True, I'm sure the boomin' in my head wasn't helped none too much by the fumes comin' through the floorboard o' my semi-trusty, but always cantankerous, Chevy Apache pickup. Damn, it was especially hot this mornin', too, and I'm sure the heat just compounded the effect o' the gassin' I was gettin'. On top o' that, I had Fred's stanky ass parked in the seat right next to me, pantin' away with his rotten dog-breath drool a-drippin' and a-slobberin' all over creation.

Oh, and a-ridin' shotgun right next to ol' Fred was that little turd, Paint CHiPs. Yeah, this was several years back, in fact, he was six years old at the time. His momma liked to send him down once in a while to stay a week or so with the jackass. As to why she did that, I have no clue. She just did. Hell, I didn't even know if that boy had a real name. Everyone just called him Paint CHiPs, I think 'cause the little shit was known to eat paint off o' walls, or sumpin' crazy like that. Kids. Go figure.

I couldn't rightly say little Paint was a bad lad, but he was different, that was fer sure. That morning, since Wonderaz was nowhere to be found, I got him up and told him to get dressed. Well, he did . . . in a fashion. I'll put it like this: If gettin' "dressed" means wearin' little cowboy boots, with yore dinky drawers pulled up the crack o' yore scrawny li'l ass, and a Batman's cape tied around yore neck then, yep, he was "dressed". I just hoped nobody'd see us while I went into town that mornin' to tend to a little business.

We were rollin' down Hiway 90, a-goin' west. I slowed 'er down as we passed the city limits sign goin' into Marfa, Texas. If you ain't been there, Hiway 90's the Main Street, too. By this time, my eyes were waterin' so bad from the exhaust fumes and Fred's stench, I couldn't see none too well.

"Wook! Wook! A few-nuh-woe! Wooook!!!", squealed Paint, as he pointed with his little toe-headed self stickin' out the window. My eyes finally cleared and just in the nick o' time. Just ahead, a-comin' our way, was a funeral procession with the big, shiny, black "Eternal Rest Funeral Home" hearse in the lead. Musta been a big'n, too, since I could see a string o' headlights trailin' off fer quite a ways behind it.

Naturally, bein' a conscientious citizen an' all that shit, I respectfully wheeled Ol' Blue (my Chevy Apache pickup) over to the curb, popped the gear-shift into neutral, and held my foot on the brake. I glanced in the rearview mirror and could see thick, black smoke a-bellowin' up from behind the tailgate. Oh well. I had a few quarts o' recycled oil in the bed o' the truck. Those ol' worn-out rings an' burnt valves'd just have to tough it out a while longer.

As I waited, my thoughts drifted back to the events o' the precedin' night. The jackass had talked me into takin' him out to The Yellow Rose, a little honky-tonk situated on the other side o' Marfa. We rolled into the parkin' lot and, as always, walked inside like we owned the joint. It generally takes a few seconds for the ol' eyes to adjust to the darkness in these dives and they always smell the same--stale cigarette smoke 'n' sour beer, i.e. our kinda place.

Well, Wonderaz sauntered over to the bar. Before he could get a word outta his mouth, Ol' Booger Red, the barkeep, grumbles, "No tab tonight, jackass!"

"Yeah, right, Booger-daddy!", snapped Wonder in reply. "Ol' JEB's buyin' a round fer the house! JEB! JEB? Hey!! JEB . . . ."

I knew his signal all too well and also knew there wasn't any sense in tryin' to duck outta this'n 'cause my ol' "pal" knew when I got my check and, hence, always got real philanthropic on my behalf come check-time. So, I pulled out a twenty and nonchalantly tossed it on the bar, tryin' my best to look like the high roller I wasn't. Booger grunted as he snatched my dough, wiped his nose with his shirtsleeve, and commenced to pourin' draws fer everybody in the house. Speakin' o' the house, hell, I looked around and saw there weren't too many people there . . . maybe a dozen, not countin' the old man either passed out or dead in the corner (he never moved the whole night).

Booger handed me my change and a draw with about a 2-inch head o' foam on top, the cheatin' bastard. But, I didn't say a thing. As I was stuffin' the money back in my pocket, I noticed ol' Wonder'd parked his sorry ass at a table over by the jukebox with a coupla gals. Naturally, I had to go over and sat down in order to investigate.

