Things progress, and George and his friends are rollling in dough. The marijuana trade turns into a cocaine trade, and over the course of a few years, George has amassed over 50 million dollars. And according to George's voice overs, in the early 80's, if you were snorting it, there was an 85% chance it came from him.

But what would any good drug story be without some tragedy? The years go by, George makes millions, and finds himself a wife. Him and the wife have a baby, and his little girl becomes the center of the universe for him. Some bad things happen. George gets taken away from his family, and the bond of trust he has with his daughter is broken. Destitute, George attempts to win his way back into her heart, and...go watch the damn movie.

This movie really drew me in. The cinematography was excellent, and the "flashback" scenes of the seventies were really bitchin. Like, i felt i was really there, man. The only thing that annoyed me about this movie was George. He keeps setting himself up for disaster, and every time it happens, you just have to sit there and cringe as you watch a little more of his life crumble away. But you only feel this way because Johnny Depp gave an incredibly real performance with George. He makes you feel like you've known this guy your entire life.

So would I recommend this movie? Hell yes. This is a definite in-the-theatre experience that shouldn't be missed. I give it three flames out of five ..

Got Prozac?

Starring: Steven Seagal, DMX, Isaiah Washington, Tom Arnold, Anthony Anderson
Screenplay by Ed Horowitz and Rich D'Ovidio
Based on the novel by John Westermann
Directed by Andrzej Bartkowiak

[Rated R for strong violence, language and some sexuality/ nudity. 117 minutes]

I really liked Romeo Must Die. Some of the wire scenes were hokey. But overall it was a good action flick, and an impressive film by a first time director. Andrzej Bartkowiak, and Steven Seagal…maybe he was trying to pull a Tarantino/Travolta and resurrect Seagal’s career. I went to see this film on a Wednesday afternoon off. It was the #1 movie of the weekend.

It seemed like a good idea…

The only thing I can figure out is that there are many, many DMX fans who went to see this movie. Remember when Steven Seagal was a bad ass? Above the Law was an excellent action movie for its time. Steven Seagal was a virtual nobody who filled that part perfectly. His stake went up a bit, and then slowly he sank into bad action film oblivion that damn near ruined his career. Well according to box office sales, this movie has rocketed him back into a career…of sorts. I mean, you can make a pretty good living in a strait to video world right?

This is the most blatant commercial action genre crap forced on the masses that I have had to subject myself to in a very long time. That being said, I paid $3.50 at the matinee to see it. I’d have felt less cheated if I had paid $3.91 at Blockbuster.

Steven Seagal is Orin Boyd. Every bit the bad ass detective. He gets busted for unauthorized excessive use of violence and throwing the vice president off a bridge (sounds good on paper, but it really isn’t) and is forced to take anger management classes, and transferred to the worst precinct in the city. Here he is busted down to traffic duty, and right back up again for no reason. He also picks up a partner, who has little-to-nothing to do with the rest of the story. Of course this precinct has all the staple elements. Good cop, bad cop, Internal Affairs, etc. DMX is introduced as the shady drug dealing bad guy, who for some reason never wants to actually do any harm. Anthony Anderson plays his comic relief sidekick, who really isn’t very funny. In fact, nothing really makes any sense at all until about ¾ of the way through when Tom Arnold’s character (from the anger management class) comes in and finally explains everything. At that point you start thinking “what?”. I mean they laid all this mysterious groundwork, and when they explain it, you wonder why they bothered. It really wasn’t any big mystery. Just facts that they didn’t let you in on, that had they done so, the first part of the movie would have made sense.

The movie did contain lots of fight scenes and gruesome special effects. I think that I was so disappointed with the rest of the story and acting that it took all the fun out of the action scenes for me. Some of those scenes leave something to be desired as well. In one fight, they conveniently lose all weapons, and have to use whatever is lying about. Well it just so happens that there are two Elementary-School-style large paper cutters. I fully expected Seagal to stick the guy's arm in and chop it off or something. Instead he rips that big cast iron blade off, the other guy rips his off, and they proceed to sword fight.

