Horror master Dario Argento concludes 30-year-old trilogy

Just in time for Halloween, the final installment of Italian horror maestro Dario Argento’s “Three Mothers” trilogy has hit DVD. So, the question is: Was it worth the 30-year wait?

“Mother of Tears” completes a cycle that began with Argento’s 1977 masterpiece “Suspiria” — a film that routinely makes most “scariest horror movie” lists — and continued in 1980 with “Inferno.” Inspired by “Suspiria de Profundis,” a 19th century “prose poem” by English essayist Thomas de Quincey, the trilogy tells of three witches known as the Three Mothers.

Hundreds of years old and leaving only misery and death in their wake, the three are the Mother of Sighs, based in Freiburg, Germany, and the oldest of the Mothers; the Mother of Darkness, based in New York City; and Mater Lachrimarum — the Mother of Tears — who lives in Rome, Italy.

“Suspiria” and “Inferno” dealt with the Mother of Sighs and the Mother of Darkness, respectively. Now, it’s the Mother of Tears’ turn to unleash chaos on unsuspecting mortals.

And that’s just what she does, when she reawakens after an urn containing her relics is unearthed in a church graveyard and opened by two unsuspecting museum curators.

As he did in “Suspiria,” Argento opens with a grizzly murder that makes everything that follows seem almost tame. Without cataloging the — ahem! — gory details, it’s a new height of carnage even for Argento, who has never exactly been shy when it comes to gore and bloodletting.

One curator’s death scene is so brutal, it would probably be more at home in a Lucio Fulci film. If Argento is Italy’s answer to Alfred Hitchcock, Fulci was Italy’s George Romero, except his films are even gorier than Romero’s.

The other curator, Sarah, played by Dario’s daughter, Asia Argento (“Land of the Dead,” “The Last Mistress”), escapes the slaughter only through the supernatural intervention of her dead mother, played by Asia’s real-life mother, Daria Nicolodi (“Deep Red,” “Tenebre”).

As Mater Lachrimarum’s influence spreads, Rome descends into chaos. People randomly commit acts of murder and destruction, while witches from around the world converge to celebrate the Third Mother’s rebirth.

Meanwhile, on the run from the witches and their minions, Sarah learns her mother was a white witch who died, not in an accident, but during a failed attempt to kill the Mother of Sighs. (She did, however, weaken the First Mother, leading up to the events in “Suspiria.”) Now, having inherited her mother’s supernatural abilities, only Sarah can stop the Mother of Tears before she can plunge the world into a new Dark Age.

While not perfect, “The Mother of Tears” is a satisfying conclusion to Dario’s saga. His films have always been more about visual flair than plot coherence, and this one is no exception. (If you’re looking for a flawless Argento story, you’ll have to go back to the one he co-wrote for Sergio Leone’s “Once Upon a Time in the West.”) The script relies heavily on coincidence, starting with the urn just happening to be opened by someone already connected to the Three Mothers.

Some of the casting is also suspect. Unless ghosts continue to age, which would make the afterlife suck even more, Nicolodi is 30 years too old for her role. As for the Mother of Tears herself, Israeli model-turned-actress Moran Atias spends most of the movie naked, which makes up somewhat for her deficiencies as an actress.

But nobody watches Argento’s films for their plots, and “Mother of Tears” has everything you could want from the master director, from gorgeous cinematography to meticulously staged death scenes. Of course, the film also gives Argento’s critics plenty of new ammunition — especially critics who believe Dario really, really hates women.

Even if it isn’t a masterpiece like “Suspiria” or “Deep Red” (1975), “Mother of Tears” is still probably Argento’s best film since 1982’s “Tenebre.” And that makes it well worth a rental on a cool October night.

The Lone Ranger gets a new faithful ‘Indian’ sidekick

Johnny Depp is a busy man.

Last week, Depp announced he has signed deals to reprise the role of Capt. Jack Sparrow in a fourth “Pirates of the Caribbean” movie and play the Mad Hatter in Tim Burton’s new version of “Alice in Wonderland.”

Unlike the latter tale’s Queen of Hearts, I have a difficult time believing six impossible things before breakfast. Actually, I have a hard time believing six impossible things before lunch. So, when I read about a third role Depp is undertaking, I didn’t believe it. Not at first, anyway. I checked with at least a half dozen sources before it finally sank in.

Depp has also agreed to portray Tonto, the Lone Ranger’s “faithful Indian sidekick,” in a new version of “The Lone Ranger” to be produced by “Pirates” producer Jerry Bruckheimer.

Just repeat it to yourself: “Johnny Depp is Tonto.”

All three films are Disney projects, and the executives at Disney no doubt hope their take on the Lone Ranger is more successful than the last one, 1981’s “Legend of the Lone Ranger,” which starred two nobodies as the Lone Ranger and Tonto and was a colossal box-office flop. At least Michael Horse, who played Tonto, went on to better things, like a supporting role on “Twin Peaks.”

This is a big risk for Depp. The question is, will Native American activists be more upset that a white actor is playing a Native American character, or will they be more upset that Tonto is in the movie in the first place? I understand that in some circles, Tonto is viewed as a negative stereotype.

This could be the worst case of Native American miscasting since Burt Reynolds starred in “Navajo Joe” or William Shatner starred in “White Comanche.” Take your pick.

Actually, Depp has played a Native American before, in 1997’s “The Brave,” which he also directed.
Fun fact: Iron Eyes Cody, who portrayed “the crying Indian” in a famous 1970s public service announcement, was actually Italian. Jay Silverheels, however, who played Tonto on television in the 1950s, was actually a Native American — and also a Canadian.

While nothing is official yet, George Clooney is reportedly in negotiations to wear the mask, white hat and powder-blue cowboy outfit. Hopefully, this turns out better than the last time Clooney played a masked crime fighter. Otherwise we can look forward to Christian Bale resurrecting the Lone Ranger franchise 10 years from now in a film titled “The Lone Ranger Begins,” to be followed by either “The Lone Knight” or “The Dark Ranger.”