Truby and Jolene were their names. Not too bad, but definitely not too good. Just your basic over-the-hill barflies out fer a good time. Well, at least the smell o' their hairspray 'n' cheap perfume overwhelmed that damn persistent sour beer odor (just to be sure, I smelled my glass, but it wasn't coming from it).

Truby did all the talkin' for her an' Jolene. Lord, she talked enough fer all four of us, as it was. Anyway, Truby let on that she was a "professional" cosmetologist; that Jolene was her recently divorced cousin, visiting her from Peach Orchard, Arkansas. Truby went on to say Jolene was probably gonna go to school an' become a "professional" beautician and maybe start up her own business right there in Marfa.

I looked at Jolene and she just nodded her head and smiled. In fact, she did that the entire evenin', just nodded her head and smiled. I truly believe if I'd told her to suck a fart outta Fred's ass, she woulda just nodded her head and smiled.

Anyway, as the night wore on, we danced and we drank. Then we danced and drank some more. Over and over. Every time I asked Jolene to dance, she'd nod her head, smile and get up an' dance. Speakin' of "over and over", Truby and Wonderaz were really gettin' "hodgy" with each other, if you know what I mean. I lost count of the number of times that jukebox played, "Together Again", by Buck Owens and the Buckaroos. It was a sight, I tellya, watchin' those two wrapped up in each others arms, a-rubbin' bellies and staggerin' around the dancefloor. About the middle of the song, they'd start cryin' and through the sobbin', they'd sing along (three different keys all at once, mind you), really bearin' down on the part, " . . . and nothin' else maaa-derz . . . 'cuz we're to-ge-ther, a-gayun . . . ." (I really liked that song, until I heard them two sing it. Jeebus.)

Eventually, Booger Red turned the lights on. "Last call fer al-key-hall!" We all got some in a road cup, then Wonderaz slurs, "JEB! Trubeesh gon' show me where she workshhh! She shaysh take *buuuurrrp!* goo' care o' Zho-lene! Mmmm-kay? *Truby giggles, then farts*

Wonder just hee-haws and says, "Got-dayum, wo-man!!! You done shit yore pants? Ha-ha-ha!!!" *Truby just keeps gigglin' and farts, again.*

Last I saw of 'em that night was in the rearview mirror as I peeled out to take Jolene to Truby's house. Fortunately, Truby'd told me where she lived earlier that night—Lot #6 at Trail's End Trailer Park. By the time I got there, Jolene was out cold and snorin' like an ol' Duroc sow, to-boot.

Yeah, y'all are wonderin' by now whether I took indecent liberties with Jolene. Yes, you are. Admit it.

Well, I'm here to tell you, ol' JEB wouldn't do sumpin' like that. Besides, try as I might, I couldn't get the picture and sound outta my head o' that damn Truby just a-gigglin' an' fartin' like it was her second nature. So, I just gather up Jolene, took her inside and flopped her on the sofa. She came to long enough to nod her head and smile, then commenced to snorin', again. Jeebus.

A VAAAAARRRRROOOOOOOMMMMM!!!, followed by a loud *BOOM-BOOM-CRASH!!!* brought me back from my recollections. As I blinked my eyes, I saw that the hearse had apparently gunned it, ran up over a parked car, then plowed into a fire hydrant. What's worse, the casket had shot out the back, hit the pavement, and spun to a stop in the middle of the street. In seconds, it sounded like raindrops pounding the top of my cab as the water from the busted hydrant started spraying up in a huge, fan-tail arc.

"WOOOOK! WOOOOOOOK! A ZOMBEEEE!!" Paint was jumpin' up and down in the seat. "A WEAL WIVE ZOMBEEEEE!!! WOOOOOOK!! ME GIT DAT ZOMBEEEEE!!!" Before I could say anything, the little turd had jumped outta the truck with Fred right on his heels. Oh, and I forgot to tell you--Paint also had his trusty water pistol that, unlike normal kids, he filled with mysterious and foul liquids. Truth is, I strongly suspicioned that he'd somehow found a way to fill it with Fred's piss and, trust me, that's some damn horrible piss.

Shit, I couldn't see through the windshield, so I got out. I took one step toward the casket and stopped cold. No. It couldn't be . . . . Yes, it was. I swear, my jaw musta dropped clean down to my knees. Before me was that jackass Wonderaz stumblin' outta the coffin, a-wearin' nothin' but his old, beat-up cowboy boots and a bright, red brassiere.