Come on…

This may come as a surprise to some, but I fully intend to watch all movies I review while sober. I figure it’s the least I can do. I want to bring you a coherent opinion of a flick. Well, I wish I had broken my rule here. If I’d have smoked a few before going into the movie I may have not cared about the plot, or the acting, or the editing. In fact, I may have just passed out and not subjected myself to this crap and written a better review of a better movie.

I give this movie one toke (out of five).

Cubic Zirconium wedding sets..... What does that tell you?

Buy a CZ and it won't even be listed in the divorce settlement!

Oh well . . . .

This one began way back in the 70's, well before disco turned music to shit. This was even before Paint was a-stirrin' in his daddy's loins. Me 'n' the jackass were hi-tailin' it up the beeline to Tulsa, Oklahoma, in my trusty ol' Chevy Apache pickup truck. I had Fred's dad, Fred Sr., in the back, stinkin' up the camper shell we'd put on just for this trip.

Right now, you may be thinking, why the urgency? Well, hold on to yer horses, 'cause I'm gettin' to that. I'm just a little slow, ya know? Anyway, now where the hell was I?

Oh. Yeah. We were haulin' ass to T-Town 'cause I'd won a big pot at the jailhouse poker game a week earlier. Said pot included three o' Fat-Ass Darrel's tickets to the big outdoor Lynyrd Skynyrd concert at the Tulsa County Fairground (Darrel worked part-time as a jailer back home. He weighed at least 400 lbs. an' most of it was in his ass. Of course, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figger out that's why everybody called him "Fat-Ass Darrel".) We wanted to get there a day early, so we could scope out the territory. Maybe we'd even get lucky and meet some chicks.

Early on, lady luck seemed to smile on us. We pulled over at a truck stop just north o' Okmulgee 'cause Wonderaz had to take a dump. Well, knowin' him like I did, I stepped inside the coffee shop 'cause I knew we'd be there a spell. After I sat down in my booth and ordered a cup o' joe, I noticed two purdy hippy chicks with flowers in their hair, parked a coupla rows down across the aisle. They kept lookin' my way, just a-smilin' and a-gigglin'. After nonchalantly checkin' my nose just to make sure I didn't have a tell-tale booger hangin' out, I gave 'em the patented JEB wink and grin. Sure 'nuff, in no time at all they wuz a-sittin' across from me in my booth.

How'd I know they were hippy chicks? No bras, man, no bras. Ol' JEB notices important details such as that. They had hippy chick names, too. Emerald an' Joeycat. And coincidentally, it turned out they just happened to be hitch-hikin' to the same place me 'n' wonderturd were headed to, namely, the BIG CONCERT.

Of course, bein' the gentleman I am an' all that, I invited 'em to climb aboard the JEB Stuart Concert Express. Hell, the invitation had no sooner passed my lips, than they were out there in the cab o' my truck, squealin' and bouncin' up an' down in the seat like a coupla little girls.

So, I paid my check, and their's, too, and stepped outside. Just as I made it out the door, sir jackass came saunterin' around the corner, fiddlin' with a button on the fly o' his britches. He glanced up, eyeballed my truck, then looked back at me, with an expression of hope mingled with disbelief in his eyes. As I swaggered toward ol' trusty, I just kinda tilted my head real cocky-like, shot him a wink and said, "While you wuz busy takin' yore shit, I got busy roundin' up some gals." With that, we both broke into a dead run for the truck.

In retrospect, I don't know what in hell we got in such a hurry for--Emerald 'n Joeycat had already decided the partnerin' for us. So, the rest of the way up to Tulsa, Emerald rode on Wonder's lap, while the jackass lamely tried to keep his drool in check. Joeycat just cuddled up to me, allowin' as she had to help me with all that hard gear shiftin' an' knob twistin'. Me 'n' the jackass didn't say much at all, either, 'cause they took righteous care o' the conversation department, too.