So, let me get this straight: The actor who killed the 1990s Batman franchise might star in a new franchise based on a character who flopped in his most recent movie outing. And the casting of another actor could lead to angry protests. Who greenlights these projects?

Still, I’ll admit I’m interested in seeing exactly how Depp plays Tonto, if for no other reason than it’s certain to be weird. Keith Richards inspired Depp’s portrayal of Capt. Jack, while Depp based his performance of Ichabod Crane in “Sleepy Hollow” on Angela Lansbury. Who will Depp channel for his portrayal of Tonto? Whoever it ends up being, I expect Depp to blow Clooney off the screen. And Depp has, on occasion, made even bad movies watchable — like “Once Upon a Time in Mexico.”

The Lone Ranger was created for radio by Fran Striker, who also created the Green Hornet. In fact, the Green Hornet is the Lone Ranger’s grand-nephew, which I guess makes it appropriate that the upcoming “Green Hornet” movie also involves an odd casting decision.

Stephen Chow is set to direct as well as co-star as the Green Hornet’s partner, Kato, taking on the role that the legendary Bruce Lee filled in the 1960s TV series. If anyone can stand in for Lee, it’s Chow. He’s not the issue.

What I want to know is, who thinks of Seth “Knocked Up” Rogen when casting the Green Hornet?
Of course, this means that in a weird, only-in-Hollywood way, Seth Rogen is related to George Clooney. And that may be stranger than anything Depp can come up with.

Emmy honors go to programs that have found a niche

So, did you watch the Emmy Awards on Sunday night? Me neither.

This year’s awards telecast was the lowest-rated Emmy ceremony in history, and not just because of its five lackluster hosts: Ryan Seacrest, Heidi Klum, Tom Bergeron, Howie Mandel and Jeff Probst. You’d probably find more talent in a police lineup.

In Hollywood, the Emmy Awards show’s low ratings didn’t come as a surprise.

“Industry insiders expected the awards to sink to a grim new watermark given that AMC’s low-rated ‘Mad Men’ was the most-nominated drama and NBC’s modestly rated ‘30 Rock’ was the most-honored comedy,” according to The Hollywood Reporter. “Some of the other shows — such as FX’s ‘Damages’ and HBO’s ‘John Adams’ — likewise drew niche audiences.”

But as they say in computing, this is a feature, not a bug.

If programs aimed at niche audiences are finally attaining the level of quality necessary to rack up Emmy nominations, then we’re finally seeing the promise of having upwards of 100 cable channels from which to choose. This is how it’s supposed to work.

Say the words “golden age,” and most people instinctively think of some period in the past. That’s because they remember the good parts and forget the bad. But as I’ve written before, the Golden Age of Television is now.

If you like comedy, there are at least two cable channels devoted just to comedy. If you like cartoons, there are at least three cartoon channels. How about sports? There are five flavors of ESPN alone, never mind the other sports channels. If classic movies are your thing, you have two channels from which to choose. If you like gritty dramas about morally ambiguous characters who swear a lot, FX is the place for you. And if you like sci-fi, there is a channel called Sci-Fi that has, on occasion, been known to show sci-fi programming.

There’s a Travel Channel, a Golf Channel, a History Channel and a Food Network.

And if you’re still nostalgic for the television of your childhood, there are at least two channels for that. Sometimes I, too, am a sucker for 40-year-old repeats of “Mission: Impossible” and “The Man from U.N.C.L.E.”

Anyway, my point is that in this sea of channels, each one aimed at some niche audience, it’s inevitable that we’ll get a decent number of daring, well-made, risk-taking shows.

AMC is a channel that has struggled to find its place. It began as American Movie Classics and aired classic movies without commercial interruption. But it was pushed out of that market by two other channels with stronger movie libraries — The Fox Movie Channel and Turner Classic Movies.

It took several years, but AMC seems to have found its niche with a format of recent movies and original dramas. Two of those dramas won big at this year’s Emmy Awards. “Mad Men,” a period piece set at an ad agency in the 1960s, won the award for best drama series. Meanwhile, Bryan Cranston took home the Emmy for best lead actor in a drama series for “Breaking Bad,” in which he plays a terminally ill man who becomes a meth dealer to support his family. Neither is the sort of show that would have found a home back when there were only three broadcast networks and PBS.

The only thing that could ruin this Golden Age is the Federal Communications Commission, which is considering mandating that cable systems offer channels on an a la carte basis, meaning customers would pay only for the channels they want. The FCC claims that would lower cable bills by letting people drop channels they don’t want. Some in Congress have been agitating for a la carte cable TV, too, including presidential candidate Sen. John McCain.

Whether your total cable bill would go down with a la carte is debatable and depends on how many channels you want. What is not debatable is that the per-channel price of cable TV would rise and some channels with niche audiences wouldn’t have enough viewers to survive.

That would be bad news for shows like “Mad Men,” and for our new era of diverse TV programming.

No link can be found between crime and video gaming — again

I know this may come as a disappointment to some people, but when it comes to violent crime, you have less to worry about than a decade ago.

Why would good news like that disappoint anyone? Well, as it happens, there are people who have made their careers by trying to scare the rest of us. There is an entire industry of child psychologists, “public health experts” and lawyers whose livelihoods depend on Americans being scared to death that we are raising a generation of dangerous criminals reared on violent movies and video games.

The numbers, however, tell a different story.

According to FBI statistics released Monday, violent crime was down in 2007. That follows two straight years when violent crime increased slightly, but it also continues the overall trend since 1993, when the violent crime rate plunged for 10 years before leveling out and remaining mostly stable ever since.

You certainly wouldn’t get the idea that violent crime is falling or stable from watching a typical episode of “Nancy Grace” on Headline News. You might, however, think that “Grand Theft Auto” is turning the nation’s children into vicious gangsters with no regard for human life.

Yet while violent crime stubbornly refuses to skyrocket, more American children are playing video games than ever before.

A new study released by the Pew Internet & American Life Project finds that 97 percent of American children play video games. Now, I don’t want to seem judgmental, but if your child is in that remaining 3 percent, he is probably going to be shunned by his peers. You might want to invest in a Wii.

