet the film is laced with product placement, including quite possibly the ugliest purse anyone has ever seen. And in the end, what gets her back to Big is the need to retrieve a pair of outrageously priced shoes (Blahniks, natch). *sigh* Okay. Fine.
• Well, I always wear a long string of pearls to bed. I mean, I may choke to death in my sleep, but at least I'll look like a classy Twenties flapper doing it.
• Who wears a silk dress to pack up a whole apartment?
• ZOMG CARRIE TOOK THE SUBWAY. LOOK AT THE DEPTHS BIG SENT HER TO. BASTARD!!!!!!!! In the commentary, Michael Patrick King says she 'risk'ed going into subway on New Year's Eve to tend to her hurting friend who lived all the way down in the LES! Risking taking the same mass transportation that 90% of New Yorkers take! I hope she had hand sanitizer!! Do you think you she had to stand all the way from 73rd? The HORROR!!!
• Just when Carrie if finally taking responsibility for her asshole self, Miranda tells her that she happened to unload on Big at the rehearsal dinner and told him not to get married, and now it's all Miranda's fault. Really? She's 40 now? GROW THE FUCK UP.
  
• Charlotte's storyline: she shits her pants and has a baby. That's...it.
• Miranda's ginormous earrings. Did Cynthia Nixon get hazard pay for wearing those?
  

The good...

• SJP's brunette wig: she needs to go back to her natural hair color. She looked stunning and sophisticated and like a grown-up with the brown. The dirty blond thing does her no favors; it washes her out and makes her look haggard.
• Eating ramen while watching Meet Me in St. Louis? See, that? I do.
• Jennifer Hudson is absolutely gorgeous. Is anyone's skin really that smooth? Good god.
• Charlotte holding Carrie and yelling at Big to back off in the immediate aftermath of the jilting. So mama-lioness fierce, so nakedly angry and without any comedy. It's a rawness you never see from the character and Kristin was awesome.
• Sam breaking up with Smith in honest and caring fashion. There were no puns, no recriminations, no merkins. I relish the few moments this character gets some dignity.
  
• Carrie's redo of her apartment post-breakup. The shoes and clothes are ridiculous* but I'm all about decorating porn and I adored the color of her walls.
• Okay, the vintage dress suit that Carrie actually gets married was simple and gorgeous.

Final word: not a total embarrassment, but I'm glad I didn't spend a penny on it.


All Songs Considered Takes on the '80s
Oh, the snobs. I mean, I listen to Bob Boilen's podcasts and like his selections and overall joy for music. But this show seemed like a chance for him to be a dick.

He and his guest critics start off with the obvious: hair metal, what Carrie Brownstein hilariously calls Butt Rock. Easy target, not underserving. And then they laugh derisively at "Let's Hear It For the Boy" by Deniece Williams. Yes, it's all synths and drum machines and just a big pile of pink cotton candy. So? It's a pop song. I don't need all my music to be works of staggering genius. Sometimes skipping around in glittery purple legwarmers is what's required. So sayeth Brownstein: "I allow myself the pleasure to dance to 'Hear it for the Boy'" - as we all should, thank you.

Next easy target? Don Johnson's "Heartbeat." Because actors would never deign to create crappy vanity pop albums these days. Or in the sixties. Or seventies.

Then they put Hall & Oates on trial. Yes, it's cheesy, but it's such good cheese, like a gooey brie. Like the quality pop that it is. Utterly enjoyable. And dammnit, Daryl Hall is a fine singer. *She says, muttering angrily and rocking back and forth with a copy of "Sarah Smiles" clutched to her chest*

Another discussion examined a topic gleened from the the film High Fidelity: formerly great musicians who go to shit in the eighties. The film's example was Stevie Wonder. Okay. But the ASC folks decide to put Springsteen on that list. Come now. The River, Nebraska, Born in the USA, Tunnel of Love? Sure there were synths on some of these records - it was the eighties, after all - but these are good records with quality songs. These dudes want every album to be The Ghost of Tom Joad, and I think both me and Bruce would slit our wrists if that were the case. Surprisingly, they didn't bring up Heart, who I believe fits this this pattern to a tee.

Inevitably they get to the indie(ish) stuff - Replacements, REM, Tracy Chapman - full of earnestness and guitars and bass, and I totally agree. These are great artists who did great work. It proves that the eighties was not a lost decade musically. But in this discussion about earnestness, one of the critics (apologies, I forget who - Robin Hilton?) intriguingly brings up Guns 'n' Roses and their "authentic bigness." Unlike the Crue and other LA hair bands, GnR were gritty and complex musically and lyrically. Izzy and Slash were fierce and Axl made you want to check his backyard for freshly dug graves when he sang "Used to Love Her." They were serious about their RAWK. And make no mistake, GnR were RAWK. Hilton (?) puts on "Paradise City" and everyone but Boilen is creaming their jeans cuz of the massive opening riffs, dying to get up and mosh. Bob is audibly cringing. He thinks it's stupid. No, Bob. It's rough and rude, but not stupid.

Cringe number two comes when Robin (for sure, this time) plays "Head Over Heels" by Tears For Fears. YES. They point out the lame synth solo in the middle but love it regardless, cuz it's just a great pop song about unrequited love. They also note its awesomely cheezetastic video. And what's hilarious, is that Boilen has (numerous times) stated that he is an 'electronic' musician which means he's spent plenty of time noodling on the synths he's complaining about. Guh?