We made it to the fairgrounds in one piece. The concert was set for the next day and the outdoor circus was just breakin' down as we pulled in. I parked as close to the big, high privacy fence as I could get, killed the ignition and we piled out. I went around to the back and opened the door to let Fred, Sr. out to stretch his mangy ol' legs. I could see he didn't need to take a shit, 'cause he'd left a pretty good sized coil on Wonder's toesack. Jeebus.

Well, I'm here to tell ya--Fred, Sr. woofed, took two sniffs and shot past me like a turpentined cat. I shoulda thought first and put a leash on him, or sumpin', before I let him out. You see, my current dog Fred, that all y'all members have grown to know 'n' love, is a chip off the ol' block, the ol' block bein' Fred, Sr. And Fred, Sr. wrote the book on humpin' everything in sight. Jeebus, with all these circus animals around, I knew Fred figgered he'd found the mother lode o' new hump material.

Before long, the place sounded like a damn African safari as my canine humper was apparently making one new acquaintance right after another. Elephants, tigers, lions, monkeys . . . all screamin' an howlin' either their indignant protests or joyful approvals, but as to which it was, I couldn't tell. Perhaps some o' both, I just don't know.

Anyway, I forgot about Fred fer a while as we got busy settin' up camp. As we were chit-chattin' with the ladies, we soon discovered they had arrived in town without a couple o' essential items, namely, they didn't have any tickets and they didn't have a red cent between 'em, of course. Oh, the concert had also been sold out weeks earlier.

Women. Go figure.

But, have no fear, the great Wonderaz is here! Shee-yit. While I was sittin' there a-stewin' over the latest revelations, he jumps up, strikes a gallant pose and declares, "Gals, don't you worry yore purdy little heads about a thang! I will save the day!"

Joeycat started gigglin'. Emerald shushed her and looked up at the jackass with two big doe eyes that'd melt butter. She flipped her hair, knowing fully well Wonderaz wuz doin' his best to get that shot down the front o' her blouse, and said, "But I wanna be with yooooo! What if you don't get iyun? I'll be so looonsome without my big Wonder muffin!"

Yep, that cinched it for the Wonderstud while I struggled to suppress my gag reflex. In a husky voice, dropped at least two notches, he replies, "Don't fret none, sweetcakes. Like ah said, I'll be with ya one way or another. Yer Wonder Muffin'll get it covered. You can take that to the bank, dollface!"

Oh hell, yeah, the silly bastard would get it covered. I mean, between us we had exactly $12.56, which was maybe, just maybe, enough to cover the gasoline to git back home. Maybe he figgered there was a sperm bank close by that'd buy enough o' his rotten baby batter to raise the $50-60 the scalpers were demandin' (and gettin', from all appearances) fer tickets.

Call it instinct, or maybe I'd just developed a jackass sixth sense after all those years. Either way, that old familiar, but uneasy, feelin' was a-comin' on strong. This was fixin' to git good. Or bad. All depended on your point o' view, I suppose.

Things had started to quiet down as dusk began to fall. I hadn't seen hide nor hair o' Fred in over three hours. I was beginnin' to wonder if maybe one o' the big cats had decided to have some dog fer supper, when all of a sudden we heard a "BAROOOOO!!!BAROOOOWOOOO!!!BARARAROOOWOOO!!!ROOOOO!!! Closer and closer. Louder and louder. Oh, it was pitiful! It sounded kinda like Fred, but then again, it didn't.

Well, it was Fred, alright, runnin' like his life depended on it. As he drew closer, it looked like his eyes were about to pop outta his skull and it became apparent he was carryin' a full load o' passengers. Yep, I'd heard people about havin' a monkey on yer back. Folks, I'm here to tell ya--Fred had THREE o' them li'l sumbitches ridin' him an' they were givin' him holy hell. One scraggly monkey was clutched around his neck, grippin' Fred's ears like handlebars on a bicycle; another straddled his back, with a stick in each hand, and wuz a-poundin' away on his ribs like he was a set o' hound dog drums; and the third monkey was hangin' on to Fred's tail, a-violatin' my dog in the butt like a jackhammer.