Not all video games are created equal, of course. While there are some child psychologists — I suspect they are shilling for the theme park lobby — who insist that all video games can turn children into snarling sociopaths, most of the focus is on violent games.

Well, fully half of the boys in the Pew survey listed games rated either M (mature) or AO (adults only) among their favorites. That means efforts to keep M and AO games away from children have failed miserably. It also means it doesn’t matter. Mature and adults-only video games aren’t creating delinquents any more than comic books did during the comics scare of the 1950s.

As a rather antisocial person, I don’t regard “civic engagement” as a particularly great thing. Still, for those of you who do, I have good news: The Pew study shatters the conventional wisdom that video games make children into antisocial hermits.

The study found that the young people who spent the most time playing video games were no less likely to be involved in their communities than the young people who spent relatively little time gaming. That surprised even me because you would expect some sort of trade-off. But whatever it is gamers are giving up to have time for their video games, it doesn’t appear to be community involvement.

As an aside, do you think that when books were invented, people worried about books making children antisocial? There’s no more solitary activity than reading.

Ultimately, despite claims to the contrary, no study has found hard evidence that watching or participating in violent entertainment leads children to be more violent. The studies claiming to find such a link don’t account for the fact that naturally violent children might be drawn toward violent games.

There are, however, studies that have found children are more aggressive right after playing violent video games or watching violent movies, but that effect is only temporary. It’s nothing that would lead to an increase in violent crime, which is why there isn’t an increase in violent crime. And it’s no different than the increased aggressiveness most people experience right after watching an exciting sporting event. Anything that gets you excited is going to make you temporarily more aggressive, whether it’s “Halo 3” or the Auburn/Alabama football game.

Personally, I tend to become temporarily more aggressive after watching the evening news.

Don’t worry; it’s only the end of the world again

If you’re reading this, it means the world didn’t end when scientists in Europe fired up the Large Hadron Collider on Wednesday.

The 17-mile-long particle accelerator constructed beneath the border of France and Switzerland will seek to unravel the mysteries of the universe by smashing particles into each other at nearly the speed of light. With any luck, scientists might even create tiny, artificial black holes, which will exist for a fraction of a second before evaporating. Assuming these black holes don’t destroy the Earth, like something out of a bad sci-fi movie.

Those crazy scientists, always tampering in God’s domain. But, hey, someone’s got to do it.
Coincidentally, a few nights ago, I saw for the first time “The Quiet Earth,” a 1985 sci-fi movie from New Zealand. Its premise is that a science experiment gone wrong causes nearly all animal life on Earth to disappear. Only three people survive — two men and one woman — which leads to exactly the sort of sexual tension you’d expect. And one of the men just happens to be a scientist who worked on the ill-fated science project. After all, someone has to tell the other two — and the audience — what’s going on.

I learned three things from “The Quiet Earth.” First, if you don’t actually like people, being the (almost) last man on Earth isn’t so bad. Second, I have a low tolerance for full-frontal nudity and cross-dressing when it involves an unattractive, middle-aged man. Third, no matter how unattractive the last man on Earth is, the last woman on Earth is guaranteed to be at least cute, if not a supermodel, which takes me back to my first point.

Ever wonder what it would feel like to be the last person on Earth? If you went to a movie theater this past weekend, you might know. The few people who did go to the movies during the first weekend after Labor Day found themselves surrounded by a lot of empty seats.

Yes, the summer movie season is over. Dead. And Nicolas Cage killed it.

His new movie, “Bangkok Dangerous,” was the weekend’s top grossing movie, but it took in only about $7.8 million, making for Hollywood’s worst weekend since “Dickie Roberts: Former Child Star,” starring David Spade, stunk up theaters in 2003.

Rest assured, when the end of the world comes, Cage will still be here, and probably still making terrible movies, along with a cast of post-apocalyptic mutants. If “Bangkok Dangerous,” “Next,” “Ghost Rider” and “The Wicker Man” can’t kill his career, nothing can. He could make “Zandalee 2” and someone would still hire him.

(If you’re too young to remember, “Zandalee” used to be in heavy rotation on late-night Cinemax. And, actually, it’s better than Cage’s “Wicker Man” remake.)

With the 2008 blockbusters behind us, the Internet gossip turned toward next year’s movie slate, and “Star Trek” fans celebrated the franchise’s 42nd anniversary by dissecting the latest rumors surrounding next year’s new “Star Trek” movie.

So, what is this new “Star Trek” movie, anyway? It has a young cast taking over the roles made famous by William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy and the rest. But is it a prequel? A sequel? A reboot?
Actually, it seems to be all three. Spock (Nimoy) will travel back in time to stop a plot to kill a young Capt. Kirk (Chris Pine) before Kirk can do all of the things that will make him a Starfleet legend — like save the universe and have sex with dozens of alien species, not counting the androids.

Presumably Spock is only partly successful, as rumor has it that he creates a totally new timeline. If we’re lucky, it’ll be a timeline in which “Star Trek: Voyager” never happens.

Hopefully, Old Spock will try to avoid running into Young Spock (Zachary Quinto) because bad things happen when a time traveler meets himself.

How bad? Well, you could cause the end of the world.

That announcer guy from the movies dies at 68

In a world where a movie’s opening weekend could mean the difference between a blockbuster or a flop, one man held the key to box office gold.

You probably don’t know his name, and you probably never saw his face, but you know his voice.
Don LaFontaine was the voice of Hollywood. Not just any voice, but  “a deep voice that sounds like a 7-foot-tall man who has been smoking cigarettes since childhood,” as he put it when parodying himself in a movie trailer for “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”

But that voice fell silent Monday, when LaFontaine died of complications from a lung-related illness. He was 68.

Still don’t know who I’m talking about? If that’s the case, I have three words for you: “In a world.”
With those three simple words, LaFontaine became more than a man, more than a voiceover artist, more than the Picasso of movie marketing hyperbole. He became a legend.

