Tag Archives: movies

Nice To (Kind of) Meet You, Mr. Deniro


Dear Robert Deniro,

I will begin this letter by saying I adore you as the lightning pirate who wears corsets and can-can scarves in the movie Stardust. Though you have made a career out starring as tough mob bosses and mentally unfit taxi drivers, I must admit that I did not truly appreciate your talent until I saw you parading around with a heart-shaped mole in this film. You may star in my future films as a sexually-confused air-pirate anytime.

That being said, I would like to point out that while you were equally as brilliant in your role as Jack Byrnes in Meet the Parents  and it’s sequals, I was so disgusted with that Ben guy that I couldn’t fully enjoy your performance. He seems to end up in a lot of movies I immensely enjoy, causing me great distress.

I’ve just gotten finished watching Everybody’s Fine on Netflix, and I without a doubt think that you should have received an Oscar for your performance as a lonely widower on the edge of death. While I watched, I thought to myself that I would surely not mind being your daughter, because you did love your children so. I am glad that you did not die at the end.

Thanks to Netflix, I was also able to watch The Big Wedding, where you played a horny old man with an ex wife and a girlfriend. Might I just say here- yay for you! If you can so easily play a randy seasoned patriarch, perhaps you are not acting at all, hmm?

Side note: While my previous letters to greatly-matured actors such a Anthony Hopkins have hinted at my possible lust for them, I must admit that I bear no such funny feelings in my pants for you, dear Robert. That is not to say I do not find you to be quite smashing in other categories. So sorry.

After having adored you so in the last few films of yours I’ve watched, I have made a point to put all of your movies that were available on my Netflix list. Sadly, Cape Fear and The Deer Hunter were not among these. So if you happen to read this letter, and find it even mildly amusing, would you be so kind to send me signed copies? If not, I guess that’s ok. It was only a suggestion.

I would like to congratulate you on the fact that you haven’t aged a day in the last 20 years. You don’t look a day over…. 65. Well, there has to be a few grand actors in Hollywood who aren’t just there for their looks, right?

If at any time you wish to produce a movie that requires that I play your daughter, or hired hooker, feel free to give me a call. It would be a great honor to work with you. I would even include a booby squishin’ hug upon our initial meeting, but don’t get any ideas. I’m saving myself for Chris Meloni.

XOXO,

Sparklebumps

 

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No “Breakfast” For Me


I may be the only human being in Minnesota, the great USA, or the universe for that matter who has never seen the film The Breakfast Club in its entirety.
That is not to say I am unaware of the previous existence of a man named John Hughes.

A “genius” this man has been called, and so I firmly agree, as he cast a beautifully perfect Michael Schoeffling in a little known film called Sixteen Candles.

(Here is the part where I ashamedly admit that the only part I remember of THAT movie was something about a note being passed about masturbation and who the perfect candidate was to fantasize about during. Molly Ringwald , smart girl that she was, named Michael as her alone-time Adonis- and who wouldn’t?)

Pretty in Pink, John Cusack, that dude that married Megan Fox- these are all creations of Mr. Hughes and his amazing teenage-angst-ridden mind. This is why I’ve had a bug up my ass for the last week about finally watching his masterpiece The Breakfast Club.

I journeyed to Target on a mission- that of picking up this classic film for under $10, where I was convinced I had seen it available for consumption on numerous occasions. Imagine my shock and despair after I roamed the aisles of DVDs and blue Rays only to find my basket empty. (Except for some sparkly makeup).

“C’est la vie”, I said, “Walmart will have it.”

It was not so.

A sense of panic and irritation came over me when I exited the double doors of said big box store- How was I to relish the thrill of Judd Nelson’s questionable acting abilities if I could not locate the desired product? There was only one more place to try.

I have discovered that unless you have unlimited amounts of credit on your AmEx card, travelling to Best Buy is not for you. If you wish to purchase a big-ticket item such as a 55″ flatscreen or the newest Ipad for many dollars, Best Buy is for you. Otherwise, there’s not much to look at except cords and wiring for your surround sound. (And attractive techy men.)

I unwilling set foot inside Best Buy and sauntered over to the one (yes, ONE) aisle of DVDs. I will let you decide what I did NOT discover there.

