Well, darn it, there goes our secret plan to move this column to The Industry Standard. . . . So Brett Ratner is directing a remake of Red Dragon. We’ll see fuckin’ Family Man before we allow our gaze to fall upon that travesty. We’ll sooner rent Inspector Gadget 2, starring French Fucking Stewart! Fuck Anthony Greedhead Hopkins for agreeing to it, fuck Dino DiLaurentis for being too old and decrepit to know any better, and fuck Ridley Scott, too, because Hannibal blew dead donkey dick big-time. Jonathan Demme must be spinning in his grave!
Dickey Betts‘ wife clearly doesn’t listen. . . . How much do we love Steve Austin? Since turning heel after WMX7, he has been a strap-hungry sellout, Vince’s Gay Lover, an abusive husband, a singing cowboy, a paranoid traitor, and now—the Worst Gym Teacher of All Time. Plus, he loves the cookies! What?
Now on tour, Tantric. They take the stage at 9 sharp and then go on and on and on and on. And on and on and on. . . . Nice to see Alan Moore being so prolific of late, but when the frig is Big Numbers #3 coming out? . . . Our prediction for the 2002 Mercury Music Prize: the Charlatans in an upset over the Strokes. This year? As long as it’s not Gorillaz, we don’t really care, but we figure Super Furry Animals could use the money to pay for a U.S. Rings Around the World DVD. Seriously. We want it. Now.
We’re amused that the guy who draws Nancy throws in references to Marty Stuart, the Allman Brothers, and Austin City Limits, but Fritzi’s not as hot as she used to be (though she’s still hot). . . . In new music news, we’d like to welcome back Animals That Swim (check out their new album, Happiness From a Distant Star). We wonder if Bitter Springs will ever put out a record anywhere other than Spain (check out their new EP, Stop the World). And naturally we’re curious about Sophie Ellis-Bextor, but we don’t trust that Gregg Alexander (to say nothing of Moby). So when’s the Billy Reeves comeback already?!
This next segment of the Culture Bunker is brought to you by Grimway Classic Peeled Baby Carrots, the Official Peeled Baby Carrots of the Culture Bunker. Mmm-mmm, they’re carrotastic! . . . We’d like to point out that Michael was way ahead of The New York Times and Esquire when it came to bashing Alan Ball. . . . Does anybody want to give Wilco a record deal? Hey, does Son Volt still have one? . . . This is how the Hollywood publicity machine works: Date Tom Cruise; get on the cover of Vanity Fair. Seriously—it’s in the dating-Tom-Cruise written agreement.
Jay and Silent Bob is swell, though the 100-minute-plus Q&A Kevin Smith did at the screening in Texas was even better than the 100-minute-plus movie. . . . We just noticed Jimmy Eat World works out to JEW. This doesn’t particularly bother us, however. After all, they’re not called Jimmy Drink World. . . . Could Jason be any happier about the Eric Lindros trade? . . . Jake the Snake still has a dram of star power, but watching him not wrestle at the top of an NWA Southwest card featuring hardworking talents like Kevin Northcutt, Rudy Boy Gonzalez, and J.P. Black (a.k.a. the Dark Pony) was just unnecessary. And apparently he regrets appearing in Beyond the Mat. Gee, how come?
Look out! It’s Rebecca Gayheart, and she’s on the phone! . . . Garth Ennis is now the regular writer on The Punisher. And that’s still not enough to get us back into comic books. . . . Has Ben Folds married for the third time yet? . . . The weirdest thing about watching thirtysomething reruns is realizing we are now that age. The weirdest thing about watching Sex and the City (other than its general mediocrity) is realizing those chicks are even older. Wayyyyy older. Come to think of it, this season has been like a whole sitcom about Melanie Mayron and Polly Draper. That explains a lot.
And finally: Farewell to Carlton, your doorman.