In a gravelly baritone that made even romantic comedies seem ominous, LaFontaine narrated more than 5,000 movie trailers and more than 350,000 television commercials, according to his Web site. Some of his best known trailer voiceovers include “The Terminator,” “Terminator 2: Judgment Day” and “Batman Returns.”

LaFontaine’s voice was everywhere, as was his “In a world …” catchphrase, which became such a running gag that he parodied it himself, playing “that announcer guy from the movies” in a TV commercial for GEICO insurance: “In a world where both our cars were totally underwater …”

In a 2007 interview, he explained why he came up with his “In a world…” gimmick.

“We have to very rapidly establish the world we are transporting (the audience) to,” he said. “That's very easily done by saying, ‘In a world where ... violence rules.’ ‘In a world where ... men are slaves and women are the conquerors.’ You very rapidly set the scene.”

In a world where you have only 60 seconds to grab people’s attention, LaFontaine was king. He redefined what it meant to be a voiceover announcer. So, if he wasn’t narrating a particular trailer for some upcoming movie, nine times out of 10, it was someone who sounded a lot like him.

Probably his closest competitor in the voiceover business was the somewhat mellower East Coast announcer Hal Douglas, who for years was the voice of Miramax, A&E, The History Channel and The WB. Before The WB merged with UPN to become The CW network, you could always count on Douglas to alert you to that “very special episode of ‘The Gilmore Girls’ ” airing later that night.

In one of those showbiz twists, Douglas probably has gotten just as much mileage out of “In a world…” as LaFontaine did, which is why they’re both known, depending on whom you ask, as the “In a world” guy. And when Jerry Seinfeld wanted to parody over-the-top movie trailers in the trailer for his 2002 documentary “Comedian,” he turned to Douglas, who dutifully rattled off such movie clichés as “In a world,” “In a land,” “In a time” and “In a land before time.”

In 1997, LaFontaine and Douglas teamed with four other voiceover artists for the short film “5 Men and a Limo,” which was shown before the 26th Annual Hollywood Reporter Key Art Awards and satirized each artist’s various catchphrases.

“5 Men” is now a popular video on YouTube, as is a short film about LaFontaine himself, “Don LaFontaine: The Voice,” which opens with LaFontaine solemnly intoning these words:

“Throughout history, man has marveled at the vast complexity of the universe. Without a single unified voice, humanity has been left searching for answers to the unknown. Now one man has the power to change that and to spread his voice across the Earth for all of mankind to hear. One man — me!”

In a world without Don LaFontaine, the movies are going to seem a lot less exciting.

‘Dark Knight’ success ushers in dark days for all

Memo to Warner Bros.: You’re doing it wrong.

As the parent company of DC Comics, Warner is increasingly desperate for superhero franchises that can match those of Marvel Studios, the corporate sibling of DC’s longtime rival, Marvel Comics.
But apart from the Batman series — ably resurrected by director Christopher Nolan — Warner hasn’t had much luck. “Superman Returns” was a bloated, expensive bore, and the only thing epic about “Catwoman” was how much of a disaster it was. “Catwoman” managed to rack up Razzie awards for worst picture, worst actress, worst screenplay and worst director. Who lets someone named Pitof direct a movie, anyway?

Warner has batted around movies based on other DC characters for years, but none has gotten past the script stage. Most recently, Warner shelved a Wonder Woman film written by “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” creator Joss Whedon.

Another memo to Warner Bros.: You’re not going to do better than a Whedon-scripted “Wonder Woman,” so stop trying.

Never fear, though. Warner has a plan to finally bring DC’s stable of superheroes to the big screen. First, Warner has scrapped its troubled “Justice League” movie for the foreseeable future. Instead it will focus on solo adventures for Justice League members like Wonder Woman, the Flash and, of course, Superman.

The move echoes Marvel’s strategy of establishing Iron Man, the Hulk, Thor and Captain America separately before having them team up for “The Avengers” in 2011.

So far, so good.

Next, Warner will reboot the Superman franchise and hope we all forget how dire “Superman Returns” is.

Again, this is following Marvel’s example. After director Ang Lee’s “Hulk” disappointed Marvel executives, they opted to start from scratch with this year’s “The Incredible Hulk.”

Now, I could nitpick and point out that “Hulk” cost less to make and will probably earn more (adjusted for inflation) than “The Incredible Hulk,” but for some reason, everyone in Hollywood thinks Lee’s film was a flop while the new one is a success. And in Hollywood, perception is all that matters.

Again, so far, so good. Director Bryan Singer, who did a great job of bringing Marvel’s “X-Men” to the screen, made such a mess of “Superman Returns” that it’s difficult to imagine where a straightforward sequel could go. Just take a mulligan.

But after that, Warner’s plan begins to reek. The studio has learned all of the right lessons from its competition — but all the wrong lessons from its own success.

To understand Warner’s mistake, you first need to think like a studio executive. So, I’ll give you a few minutes to take some tequila shots and bang your head into a brick wall.

Ready? Here goes.

The thinking at Warner Bros. goes like this: “The Dark Knight” was a “dark” movie. It made a lot of money. Hey! All of our other superhero movies should be dark, too!

Really, wasn’t the last Superman movie dark, moody and angst-ridden enough? Singer even darkened the colors of Superman’s costume to fit the mood of his gloomy picture.

See, Batman is a dark character. He’s named for a bloodthirsty, nocturnal mammal. So, his movies should be dark. Superman, however, is not a dark character. Neither is Wonder Woman, nor the Flash. Green Lantern? He’s not dark, either.

Meanwhile, none of Marvel’s most successful movies is dark, and the best of them — “Iron Man,” “Spider-Man” and the second “X-Men” — all have a pretty good sense of humor.

Last memo to Warner Bros.: You want a successful superhero movie? Just stay true to the spirit of the characters. Marvel does that. “The Dark Knight” and “Batman Begins” did it. A “dark” Superman movie does not.

I predict dark days ahead for Warner Bros. — in more than one sense of the term.

Beware: When celebrities attack — each other!