Hell, it became all too clear to me in a right hurry that my jackass buddy was either still drunk, or the blow from the coffin hittin' the pavement had him disoriented. All hell then broke loose when, in short order, dozens of members of the funeral party got outta their cars to investigate. I've never heard such screamin', wailin' and cryin'. Men, woman and children were runnin' in every which direction; several dropped to their knees and started praying out-loud; and yet some others just passed out right on the spot.

Pure-dee pandemonium.

In the middle of it all was that jackass Wonderaz, red brassiere and boots, stumbling around in a wobbly Texas two-step, singin' at the top o' his lungs. "Tooo-ge-thar . . . aaa-gayun! . . . na-na-na-na-naaa-na . . . too-oo-ge-thar aaa-gayun! . . . .“ Damn. That goofy sumbitch couldn't even remember the words.

And then there was our visiting turd, li'l Paint. He'd crouched down behind the lid o' the coffin and was shootin' Fred piss at Wonderaz, while Fred made the rounds, humpin' on the people prayin' as well as those passed out on the pavement.

I didn't have enough of my check left this time, so I had to hock my TV and Wonder's fishin' rod to rake up his bail money. Hell, I've seriously thought at times it'd probably be easier just to have my monthly check put on direct deposit to the Sheriff's Office for that jackass's bail. Oh well.

I later learned that ol' sow Truby was a cosmetologist, alright--fer the goddamn Eternal Rest Funeral Home. After leaving "The Yellow Rose" she and the jackass went there and got kinky (I'll spare you the miserable details, 'cause I think it's kinda sick, if'n you want my opinion) in the caskets. After doin' his manly deed, ol' Wonderaz passed out. Truby got pissed when she couldn't wake him, so she slammed the lid on him and somehow made it back to her trailer to sleep it off.

Trouble was, Truby didn't show up to work the next morning to put what was left of the late Louie Dalrymple in his coffin which, by the way, just so happened to be the same one our man Wonderaz had passed out in. Poor ol' Louie bar-b-qued himself beyond recognition when he fell asleep in his easy chair while smokin' his King Edward cee-gar. Needless to say, Louie's funeral was intended to be a closed casket affair.

By the way, Eternal Rest Funeral Home got two more funerals that week, courtesy o' ol' Wonderaz. Zula Mae Dalrymple, Louie's mom and Rev. L. Rayford Jones, the Pentecostal Holiness preacher both kicked the bucket that morning. Yep, two massive coronaries, right there in the middle of Main Street in Marfa, Texas. Zula Mae was 94 years old, so I'd venture to say she already had one foot on a banana peel an' the other in the grave, anyway. As for the right Reverend Jones, it went all around town that he'd preached real heavy sermons the week before on some stories about a feller named Lazarus and the Resurrection. I don't rightly know what that had to do with the price o' corn, but they all sure cussed an' discussed it in the coffee shop like it was some big damn sign from The Almighty.

Come to think of it, suppose that jackass Wonderaz hadn't woke up and started singin' inside the casket while he was in the back o' that hearse? Well, at least he woulda got himself a free burial. Hell, that's all the moochin' bastard can afford, anyway. Amen.

Looks cold in the mountains.

Anyway, we just got back from watchin' Saving Silverman. It stars Jason Biggs, Jack Black, Steve Zahn and Amanda Peet. There's also a special appearance by music legend, Neil Diamond. Billed as a comedy, the trailers (previews of coming attractions) in the preceding weeks certainly whetted my appetite to see this one.

As you know, Jason Biggs hit it big (oops! a pun?) with American Pie, a surprise comedy hit from about a year ago. I readily confess to having thoroughly enjoyed American Pie, but he followed it up with a loser named Loser (oops! am I becoming a serial punster?). I think Black (High Fidelity) and Zahn (Happy, Texas), however, are two really rising comedy talents with strong potential staying power. As for Peet--hell, she's just damn good fer the ol' eyes.

Trailers present a mixed bag for the movie junkie. They are, without question, a marketing tool designed to, as I mentioned previously, whet the appetite of the viewer to go see the movie when it comes out. Time and again, however, after watching a movie I have had to conclude that the good parts had already been revealed in the trailer. Hence, having already seen the trailer, the movie offered little to no additional entertainment.

For the most part, this turned out to be the case with Saving Silverman, i.e., most of the best gags and scenes were presented in the trailer.