BAROOOHOOHOOOWOOO!!!BAROOoooo.....* Fred was plumb outta sight 'fore I even had time to stand up. I confess to bein' just a little worried, 'cause I'd never heard a dog bawl quite like that in my life.

Mornin' came and still no sign o' Fred. By early afternoon, the place was gettin' really crowded. We decided that me an' the girls would take my three tickets and go on in early. That way, we wouldn't have to jockey so hard to get situated up close to the stage. Of course, we promised to save Wonderaz a place 'cause he swore up and down that, come hell or high water, he'd make his way inside. I did pull him aside and reminded him that we didn't have a plugged nickle to spare for bail money, but he just brushed me off and rattled off, "No problemo man! I'll git it covered!"

Well, we made it past the gate and worked our up toward the front. In no time flat, we were feelin' no pain as the doobies kept passin' by, right to left, left to right, just like a damn assembly line. Finally, an announcer took the mike and mumbled something unintelligible. All of a sudden, the crowd roared to its feet and Wet Willie, the warm-up band, took the stage. They did a nice, long set. Even came out for an encore with "Keep Smilin'". Still, no sign o' the jackass. By this time, me 'n' the gals had just about forgotten who in hell the jackass wuz, 'cause we were ridiculously stoned.

The frisbees were a-whizzin' and the beach balls were a-bouncin'. But, that wuzn't all. It was hot, so the women's tops began a-flyin' off, too. I was soooo happy. Ol' JEB was in titty heaven with his favorite band, Lynyrd Skynyrd, about to take the stage. Man, it don't git no better'n that.

Finally, a huge Confederate Flag (Cross of St. Andrew) unfurled on the backdrop while Ronnie Van Zant 'n' the boys ripped into "Workin' For The MCA". Man, one great tune followed another and, finally, "Sweet Home Alabama".

No Wonderaz.

The band left the stage and the crowd began chanting, "FREEEEE-BIRD! FREEEEEEE-BIRD! FREEEEEEE-BIRD! . . . ." After almost ten minutes, the boys finally ran back out and began giving us what we wanted, namely, Freebird.

Not that I gave a shit, but still, no Wonderaz.

Just as Van Zant began the vocals, the air exploded with a deafening *KA-BOOOOMMM!!!* It was so deafening, Skynyrd stopped the song and just gawked. Way up overhead, high in the sky, was something sailing toward the stage with smoke trailing behind it. Was it a bird? Was it a plane? Was it Superman?

Hell, no. It was the jackass and he had company. Fred was wrapped tightly around Wonder's ass, doggie-style, so to speak. They hurtled down right in the back of the stage, plowing into the upper part of the huge Confederate Flag. What's more, when they hit the flag, they just stuck there, like a huge wad of chewing gum, except it was the spread-eagled jackass with Fred on his ass, doin' what Fred did best--humpin' Wonder's booty fer all he was worth.

Well, naturally, it interrupted the song, but not fer long. Van Zant finally cleared his throat, shook his head, and said, "Wull, I be gaaawd-dayum!" He waved off the security crew and counted the band back into Freebird. The jackass didn't budge the whole time, in fact, I'm sure he was out cold. From what I could tell, he was tangled in the cording holding up the big flag, which was just as well, since it was about a 40-foot drop to the floor. I also found out Fred had a sense of rhythm, 'cause it was obvious his Wonder-humps were in sync with the beat of the music. Naturally, the humpin' got faster and more intense as Freebird built up steam.

You will recall the circus was tearin' down to leave when we arrived the day before. I later figured out that Fred musta hid himself from those infernal monkeys inside Jo-Jo, The Human Cannonball's king-sized cannon. Of course, my dog was inside when Wonderaz aimed that cannon toward the stage, slid down the barrel and shot himself over the fence. Fact is, I'm amazed the discharge didn't bury Fred right up Wonder's ass.

Then, as always, there was also the matter of bail for the jackass. Yep, I told him we didn't have enough money, but he never listens. Truth is, I shoulda let the silly sumbitch rot in the Tulsa County pokey since I had to take his big (and I do mean B-I-G) sister Loretta out to eat (and other unspeakable things) 'fore I could persuade her to spring for Wonder's bail.