MTV’s “Celebrity Deathmatch” used to be a guilty pleasure of mine. What could be better than watching Claymation facsimiles of celebrities fight each other to the death?

Actually, one thing would be better: watching the actual celebrities fight to the death. Unfortunately, that’s probably illegal. I’ll have to check with my attorney. So, when it comes to real celebrities settling scores, I have to settle for a war of words.

Since sparing us the sight of her on network TV, Roseanne Barr has retreated to her Web site, where her blog functions as a virtual shotgun aimed at people who can still find work.

First, Barr fired a volley at Angelina Jolie, Jolie’s oft-estranged father Jon Voight and her boyfriend Brad Pitt. Voight had committed the unpardonable sin of campaigning for Sen. John McCain for president, while Jolie has had the temerity not to make up her mind yet between McCain and Sen. Barack Obama. And what’s Barr’s problem with Pitt, you ask?

Oh, why not just let Barr speak for herself, typos and all: “jon voight your evil spawn angelina jolie and her vacuous hubby brad pitt make about forty million dollars a year in violent psychopathic movies and give away three of it to starving children trying to look as if they give a crap about humanity as they spit out more dunces that will consume more than their fair share and wreck the earth even more.”

Ah, Rosanne, such class. It’s just like when you sang the national anthem.

But lest you think Barr is just carrying water for the Obama campaign, she’s not exactly thrilled he’s the Democratic presidential nominee. And whom does she blame for Obama’s rise? One guess: Oprah Winfrey.

Barr writes, “It is estimated that her endorsement of Obama swung over one million women's votes from Hillary, who remains the only candidate who polls to win against mccain. Oprah can rest well now knowing that her dogs will not have to pay inheritance tax over the next four years if she dies.”
Now, I could spend the rest of this column pointing out Barr’s factual errors and explaining the rules of capitalization. But there’s no fun in that, and it would be beside the point. Who cares what any of these Hollywood types think about McCain, Obama or inheritance taxes?

If celebrity political endorsements mattered, the Republicans wouldn’t have elected a president since Abraham Lincoln. And even Lincoln wasn’t beloved by all actors of his day. Just ask John Wilkes Booth.

But really, as far as celebrity smackdowns go, this isn’t a big one. Compared to the heavyweight couple of Jolie and Pitt, Barr is a mere featherweight, and her career has already suffered a TKO. It’s Bambi meets Godzilla, and, ironically, Roseanne isn’t Godzilla.

The movie and music industries have much better match-ups to offer. In fact, there is a Web site devoted to celebrity feuds, the aptly named CelebrityFeuds.com.

Many are obvious, like the ongoing hostilities between former couples Kim Basinger and Alec Baldwin or Burt Reynolds and Loni Anderson. Others are legendary, like the titanic struggle between screen legends Bette Davis and Joan Crawford. Others still are just bizarre: There’s a feud between Tina Turner and Elton John? Really?

Still, rivalries involving actors and musicians are comparatively lame. If it’s a war of words you want, then you want people who really know how to use their weapons. That’s why literary feuds are the best.

Ernest Hemingway vs. Gertrude Stein, Tom Wolfe vs. John Updike, Gore Vidal vs. Truman Capote — to say nothing of Gore Vidal vs. Norman Mailer and Gore Vidal vs. William F. Buckley Jr. — those were some epic battles.

Yes, dear Gore — so many enemies, and you’ve outlived them all. That’s how you win, you see, by getting the last word.

What’s left for us when our bad girls go good?

What are we supposed to gossip about now? It’s been weeks, months even, since America’s reigning bad girls have caused trouble. How can the nation survive?

It may be a minor miracle, but Paris Hilton and Britney Spears have cleaned up their acts. And while Lindsay Lohan’s troubles seem to go deeper than the merely embarrassing, she has managed to avoid making headlines, too. This may be a threat to the republic as we know it. I can imagine celebrity gossip Web sites going dark, tabloid newspapers closing shop, even entire cable TV channels going out of business. Isn’t the economy in enough trouble already?

Granted, the situation could change between the time I write this column and when you read it, but as of right now, the three arrested adolescents seem to have given up their hard-partying ways and are — gasp! — behaving like responsible adults.

Without their favorite targets, Hollywood’s packs of celebrity-stalking photographers are apparently suffering, which is just fine as far as some people are concerned.

“If you notice, since Britney started wearing clothes and behaving; Paris is out of town not bothering anybody anymore — thank God — and evidently, Lindsay Lohan has gone gay, we don’t seem to have much of an issue” with the paparazzi, Los Angeles Police Chief William Bratton told a Los Angeles television station.

A quick Google search of the headlines doesn’t turn up much. Lindsay makes the news for saying she is avoiding the paparazzi. Well, that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? Meanwhile, a British publication goes gaga for her model of BlackBerry. That’s nothing to excite the masses. The most salacious gossip to be found is about whether she is romantically linked with a female DJ named Samantha Ronson. But Lindsay isn’t talking.

Paris, of course, has been in the news a lot during the past week. But it wasn’t her fault. There she was, minding her own business, and all of the sudden, presidential candidate Sen. John McCain, was on her case.

The McCain campaign used images of Paris and Britney in an advertisement attacking McCain’s Democratic rival, Sen. Barack Obama of Illinois, as just a “celebrity” candidate. Paris responded with an Internet video that had both gossips and political pundits talking for days.

Now, I used to be involved in politics, so take it from me: When you lose a debate with Paris Hilton, your campaign is having a bad week. Yes, I know Paris didn’t write her own material — please! — but, frankly, her energy plan makes more sense than either McCain’s or Obama’s. What does it mean when Paris is serving up better copy for The Economist magazine than for The National Enquirer? It means the end of Western Civilization, that’s what!

Just when you think maybe Britney can save us, she lets us down, too. New photos of the former pop princess appeared last week showing her once again in fit condition. If she’s lost weight, that means she has managed to work up discipline of some kind, and that’s no good if you’re a tabloid editor desperate for Britney’s next hair-shaving meltdown.