The story is about three friends who grow up together. Zahn and Black get Biggs hooked up with Judith (Peet), who turns out to be a control freak. In short order, she orders Biggs to completely disassociate himself from his two best pals. Essentially, the rest of the movie is built around Black and Zahn's efforts to undo the match and get their buddy back into the fold.

There are some good scenes involving R. Lee Ermey, one of my personal favorites. Most of you will remember him as the drill sergeant in Full Metal Jacket. In Silverman, Ermey plays the three pals' high school football coach.

Oh. What about Neil Diamond? Well, I'll tell you this much--Neil Diamond plays Neil Diamond in the movie. If you wanna know more, go watch it. Seriously, though Neil Diamond is a part of one of the running gags in the movie, I also think it was something of a non-pompous tribute to him. In his day, no one was bigger in the music business.

I truly wish the movie had been funnier. There were some chuckles and snickers off and on throughout, but nothing really broke the funny-bone. Further, a good deal of the laughs were because Black and Zahn are simply funny to watch, regardless of what they're doing.

This flick was directed by Dennis Dugan. More about it can been seen at http://savingsilverman.com. Dugan's previous credits include Happy Gilmore and Big Daddy, a couple of Adam Sandler biggies.

In sum, do yourself a favor and wait until it comes out on tape (DVD stills costs too damn much, although they're going down). We give it two Fred Heads.

Amen.

Stars: Kevin Costner, Bruce Greenwood, Steven Culp, Billy Smitrovich, Frank Wood, Tim Kelleher, Lucinda Jenney
Director: Roger Donaldson

13 Days is a drama based on the thirteen days of the Cuban Missile Crisis. The movie takes place in the inner circle of JFK's (Greenwood) White House as news of missiles in Cuba create an atmosphere of fear and danger, as seen through the eyes of Kennedy's Chief of Staff (Costner).

Though it does share the same title as the book that Robert F. Kennedy wrote about the Crisis, this movie is not directly based upon it.

The Cold war is a difficult era to capture. The facts of the cold war don't really underline the real horror of that war, which was fear. To live in fear, fear of the skies, fear of the unknown enemy--these were the bullets and bombs of the Cold War. Unfortunately, 13 Days failed to recreate this sense of fear and tension in any way. A good historical film should take you to the place and time and involve you in the events. 13 Days never comes close.

The film began to fail for me right from the opening credits. A montage of mostly computer generated mushroom clouds in vibrant colors and close-up detail, mixed with some stock footage of post-war A-bomb testing in the South Pacific, almost made the bomb look beautiful. Being American film footage, the aftermath of the bombs dropped in Japan is absent and its absence is very obvious.

Costner is on the screen almost right away and rarely leaves for the next 2 1/2 hours. He plays Kenny O’Donnell, JFK's Chief of Staff and political advisor. A long time friend of the Kennedys from Harvard, O’Donnell actually played a very small role in the crisis.

In keeping with Costner's tradition of involvement in "fiddling with history cinema" (think Untouchables and JFK), O’Donnell is portrayed as the main driving force in the Kennedy administration. He is the quarterback of the government and the Kennedys come off like weak, dumb saps that wouldn't know what socks to wear without cool Costner to guide them.

Even if Costner could hold the screen for two-plus hours, his affected Boston accent is enough to drive even the most dedicated fan over the edge. Why does he keep trying this? Robin Hood, JFK, and now this....? Enough, Kevin. Don't be ashamed of being from Ohio (or where ever you're from).

The film, itself, is shot and edited very poorly. Director Donaldson is a journeyman director whose works include: Cocktail; No Way Out (with Costner); Species; The Bounty; and Cadillac Man, among others. A hit-and-miss list, at best. He shows no deftness in his camera work or scene usage. A boom mike makes a cameo appearance twice during the movie and the whole editing looks sloppy. The film tries a gimmicky mix of black and white and color shots for the first half of the film, which mysteriously stops when things begin to rev-up and the jets hit the screen. It doesn't work and I saw no rationale behind the choice at all.

The performances are wooden across the board, with the exception of the actor playing Adalai Stevenson. Greenwood fails to capture JFK's passion and provides little tension in what is one of the most tense moments in the history of the Presidency.

The film's only good moments come during an intensely realistic scene of an American U2 being shot down over Cuba. The effects are good and the pilot’s anti-cruise performance of a terrified young pilot is excellent.