This may be mean but I always picture Boilen's music sounding something like this:


Finally, Bob cleanses his aural palate with 'This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)" and some Minor Threat. Again, can't argue with those, but someone needs to take the stick out of their ass and just enjoy the fluff. There's a little bit of Footloose in all of us. Embrace it, Bob.

The end of the podcast includes random snippets of the critics mentioning all the music they didn't get a chance to cover, including Carrie's indie Kiwi list (with Robin namechecking Crowded House, thanks), John Hughes soundtracks, and the influence of the video, including the best video of all time, hands down:

a-ha |MTV Music

The most glaring omission of the glaring omissions? Rap. Seriously, no rap was mentioned at all, save for the Beasties "Fight For Your Right" at the very, very beginning of the show. And they didn't even talk about it; it was just the music cue. Hell I was a white girl in the midwest burbs but, via MTV, I was still exposed to the biggies, good and bad: Public Enemy, NWA, Fresh Prince, Salt 'n Peppa...and holy crap the RunDMC/Aerosmith combo? That was huuuuuuge!

Whatevs - I'm just gonna turn up my Go Gos and Bangles records and drown out the pretension...

Why would you drive out to East Jesus nowhere?

So I missed Juno upon its initial uproar and backlash and backlash to the backlash. But now! Now...

Away from the rabble, my thoughts are these:

Allison Janney rocks. Let's just get that out of the way. From CJ


to Loretta


to Brenda* (best stepmom ever?)

...she is confident and no-nonsense and beyond loyal. Perhaps, she's typecasted. Who cares? Who wouldn't want to be paid to kick ass?

J.K. Simmons is very close second.

Schillinger was in Guys and Dolls. True.

Bateman and Garner have a lovely chemistry (they've worked together before), even when portraying a couple in flux, uneasy and not a little scared and in the end not suited for each other in their very big, very beige house.

They front-loaded the quirk in the first half of the moive and it was a little much. But the remainder is grounded and positive and loving. For all her snark, Juno is likable. Paulie is likable. Her family is fab (her sister's name is Liberty Bell?!). You even sympathize with the perfectionist goddess Vanessa and her punkass hubby. (I mean, he was honest and quick about it and didn't denigrate her.)

Okay, the ending is twee. Really twee. But it was much needed twee after watching Into the Wild (flick #1 of the Friday Double Feature) and the face of a gaunt dying Emile Hirsch as the end shot (Thanks Sean! That was disturbing!)

And I want Paulie's house.

Oh, what about Into the Wild? It's beautiful and sad and waaaaayyyyy too long. And I couldn't help but think that if the kid had gotten some therapy and gone on an Outward Bound trip when he was in college, maybe he would still be alive. Dying that young is always senseless.




*What is it about ultrasound techs? The one I had a couple months ago (not for baby-seein' -- let's not get crazy here) had zero personality and got the scanner goo all over my shirt and did a shit job of cleaning it off.

Zack and Miri make a porno...

...and it's good!

So yes, Smith uses some of the Apatow company for his main cast, with Randal and Jay and a couple of actual porn stars thrown in for good measure. But this is a Kevin Smith movie, in dialogue, character, and construction.

The Good

• Plenty of laugh-out-loud funny moments, especially from Craig Robinson in his biggest film role yet. And Brandon Routh trying no to laugh in about every one of his scenes as the consort of Justin Long's gay porn actor. I might actually watch Superman now...
• Plenty of good-natured dirtiness. Smith and David Milch should have a swear-off. No one can string profanities like these guys.
• Rogen and Banks are actually quite sweet and funny together. If ever a foul-mouthed hot blonde and schlubby stoner belonged together it's these two.

The Bad

• Oh, Kev, when are you going to release that obsessive death grip on your work and let someone else edit your films! Too many montages for too long. And the music! Too many songs thrown onto scenes, overpowering your precious, precious dialogue. (The only music cue that helped a scene was when Zack and Miri consumated on camera and the music cut in and out denoting their 'moment' and the disinterest of their film crew. But, Live, Kev? Really?)
• A bit of sentimentality never hurt anyone, but the last third of Zack and Miri is just so hokey and obvious it kinda kills the climatic happy we should get when our titular heroes reunite in their love (observed by a naked Jason Mewes and heard by Elizabeth Banks on the can, which was funny but, again, overlong).

Both of these problems plagued Jersey Girl, which seemed almost desperate in its need to be a mainstream rom-com. And certainly, Smith is looking for some of that sweet Apatovian coin. But the whole reason Kevin Smith was Kevin Smith is because he threw something unique into the film comedy ring: wordy geeks, the smart sassy women who loved them, and their painfully awkward relationships. Endings weren't The Player-esque 'traffic was a bitch,' carry the lady off into the sunset cheese, but could be ambiguous, a little tragic, while still retaining the positive. Why be hacky? Are you hacky now, Kev?

Despite these flaws, I am not sorry I spent $8, in this economy, to see this movie in a crappy suburban Jersey mall theater. The bit that pops up during the credits alone was worth the price of admission.