What about Britney’s younger sister, notorious teen mom Jamie Lynn? She and her new baby are doing just fine, thank you. And Jamie Lynn seems to have learned from Britney’s mistakes. So far, she hasn’t been photographed driving around with her infant precariously perched in her lap. She’s no help at all.

The same goes for Paris’ former “Simple Life” co-star, Nicole Richie, who after a rash of legal problems and rumors of an eating disorder, has settled into a — ahem! — simple life of domestic bliss with boyfriend Joel Madden and daughter Harlow.

Efforts to turn Disney star Miley Cyrus to the Dark Side are mixed. Despite attempts to manufacture a scandal out of her Vanity Fair photos, Miley remains on the straight and narrow.

These are indeed dark days for us all. Never mind what the bobbleheads(cq)  on the E! channel will talk about. What will I write about on slow news days?

After 25 years, Return to Forever returns for more

They’ve gotten the band back together.

Twenty-five years after their first, brief reunion and 32 years after their last album, Return to Forever’s classic lineup is back and touring the country.

The revived jazz fusion band performed Saturday in front of a capacity crowd of about 2,750 at Atlanta’s plush Cobb Energy Performing Arts Centre, which opened last fall. It was the 50th stop on the Return to Forever summer reunion tour.

Now, I’ve been to my fair share of concerts, but I’d never before been to one where every song earned a standing ovation. (Standing-room-only shows don’t count.) The years since Return to Forever’s break-up have only increased fans’ enthusiasm. Some on the front row handed their old, vinyl RTF albums to the roadies for the band to sign. Others paid hundreds of dollars extra for VIP packages that included meeting the band backstage.

Led by keyboardist Chick Corea and featuring guitarist Al Di Meola, bassist Stanley Clarke and drummer Lenny White, Return to Forever was one of three bands during the 1970s that defined jazz fusion. Along with Weather Report and guitarist John McLaughlin’s Mahavishnu Orchestra, Return to Forever mixed jazz improvisation with electric instruments and Motown-inspired rhythms, creating a sound that has influenced a generation of both jazz and rock artists.

Jazz fusion was the flipside of progressive rock, which saw bands like Pink Floyd and Yes blend rock music with elements of jazz and classical.

In conjunction with the tour, Return to Forever has released “The Anthology,” a two-disc set featuring remastered tracks from the group’s four best albums: “Hymn of the Seventh Galaxy,” “Where Have I Known You Before,” “No Mystery” and “Romantic Warrior.”

In the years following RTF’s breakup, Di Meola and Clarke launched successful solo careers. Di Meola’s lightning-paced, “shred” guitar style probably influenced even more heavy metal guitarists than jazz players. Clarke, meanwhile, divided his efforts between solo albums and scoring Hollywood movies, including “Boyz n the Hood”(cq)  and “The Transporter.”

Throughout the ’80s and ’90s, Corea continued with both solo projects and his new group, the Chick Corea Elektric Band.

But to see and hear Return to Forever on Saturday, you’d think the quartet had never been apart. With Clarke taking center stage, the four launched into their classic catalog, deftly trading solos and playfully trying to one-up one another.

The first set featured the group’s spacey, sci-fi influenced tracks like “Hymn of the Seventh Galaxy,” “Vulcan Worlds” and “The Sorceress.”

But RTF really shined in the second set, with Di Meola and Clarke switching to acoustic. Di Meola launched into a medley of his solo pieces, including covers of Argentine tango master Astor Piazzolla’s compositions and his signature song, “Mediterranean Sundance,” which elicited an enthusiastic response from the audience.

Di Meola may not be as fast as the 19-year-old prodigy who wowed critics and audiences alike in the ’70s, but he makes up for it with even better technique and the sort of emotional depth that comes with time. And he’s still plenty fast with his fingers.

Corea followed with a keyboard solo, setting up Clarke, whose virtuoso, marathon solo on upright bass had people in the balcony calling out, “I love you, Stanley!”

For the encore, RTF returned to its electric bread and butter for one of my favorite of the band’s tunes, “Duel of the Jester and the Tyrant.”

Three decades may have passed since RTF’s last recording, but those old songs seem timeless. But what else should you expect from a band named Return to Forever?

‘Shaun of the Dead’ team’s ‘Spaced’ hits DVD

It was like a near-death experience. I saw my life flash before my eyes. Except it was divided into 14 half-hour episodes, and everyone was British. Oh, and it wasn’t actually my life.

Before they achieved fame, fortune and international acclaim with their hit films “Shaun of the Dead” and “Hot Fuzz,” actor/writer Simon Pegg and director Edgar Wright garnered a cult following with the TV series “Spaced,” which aired for two seasons on Britain’s Channel 4.

Now, finally, nearly a decade after it first aired, “Spaced” is available on DVD in the U.S.
Starring and written by Pegg and Jessica Stevenson, “Spaced” follows two twentysomething slackers who pretend to be a couple so they can rent an apartment advertised as for “professional couples only.”

But that’s not really what the show is about. If it were, it would be nothing more than the British version of “Three’s Company,” which is already just the American version of Britain’s “Man About the House.”

In fact, the whole “pretending to be a couple” thing comes up only twice as a major plot point, so forget I even mentioned it. Seriously.

Daisy (Stevenson) is an aspiring magazine writer who would rather do anything other than write. Her roommate Tim (Pegg) wants to draw comic books, but in the meantime he works in a store selling comic books.

Tim’s best friend is Mike, played by Nick Frost, who, at the risk of being typecast, also plays Pegg’s best friends in “Shaun of the Dead” and “Hot Fuzz.” Mike wants more than anything to join the army. Unfortunately, he got kicked out for stealing a tank and trying to invade Paris.

I know what you’re thinking. You don’t need a tank to invade Paris. Just roll down the Champs-Elysées in a Volkswagen Beetle, and the French will surrender faster than you can say David Hasselhoff. But never mind that.

Daisy’s best friend is Twist (Katy Carmichael), who is either incredibly shallow or incredibly evil. Tim can’t decide which.