Costner's deep commitment to "13 Days" is well known in Hollywood circles. The actor stuck with the project as it was shepherded through numerous studios and possible directors, until it found a home at New Line and with helmer Roger Donaldson. All the while, the reasons behind Costner's strong attachment to the script are, for the moment, up for conjecture.

There is an undertone of the movie "JFK" in this film that is a little odd. The Joint Chiefs, certainly no fans of the Kennedy brothers are portrayed as almost cartoonish hawks, thirsty for war and an end to the Kennedy administration. The word "coup" is bandied about often and reminds me greatly of some of the themes in Oliver Stone's conspiracy magnum opus. I wonder if this movie is in some ways a prequel.

All in all, not worth it. The serious history buff will find no new or accurate information here. The casual history lover, or the average film goer, is better off with a documentary or a good book on the events of October 1962.

I give it:

http://www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/nsa/cu...i/cmcchron.html

A link to an excellent chronology of the Crisis

Now, I was just fixing to enter my plea of innocent for the trumped up charge of disturbing the peace, one of the most ignorant laws I have ever seen, when JEB, who had been nodding off on the bench behind us, let loose of the bag he was holding and when it hit the floor, the bottle inside broke with a loud BANG.

Clettis, our lawyer, being unusually fast on his feet, shouted, “He’s been SHOT!”, referring to no one in particular. The courtroom went into a panic with everyone running for the door, including JEB, Clettis, and yours truly.

Once outside, Clettis told us he was late for a poker game and would let us know if they were going to reschedule the trial although he was going to demand they drop the charges due to the pain and suffering we had already gone through with being shot at and all, but to lay low in the meantime.

So we jumped in JEB’s truck and took off, figuring that we should go find somewheres that we could calm down from our ordeal, a bar seeming the safest bet.

Keeping Clettis’ admonishment to lay low in mind, we headed out to Art’s Basshole. On the way out of town, JEB started in again on how he felt that Fred needed more exercise and wanted him to be let out to run alongside the truck at the city limits. Once again, I pointed out to him that Fred got more that enough exercise humping everyone and everything in his path and that it was a waste of time as the same thing happened every time we tried to run Fred.

After screaming at each other for a while, I pulled over and helped JEB drag Fred out of the cab, both of us winding up covered with dog slobber and bit all to hell.

We jumped in the truck and I took off, kicking up a cloud of dust as JEB hung out the window screaming for Fred to keep up. I continued to accelerate and JEB continued to hang out the window flailing and screaming like he has done every time we do this. I reached over and scratched Fred’s head when he stuck it through the back window as we both watched JEB carrying on. Ole JEB never does see Fred jump in the back of the truck, like he does every time we do this.

We figured that parking out back would be wise and were wondering how we were going to weasel a few drinks out of Art as we walked in the back when we spotted a tourist tossing a twenty on his table while he was trying to pick up on Sandie, Art’s cousin and part time bartender, who usually worked until Art sobered up enough to stagger from his trailer to the bar.

JEB elbowed me and winked. Swelling himself up like a toad, he ran into the room and hollered, “What the hell are you doin’ to ma WIFE!!! Where’s my gun!!”, and ran back out the rear door.

Now this tourist just froze until I yelled, “RUN!!! He just got outta prison for shooting the last guy that talked to his woman!!”. He was out the door and kicking up a rooster tail of dirt 30 feet high as he sped out of the parking lot, faster than I had seen a man run in my life.

I snagged up the twenty as JEB came back in and we proceeded to lower our blood pressure with a little of Art’s watered down whiskey while bedazzling young Sandie with the story of our day.

I am not sure how we wound up in Art’s big bass boat, 30 miles down river beached on a sandbar with Art and Sandie but that’s where I woke up.

When Art came to, he started yeowlin about it being that reprobate, JEB’s fault but lost his balance and fell out of the boat before he could explain why.

JEB took advantage of the sudden loss of weight in the boat and backed off the sandbar and headed back up to Art’s place, leaving Art on the sandbar yelling all sorts of profanities and death threats.

Sandie did understand our being a little uncomfortable about letting Art back in the boat in as much as he seemed to be acting unreasonably aggressive and said she would go back and fetch him up, once we got to the truck.

Art did manage to get revenge on JEB and I came to find out that he had damn good reason for it too, but that’s another story.