And so, I am distraught, for I will not be able to reminisce about an 80’s movie I have never seen, nor join in any kind of club for breakfast, because every fuckin’ store I’ve been to has decided to take it off of their shelves because I finally want to watch it. Thank God for Amazon. But now I have to wait for it. Grrrr.

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Loving Julia Roberts and Other Such Nonsense


There was a time “when men were kind, and their voices were soft, and their words inviting.”

Sorry, that wasn’t exactly where that sentence was supposed to go; just gearing up for my Les Mis audition.

Actually, what I was going to say was, there was a time when I believed Julia Roberts to be the best thing since the value menu at Burger King, but then I realized trouty lips don’t age well.

It’s been awhile since I posted, and there is really no good excuse for that, other than I was busy sleeping and reading The Help. I’m so sorry, my lovely followers who depend on me for their daily Special S, for I have let you down and not in the last weeks given you the fodder necessary to lose pounds from laughing your asses off. I shall do better, this I swear.

Anyhoo, back to Julia and her amazing platypus lips.

When I first saw Pretty Woman, I didn’t see a hooker in safety-pinned boots. I saw a tall slender woman with amazing red hair who was everything I would never be. At the time, I was not who I am now, mainly because I was a self-deprecating anorexic with bad hair. In the end, my point is that for a couple years, in my eyes, Julia Roberts could do no wrong. (Except for that movie Mary Reilly; it’s true not everyone can do period pieces.)

I had the entire VHS filmography of Julia up until the time DVDs became popular, when I then decided her best movies were My Best Friend’s Wedding and Runaway Bride. (The latter mainly because any glimpse of Chris Meloni still gives me chills in my drawers.) I opted to not replace all my Julia tapes with DVDs, and as they say in the Bible, I put away childish things, and never thought much about Julia again. (Partially because ever since she won an Oscar, she’s starred in nothing really worth seeing.)

This morning, I decided to watch Larry Crowne, and was again reminded why I fell in love with Julia all those years ago. Whether she is playing a dolled up hooker living a fantasy or a disenchanted community college professor in a failed marriage, she is absolutely believable. I must admit it was a bit disturbing to not see her trademark mile-wide grin until almost the end of the movie, but as she wallowed through her margaritas while mourning the lack of boobage her husband so desired, I could not help but identify with her.

It was then that I decided I was going to make carrot cake cupcakes.

I do not proclaim to be a domestic goddess, but in the past year I have felt the urge to bake cupcakes. Perhaps this is due to the fact that I watch Two Broke Girls on Monday nights. Whatever the reason, I thought that carrot cake cupcakes would be perfect for a post-Easter Monday.

I set about dirtying ever dish and measuring spoon I could lay my hands on, only to find right before I mixed that I hadn’t as many carrot shreds as my recipe called for. Not to be phased, I turned the dial on my hand-held mixer anyway, and produced extra-moist (I hate that word moist, blech) carrot cake cupcakeys that taste a bit more like pineapple than carrots. Ah, well. This is what comes of having my Rockstar pick up ingredients at the store.

P.S. I know you are wondering, “Rockstar? I thought she got rid of him?” Let us just say relationships are complicated. Welcome to my simple life.

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Shame On You, Cinderella


So yesterday was an icy cold day yesterday in the Midwest, and I spent the day doing what any civilized child-minded person would do on such a day: I watched Disney movies with my Rockstar’s Daughter. ABC Family has become my newest favorite cable channel.
After re-aquainting myself with the story of Aladdin, (while singing under my breath to all the amazing songs written by one Alan Menken), I was thrilled to see that Cinderella was the next film to be featured. I realized as it began that despite having had the Golden Book version of the movie and having read it so much I had it memorized as a child, I had never actually seen the movie. Though the animation was aged and far inferior to that of my favorite The Little Mermaid, I appreciated the ugliness of the evil step-mother, and was inspired to in the future write the story of how she became so bitter and ugly. But nevermind about that for now.

I was of course distracted from the Scrabble game I was winning (philo IS a word, dammit!) by Cinderella when Bibbety-Bobbity Woman adorned her in a sparkling gown with look! glass slippers!  but I was even more distracted to watch the non-handsome prince immediately fall forever in love with her upon first sight. He knew he wanted to make her his queen without even knowing her name. Now I have just a little bit of a problem with that.