Oh well. Amen.

Really you need that 100 pack to back up the stuff you own right???

This movie transcended the actors and personnel involved with its making, although they all did an outstanding job. Rather, what sticks with me is its disturbingly timely and sadly accurate commentary on our society.

This is not a "whodunit", for the viewer knows who done what and who's gonna do what virtually all throughout. There's plenty of action, but I wouldn't call it an action flick, either. Though there's a couple servings of romantic side dishes thrown in, it's no love story. There's even a generous measure of gore and violence. Regardless, only a moron would call it a "hack 'n' slash" picture.

This thing called 15 Minutes holds up a big mirror and gives us an uncomfortable look at what we've become. It shows how we have allowed many of the principles we profess to hold dear to, in truth, become compromised, even trivialized. It mocks our utilization of the countless cheap rationalizations we have come to rely upon in order to pass off as right, things we once deemed wrong.

Who among us truly has honor?

John Wayne is dead. There are no more real heroes--men and/or women of unimpeachable and uncompromising honor. Everyone has a price. Everyone.

Oh, surely there is someone who, if pushed hard enough, will seize the ring of honor and rise above the sewage. Perhaps? Maybe not. When the movie is over, ask yourself whether Edward Burns, the fire marshall, is a hero or a villain.

Briefly, the movie centers around a Czeck convict who comes to the U.S. to retreive his share of the take from his former partner in crime. He is accompanied by a Russian pal. The Russian is infatuated with cameras and movies (such as "Silence Of The Sheeps" ). One of the first things the Russian does is steal a camcorder. From that moment on, he proceeds to film virtually every move he and his Czeck companion make.

Unfortunately, the partner in crime (now a plumber) has spent the Czeck's share of the loot. So, the Czeck is obliged to kill his partner and offs his partner's wife as well. For good measure, he then torches the apartment.

The Russian films it all.

Later, they watch a tabloid TV show of a man about to become wealthy from his crime story, after beating a murder rap with a temporary insanity plea. They decide they can do the same thing. Those stupid Americans!

Al Pacino is a police detective made locally famous by tabloid broadcasting. Burns, on the other hand, is a fire marshall who simply wants to do his job and shuns publicity. Nevertheless, Pacino and Burns are thrown together by the circumstances of the murders and arson committed by the two foreigners.

A short while ago, ol' Paint and I were discussing another movie he'd recently watched. He remarked how movies frequently seem much better to him if he goes in with low to no expectations. I've noticed this phenomenon, too. Fact is, I sat down to 15 Minutes with virtually no anticipation. I went just to get out of the house. Since then, I've wondered if I would have enjoyed it nearly as much had I carried high expectations. I can honestly say I believe this movie deserves high marks, regardless of my expectations.

In sum, 15 Minutes is interesting and disturbing entertainment. I am confident it will linger long in my thoughts, for the production never overwhelmed the message. Thus, I am pleased to give it a very emphatic four Fred Heads out of five. Amen.

Due to my own ignorance I suppose, I had entirely expected a romantic comedy. What else does Julia Roberts do, after all? I knew the basics of the plot, that it involved a kidnapping and Mexico, but I was thinking Life Less Ordinary, not Get Shorty. So let’s just say that 10 minutes into the picture, my expectations were totally dashed.

But then again, this movie is FULL of surprises.

The Mexican stars Julia Roberts, Brad Pitt, James Gandolfini (playing, guess what, a criminal), Bob Balaban (a terrific character actor that I remember most as the music teacher in Waiting for Guffman and the quirky scientist sidekick in Altered States), and a whole lot of Mexicans. I gain more and more respect for Brad Pitt with every movie I seem him in. I really appreciate the chances he takes with his career, and he plays terrifically in this film, as a born loser named Jerry (think Mr. White meets The Dude). It’s a lot of fun just watching him in this movie. Julia Roberts is adequate as Sam, and James Gandolfini (who plays Leroy) is perfect in a role so juicy it would have been an absolute crime to not give it his all. While the acting in the picture is great, the real fun involves the story.