1. Do you rent video tapes at least once a week?

2. When you rent video tapes, do you have to carry 'em out in a sack?

3. Do you sometimes plug in a tape you just rented only to realize after a minute, or so, that you've seen it before?

4. Do you wear a coat with pockets to the theatre, regardless of the weather, to carry in your own drinks and/or snacks and, hence, avoid the theatre concession robbery?

5. In the alternative, do you have your girlfriend, or spouse, empty her largest shoulder-bag in order to carry in your own drinks and/or snacks, etc.?

6. When you go to the theatre, do you frequently watch two or more movies during same trip?

7. When your friends want to know something about a movie, do they ask you?

Though not all-inclusive, an affirmative response to any or all of the above questions is a strong indicator that you are a movie junkie.

There's one obvious thing most movie junkies share in common--we love watching movies. Doesn't matter whether they're on tape, or on the big screen--we love 'em.

While we movie junkies love to watch movies, it does not necessarily follow that we love all the movies we watch. To the contrary, it turns out that an inevitable consequence of watching so many movies is that the movie junkie becomes more discriminating; harder to please. This is, at least, what I've found to be true for me.

Nevertheless, what I want from a movie is simple. I want to be entertained. If a movie entertains me then, in my book, it's a good movie, regardless of what the pea-brained critics say.

As for the movie critics, here's what I think of most of them--they strike me as mostly talentless people, trying to conceal their envy of those they critique, by attempting to pass themselves off as elitists possessing exceedingly superior tastes and far deeper insights than the ignorant masses for which they write.

True, in all fairness, there are exceptions. I am also mindful that the good folk of AsylumNation tend to share a dim view toward overly-broad generalizations of any class, group, etc. Hence, I will say that, in my opinion, Gene Siskel (R.I.P) seemed to strive to be fair and non-pompous, although I didn't always agree with his assessments.

Anyway, I'll make it simple. All I intend to do is tell you whether or not I was entertained by a particular movie and why. I'll also tell you a little bit about it, but never enough to ruin it. Further, I'm going to let my trusty, leg-humping, dog Fred assist. He's provided the rating system, which is:

No Fred Heads: Wouldn't rent this tape, even on bargain night. If someone gives it to me for a present, I will put the tape to good use by recording over it. If it's a DVD, Fred and I will use it as a frisbee. Put another way, flick is a candidate for the Steamin' Pile O' Dog Shit Award.

One Fred Head: Not totally horrible. Perhaps worth a watch, provided there's nothing more important to do, such as watching your screen-saver.

Two Fred Heads: Okay. Mildly entertaining, but mostly forgettable.

Three Fred Heads: Pretty damn good flick. Have seen better, but have seen much worse. Was fairly entertaining.

Four Fred Heads: Well worth the watch. Will highly recommend it to your friends. May even watch it again.

Five Fred Heads: One of the best you've seen in a long, long time. Won't forget this one and would be proud to buy it as a gift for a good friend. A "must-have" for your collection, if you're a collector.

I just saw "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" This is another flick by the now legendary and enigmatic brother team of Ethan and Joel Coen. As you know, their biggest claim to fame so far was "Fargo", but they've made quite a few other movies. Frankly, I've been a fan of theirs since "Blood Simple" and highly recommend it to anyone who wants some more tastes of the Coen Bros.

O Brother stars George Clooney, John Turturro and Tim Blake Nelson. The yarn is set in depression-era (1937) Mississippi and is an unusual escaped convict spin off of Homer's "Odyssey". There's several other well-known actors in this movie. For example, you should get a big kick out of John Goodman portraying, in essence, a redneck, Mississippi Cyclops.

The Coen Bros. are twisted in the best possible way. Not everything they have done has entertained me as much as I'd like, but they are never cookie-cutter.

One of the things I enjoyed most about O Brother was the soundtrack. Regardless of your tastes in music, take a listen to "I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow" by The Soggy Bottom Boys. This is honest music, without hi-tech dressing. This movie also brought to mind an old hot, flamin' guitar and boogie classic entitled "Parchment Farm" by a band called Cactus (watch the movie and you'll get the connection).

Clooney does something I've not seen him do a lot--he truly acts in this one and does it well. Turturro, underrated as hell in my book, does another fine job for the Coens. To me, however, Nelson took the prize. He was great.

You can almost smell the stench of the sweat and pomade in this one. More info can be found at http://www.obrotherwhereartthou.movies.com.

I give it 4 Fred-Heads. Amen.