Yes, of course every girl (including me) dreams of being so beautiful just a glimpse of her will make a prince fall in love with her. ‘Tis true that a sparkling gown and glass slippers may aid in such a thing, but if a prince would notice such things as that, one may wonder if perhaps he should be searching for another prince. What disturbed me so about their first meeting was not that he fell in love with her, but the fact that she didn’t even say anything. There was no hint that she was a hard-working PETA member who could sing better than her ugly step-sisters, or that she was a dog-lover who could also cook a mean breakfast.

Now  I understand how a man could fall immediately in love with a beautiful woman, as this seems to happen surprisingly often to me, but I am convinced my stellar personality and DDD’s have a little something to do with that. Upon meeting me, men haven’t a chance to simply adore my supposed beauty, because they are lickety-split bombarded with questions of there origins and whether they wear boxers or briefs. My curiosity always gets the better of me.

Anyhoo, I am upset that the story of Cinderella fools little girls into thinking that all they have to do is look pretty in order to find happiness. Yes, accessorizing is a tool to help a girl cheer up when she’s feeling down, but she can’t just go around looking pretty and expect a prince to fall into her lap! She must at least be amusing, or sweet, or something! No man wants one of those bitchy pretty girls, do they?

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Casting Agent Fail


I’ve just been to the movies.

I went to see Snow White and the Huntsman.

Given my inclination toward all things fairy tale and princess- related, you would think I’d be ecstatic right now.

I would be, except for one little casting mistake that was quite impossible to ignore.

Kristen Stewart was playing Snow White.

I could go on and on about the imagination it took to create such a magical masterpiece as I have just witnessed. The CG effects and action scenes rival those of Avatar. I could rave about the utter gorgeousness of Charlize Theron as the Wicked Queen, and the chilling effect her crazed-for-power eye bugginess had on my soul. I could babble deliriously over the rugged overly-handsome guy who played Thor who’s name I don’t know, and mention how sexy it was to hear him utter my favorite line- “Once upon a time.” Sadly, all of this cannot not make up for the disturbing and disgusting choice some must-be-insane completely mentally-handicapped fucktard made when he decided Kristen Stewart could ruin his entirely otherwise-perfect movie.

It is true I may have been slightly poisoned against Kristen during my temporary insanity days when I had to watch the Twilight movies. Don’t get me wrong. She was perfectly cast as the mousy personality-devoid Bella Swan. There was nothing she could do to make a limpid tiresome character less so. In fact, she seemed to have known this, because she did nothing including acting when she was getting paid to star in that squalid series. But I’m not talking about that anymore.

First of all, if you look back on your childhood storytime days, you may recall the fact that in the original Snow White, she was mentioned to be the fairest of them all. Who the fuck could even BEGIN to imagine Kristen Stewart as the fairest of anything?!?!?!?! Throughout the movie, the only thing I could think was,”Wow. Charlize Theron in full Aileen Wuernos Monster makeup would look better than Kristen Stewart at her best.” Kristen is not in any way hideous, or malformed, no. It is the fact that she has the figure of a 13 year old boy and the face of Sarah Plain and Tall that bothers me. If the girl could act, I wouldn’t give a shit- all the greatest actors are ugly. Chistopher Walken is a prime example. But how are we to believe that Snow White is the one to save the entire world from complete desolation when she walks around looking permanently constipated? You have no idea how badly I was hoping Charlize would slash scary knife repeatedly across Kristen’s face, just so her features would in some way move me.

Why couldn’t it have been ANYONE else?

Megan Fox, though slightly over-rated, would have at least provided the necessary eye-candy effect that Snow White is supposed to have.

How about Anne Hathaway? She’s deliciously pale and raven-haired. Her acting doesn’t suck either.

I realize Angelina is a bit old, but at least her acting ability is schooled enough that she could make you believe she was supposed to save the world.

Pretty much, any unknown half-decent looking actress off the street could have saved me from wanting to scream at the screen, “Kill her Charlize! Rip her face off!!!!!”

You have no idea how upset I am.