Tim and Daisy’s neighbor Brian (Mark Heap) is an artist who paints in bold strokes of anger, pain, fear and aggression. And their landlady, Marsha (Julia Deakin), is a chain-smoking alcoholic with a thing for Brian.

Although set in London, “Spaced” captures perfectly the American Generation X experience of arrested adolescence, underemployment and relationships forged by shared cultural experiences. It’s like that Winona Ryder movie “Reality Bites” except it doesn’t suck.

No, far from sucking, “Spaced” is simply brilliant. And it’s without a doubt the most fanboy-friendly sitcom ever made.

A year after breaking up with his girlfriend, Tim must deal with the end of an even more important relationship — the one he had with George Lucas:

“ ‘The Phantom Menace’ was 18 months ago, Tim!” says Tim’s boss, Bilbo (Bill Bailey).
“I know, Bilbo, but it still hurts!” Tim says. “That kid wanted a Jar Jar doll!”

Under Wright’s direction, “Spaced” creates a surreal, cinematic world, where a seemingly ordinary conversation can turn into a re-enactment of “Dawn of the Dead” and a paintball fight is a good excuse to reference “Platoon.”

“Spaced” is no ordinary sitcom. It’s a sitcom for a generation incapable of having a conversation without referencing popular movies or TV shows. You know, like a typical episode of “Family Guy.” In short, it’s for people like me.

But not to worry if you don’t know the difference between “Babylon 5” and “Deep Space Nine.” The new DVDs include a handy subtitle feature that explains all of the references.

‘Dark Knight’ takes spot atop best superhero flicks

“The Dark Knight” lived up to the hype, earning every penny of its record-setting, $158.4 million opening weekend and capping a summer of superhero movies that didn’t stink.

The second installment in director Christopher Nolan’s rebooted Batman franchise now sits squarely atop my personal top 10 list of the best superhero movies. Chalk up most of the credit to the late Heath Ledger’s performance as the Joker, which is now the definitive interpretation of Batman’s arch nemesis. But even without Ledger’s contribution, “The Dark Knight” would be a compelling thriller. I didn’t check my watch during the entire 2½ hours, which is really something, given my short attention span and bladder the size of a walnut.

One of the summer’s other superhero offerings also shook up my rankings. While “The Incredible Hulk” and “Hellboy II: The Golden Army” are on the outside looking in, “Iron Man” rocketed to the No. 2 spot.

Structurally, “Iron Man” is a by-the-numbers origin story. What sets it apart is Robert Downey Jr.’s fantastic performance as Iron Man’s alter ego, billionaire inventor/playboy Tony Stark. Downey’s Stark is the perfect blend of humor, ego and heroism. As with most Marvel Comics superheroes, the man is more interesting than the superman, and Downey makes the most of that. Yes, the action scenes are great, but they pale next to Tony Stark just being Tony Stark.

“The Dark Knight” may be better overall, but “Iron Man” is more fun. Marvel has “Iron Man 2” on its schedule for 2010, and 2010 can’t get here fast enough.

And now, the rest of my top 10:

“Batman Begins”: In retrospect, Nolan’s first outing with Christian Bale as the Caped Crusader seems like little more than a practice run for “The Dark Knight.” But that doesn’t keep it from being a great superhero movie in its own right. And “Batman Begins” gives Bale a chance to shine as Batman without having to compete for screen time with the Joker. Whether played by Ledger, Jack Nicholson (“Batman”) or Mark Hamill (“Batman: The Animated Series”), the Joker always steals the scene, no matter who is in the Bat suit.

“Batman” (1989): Speaking of Nicholson, his hammy take on the Joker was right at home in Tim Burton’s first Batman film. So what if “Batman” isn’t as dark or as serious as “Batman Begins” and “The Dark Knight”? It is still a showcase for Burton’s moody, fairytale version of Gotham City. And for the record, Michael Keaton is still the big screen’s best Batman, even if Bale is a better Bruce Wayne.

“Danger: Diabolik” (1968): Chances are you haven’t seen this psychedelic masterpiece from Italian director Mario Bava. Better known for his horror movies — which have influenced filmmakers from Martin Scorsese to Quentin Tarantino — Bava turns a popular Italian comic book about a costumed thief into a glowing spectacle of pop art. John Philip Law (“Barbarella”) stars as Diabolik, who steals from the rich and gives to himself, while also taking down pompous politicians and rival criminals.

“X2: X-Men United”: The only “X-Men” movie worth repeat viewings, “X2” hits all the main themes of Marvel’s flagship series about mutants sworn to defend a world that hates and fears them. Plus, it has fantastic set pieces, like the attack on the X-Men’s mansion and Magneto’s escape from prison. And how can you not love a movie that so shamelessly rips off the ending of “Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan”?

“Spider-Man”: “Spider-Man 2” has better acting, better directing, better cinematography and better special effects. But the original has the better script and translates Stan Lee’s corny, soap-opera-style superheroics to the screen without seeming corny itself.

“Unbreakable”: Before he became a bad joke, M. Night Shyamalan did direct two good movies, and “Unbreakable” holds up better than “The Sixth Sense” because it’s not as dependent on its twist ending.

“The Incredibles”: Writer/director Brad Bird scores with his Oscar-winning animated feature about a family of superheroes and a villain who is the ultimate fanboy gone bad.

“Hulk” (2003): Ang Lee’s movie alienated more fans than it thrilled, but its comic-book-inspired editing and psychological depth mark “Hulk” as interesting and ambitious, if flawed.

Obama cartoon stirs controversy in post-irony U.S.

Maybe it’s true. Maybe irony really is dead.

At least I heard it was dead. “Death of irony” speculation was all the rage after Sept. 11, 2001. It was bigger than the death of Elvis. Mind you, I never grasped the link between the 9/11 attacks and irony. Still, there were people on TV who assured me there indeed was a link. You know, just like there was a link between Saddam Hussein and al-Qaida.

