Monday, August 08, 2005
Monday Lite: Last-Ever Dukes of Hazzard Post, I Swear
Look, I realize the horse is dead and continuing to beat it will only gross most of us out. Some of us will find themselves slightly aroused by the idea of abusing a dead animal, but let's hope your shame and confusion convinces you to keep your dirty perv ideas to your damn self.
I hadn't planned anything else about The Dukes of Hazzard movie, but some extraordinary things happened that I must comment on. For your sakes, I have decided to do so in my shorter-than-normal Monday-after-the-late-Sunday post. You are welcome.
1) The Dukes of Hazzard opened in first place, grossing over $30 million. This is for a movie that cost around $50 million to make. So... score, I guess. I take full credit for this development. By choosing not to bad-mouth it in the same way I so callously dismissed Stealth--thus dooming that film to dismal failure--I have virtually guaranteed the success of Dukes. I'm still getting used to my vast and (apparently) unstoppable power. I'm still trying to figure out exactly when I acquired it. The only thing I know for sure is that it must have happened some time well after the last presidential election.
2) In the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly with Johnny Knoxville, Seann William Scott and their
EW rates things on a school-grade scale, A through F. The Dukes of Hazzard? B+
I read the whole review (the whole thing!) and couldn't figure out what the hell happened. Where was the snark? Where was the derision?
Then I got to the very last paragraph. It says:
"Jessica Simpson, with skin as tawny as melted caramel and a smile of joy to rival Julia Roberts', turns Daisy into a vibrantly luscious comic tease."
I checked the by-line: Owen Gleiberman. Click! It all made sense. He raved about the movie because Jessica Simpson gave him a boner.
Very professional, Owen. Now I understand your glowing review of Busty Hookers a little better.
3) Driving in the tricked-out hoochie-magnet minivan with Mrs. Pops and the kids, we drove past a Dukes of Hazzard billboard on Saturday. Mrs. Pops turns to me and says: "We definitely have to see that."
Stunned as though struck, I swerved into oncoming traffic where I collided with an SUV and we all died.
OK, not quite, but nearly. She assured me that she wouldn't want to spend movie theater money on it, but it was a "definite rental". My brain re-booted and words made sense again. I'm still fighting with the burnt-hair smell, but whatever. The aneurysm didn't bust, so we're good.
I prodded a little further and it turns out she thinks Seann William Scott is "really funny". I read between the lines: my wife has got a thing for Stifler.
So then I didn't drive into oncoming traffic, but I kind of wanted to. Just a little.
There. It's done. We can move on. Next up: fourteen posts in a row about Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo.
This post on the Narcissus Scale: 9.7