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Discussing “Brokeback”


The other day I was perusing Netflix looking for fun and interesting movies to watch. I came across Brokeback Mountain, and thought, “Hey! I started watching that once and didn’t get a chance to finish it. I shall watch it now!”

First of all, the only thing I remembered about the “gay cowboy movie” when it came out was the episode of Oprah where she interviewed the cast and showed “the tent scene”.  For those of you who haven’t seen Brokeback, I will just tell you that the only sex scene doesn’t really show anything, and the sex is not of the romantic slow-motion butt-fucking sort. Other than that, as I watched the movie in it’s entirety, I realized it was quite a well-written heart-breaking story of love between a guy who could admit his gaydom, and a guy who was too afraid to. I must admit that when Ennis found his bloodied flannel shirt in Jack’s closet, I sobbed like a baby.

Anyhoo, after I got done watching the emotional roller-coaster, off to work I went. I later texted my Rockstar and told him he should indeed watch Brokeback Mountain since he had mentioned at one time that he had wanted to. He did.

The next night, we discussed and analyzed the movie as we sometimes do. While I did, in fact, like the storyline, I felt the movie to bit a bit too long and drawn out. My Rockstar’s opinion, on the other hand, was that the movie “sucked balls.”  He was much disappointed in the fact that there wasn’t more mushy love stuff throughout the movie, and to quote him- “It wasn’t even nice sex. It was angry scary sex.”

The only thing I could think when he said so was, “Oh, god. I am dating such a girl.”

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Suffering From Temporary Stupidity


Pay attention, People, because this may be the only time I will publicly admit that I MAY have fucked up. I MAY have done something unsavory. In the words of Inigo Montoya- “Let me sum up.”

You all may have heard of a little movie that came out this weekend entitle  The Hunger Games. I was ecstatic about this fact, because I have read all the books and found them to be quite amazing. So when I found out that the movie version was coming out at the end of March, I told my Rockstar that I was going to see it.

I would like to point out here that when I told him this, I implied that he should go with me.

Anyhoo, as I was driving to church yesterday, the sudden urge came over me that I simply MUST go see The Hunger Games this week. Since I actually have multiple nights home with my Rockstar this week, I text him to make sure that he was still unwilling to expose himself to this young adult epic. I let him know that if he refused to go with me, I was planning on going after church, to the theatre of my past, where it was less likely that I was to be trampled by insane teens. He told me to go alone.

Here is the Thing. I do not mind going to movies alone. In some ways, I prefer it. I can sit where I want, I can eat as much candy as I want without sharing, and I can switch spots when the other movie goers are obnoxiously chomping their popcorns too loudly near me. However, if I am offering to pay, and I am in a relationship, and he has nothing better to do than sit in a dark theatre with me- he better fucking go.

I would also like to point out that this was one of the same flaws my ex husband had. I went to ALL the midnight showings of the Harry Potter films BY MYSELF, and numerous other movies ALONE because my ex “wasn’t interested” in them.

I’m sorry, maybe it is my histrionic personality  clouding my judgement, but I translate that as “I do not want to spend time with you bad enough to go sit through a movie I don’t want to see just to be with you.”

This is the part where I MAY have fucked up.

I sent him a text stating that my ex used to make me go to movies alone, and that I thought I had upgraded from him.

I didn’t hear from him for the rest of the day. In fact, when I got home, I didn’t hear from him either. But honestly, I had nothing to say to him at that point.

The plan for this morning was that I was to take my Rockstar’s Daughter to school. I woke up intending to do just that, and found that my Rockstar was NOT at work. I asked what he was doing home and he said he was going to take his daughter to school because he couldn’t just sit at work and wonder if I had woken up to do so.

I have never EVER not woken up on the morning I am to take her to school. And I have never EVER gotten her there late.

I have consulted with unnamed sources, and it seems the reference to my ex in comparison with my Rockstar MAY have caused a riff.

When this was pointed out to me, my honest thoughts were, “Oh jesus fuck. Is he really going to be a fucking crotch dog over that shit? Maybe he should have just gone to the fucking movie with me then. I’m not apologizing.”

And so now I have to sit here for the next ten hours wondering if my night is going to be shit because of my stupid big mouth. Fuck.

 

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