Sam and Jerry have been lovers for a long time now. Yet their passion for each other is so great that they drive each other batshit whenever they aren’t fucking or going to marriage counselors (despite the fact that they aren’t married). What doesn’t help the situation any is the fact that for five years now, Jerry has been involved in a life of crime. Mostly just acting as a courier for a big time criminal named Margolis who is currently running his whole operation from a prison cell, in part because it was sort of Jerry’s fault that the guy got busted in the first place. We never see Margolis until the very end, though as much as he is talked up during the course of the film you just KNOW it’s going to be a cameo played by a really famous actor. Margolis’ face on the outside is a guy named Nalin (Balaban), a weasely looking fucker who tells Jerry that he has only one more job to do before he has worked off his debt to Margolis (the debt being, got him sent up the river for five years). All Jerry has to do is go to Mexico, find a kid named Beck who has a very expensive antique gun, and bring Beck and the gun back to Nalin. This, of course, does not go over well with Samantha, as the two had planned on going to Vegas to finally get married. She informs him that if he goes on this job, the two are over and she is going to Vegas herself. He informs her that he doesn’t consider not dying to be “selfish”, and really has no choice in the matter. So the two go their separate ways. In retrospect, Roberts and Pitt probably only spend about a total of ten minutes together on screen, but the story of their romance is thoroughly explored nonetheless.

So Jerry goes to Mexico and Sam goes to Vegas.

In Mexico, Jerry has a pretty easy time finding Beck and the gun. The gun in this picture is not just a McGuffin though, it turns out to have a story of its own, one that Beck relates part of upon meeting Jerry and handing over the gun, and a story that gets retold several times throughout the film, each time adding a new part to it. Essentially, the gun is said to be cursed. This holds true for Jerry, as within minutes of acquired the antique and Beck, things start to go horribly wrong for Jerry and he enters into a downward spiral of detrimental coincidences, poor judgement, people fucking each other over, and just plain old fashioned bad luck.

Things aren’t going so hot for Sam, either. En route to Vegas, she gets intercepted by Leroy (Gandolfini), a notorious hit man and kidnapper, who informs her that the Powers That Be suspect Jerry has nabbed the gun and is making off like a bandit with it. And, since they know that Jerry and Sam were in a relationship…well, as Leroy says, “he who controls the girl, controls the gun.” That is, of course, until Sam informs Leroy that she kicked Jerry to the curb before he left. At which point Leroy’s role quickly switches from Kidnapper to Marriage Counselor.

This is not a cut and paste sort of a plot. Trust me. It reminded me a lot of movies like Snatch, Get Shorty, and U-Turn. A plot device at every corner, an unexpected event every five minutes that completely changes everything, at least until 5 minutes later when it gets usurped by another out of the blue event. The movie surprises you time after time after time, and the surprises don’t stop until the credits roll. The surprises aren’t cheap either, you don’t feel cheated. Forgive me but I’m a sucker for great plot devices.

And the thing I think I like the most about the movie is that it has amazing depth but maintains its light hearted tone the whole time. The movie is a comedy, to be sure, and a pretty funny one at that. But everything is explored; the characters aren’t two-dimensional throw-aways. Leroy the hit man, a role that in most movies would be cookie cutter, has some of the film’s most surprisingly emotional moments. That sums up a lot about the film. Part thriller, part crime story, part comedy, and part romance. That’s a pretty tough hybrid to pull off. This film does it.

It isn’t perfect. There are a few things that could have been done better I think. The romance between Roberts and Pitt isn’t as believable as it could have been, and that’s pretty important to the plot. And one of the important characters in the film, Nalin, works with pretty two-dimensional motives. But on the whole, I thought this was a helluva fine film. I appreciate it when I say to myself in a film “Wow, how the FUCK are they going to get out of this one?” then five minutes later, “Ahhh, hahahahaha. Sweet.” Five minutes after that, “NOW how the fuck are they going to get out of THIS one!?”

On the whole, I give it four beers out of five.