But irony’s passing didn’t really hit me until Monday, when I heard the collective gasp of the nation’s political bloggers and cable TV pundits going into shock. Soon afterward, they all got their chance to beat up The New Yorker magazine for its current issue, which features a cover illustration of Democratic presidential candidate Sen. Barack Obama and would-be first lady Michelle Obama.
The cartoon depicts Sen. Obama wearing traditional Arab garb and doing the now infamous “fist bump” with his wife, who is dressed as a 1960s-style “black militant,” complete with military fatigues, AK-47, bandoleer and afro.

To make the matter even more scandalous, Mr. and Mrs. Obama are shown in the Oval Office, which, for added effect, is decorated with a portrait of Public Enemy No. 1 Osama bin Laden hanging above a fireplace in which burns an American flag.

There is a word that perfectly describes The New Yorker’s cartoon. That word is “irony.”

Instead, Obama’s campaign went with “tasteless” and “offensive.” The campaign of Sen. Obama’s Republican rival, Sen. John McCain, apparently at a loss for its own adjectives, released a statement basically saying, “Ditto.” Surely, this is the start of what will be the cleanest, most civil presidential campaign since George Washington ran against nobody.

The reaction all across the Internet and CNN was much the same, not that any of the outraged parties actually believed The New Yorker was guilty of racism, stereotyping or just plain old libel. They all recognized the cartoon for what it was — irony. They were just afraid all the unwashed masses out in Middle America wouldn’t get the joke. Because, as you know, irony is dead. Gone and forgotten.
This saddens me. Irony was my third-favorite literary device, after sarcasm and double entendres and just ahead of puns.

I mean, really, how can anyone without an advanced literature degree from Harvard or Columbia be expected to recognize irony now? It takes years of graduate studies to know that The New Yorker’s illustration really meant the opposite of what it depicted — that it was, in fact, satirizing the many conspiracy theories that have grown like kudzu around the Obama campaign.

If Jonathan Swift were to write his 1729 essay “A Modest Proposal” today, who knows what would happen? Why, the Irish might actually eat their own children, just as Swift suggested. But at least that would add a little protein to the typical Irish diet, which consists solely of potatoes and whiskey.

Obama is not a radical Islamic terrorist just waiting to seize control of the U.S. government. He is exactly what he says he is — an agent of change. Except he means “C.H.A.N.G.E,” which stands for Cannibals, Homosexuals and Atheists for Nuking Grandmothers Everywhere.

Irony is not something we Americans do well. Consider Alanis Morissette’s song “Ironic,” with lyrics like “It’s like rain on your wedding day” and “It’s the good advice that you just didn't take,” none of which are ironic because irony expresses the opposite of its literal meaning. Irony would be something like getting divorced on your wedding day, while rain on your wedding day isn’t ironic, just unfortunate. Unless you like rain.

Of course, a song about irony that contains no irony might, in fact, be ironic. And, in any case, Morissette is a Canadian. Isn’t it ironic?

An old Hollywood gimmick makes a comeback — in 3-D!

A 1950s movie theater gimmick is making a comeback.

The latest cinematic adaptation of Jules Verne’s “Journey to the Center of the Earth” opens in theaters Friday. And apart from a new leading man in the form of Brendan Fraser (“The Mummy”), this version sports a new look. Moviegoers will see Verne’s prehistoric world at the center of the Earth as never before — in 3-D.

“Journey” is the first live-action, action/adventure movie to open in the Real D Cinema format. Theaters screened last year’s CGI “Beowulf” in both 3-D and 2-D. The recent Hannah Montana and U2 concert films also used Real D Cinema.

You still must wear special glasses to get the 3-D effect, but the new glasses are a far cry from the red-and-blue filters of years past. They use polarized lenses that allow each eye to see only one of two projected images, creating the illusion of three dimensions.

Special effects wizards love new toys, so it was a given that 3-D would make a comeback in a more user-friendly format. But declining movie attendance is probably even more responsible for the new generation of 3-D movies. You have to give the audience something it can’t get at home.

That, of course, is exactly how 3-D movies began.

In the ’50s, theaters faced their first real competition, a newfangled entertainment device called a “television,” or “TV” for short.

The prospect of families staying home to watch the black-and-white flicker of Jackie Gleason and Ed Sullivan terrified theater owners. Theaters needed something new to lure people to the big screen.
Hollywood experimented with various 3-D formats, but the best remembered is actually one of the least used — anaglyph 3-D, which required audiences to wear headache-inducing cardboard glasses with colored filters, usually one red and one cyan.

Anaglyph 3-D turned up mostly on B movies and short subjects. Despite its disadvantages, anaglyph 3-D was easier to use given the technology of the day. Other ’50s 3-D formats, which relied on two projectors and polarized glasses similar to those now in use, were hard to maintain. But Anaglyph 3-D was perfect for low-budget movies.

Hollywood produced anaglyph 3-D movies into the early 1960s, and, ironically, some of these films eventually made their way to television, the medium they were produced to combat.

By the 1980s, 3-D was all but dead in theaters, with rare exceptions like “Amityville 3-D,” “Jaws 3-D” and “Friday the 13th Part III.” Still, that was enough to trigger a boomlet in old 3-D movies airing on TV.

That was when I had my first 3-D experience, when a local TV station aired the 1961 horror movie “The Mask.”

“The Mask” was mostly in 2-D but featured 3-D dream sequences. Whenever the main character donned a demonic mask, he hallucinated being in a spooky, 3-D landscape. Viewers knew it was time to put on their 3-D glasses when a voice intoned, “Put the mask on now!”

As a bonus, the TV station also aired a 3-D “Three Stooges” short.

This was a big deal for me and my friends. We all had our parents drive us to the convenience stores where we could pick up our 3-D glasses. Then we waited impatiently for Saturday night to finally arrive, so we could all experience the magic of 3-D.

Yes, it was cool. But I can’t say I enjoyed the eye strain that came with those glasses.

Still, 3-D had come full circle. What started as a gimmick for theaters had become a gimmick for TV stations. And, yes, I still have the pair of 3-D glasses I got to watch “The Mask.”

So, the question is, has technology come far enough to make 3-D mainstream, or is this another gimmick in the making?

TV remakes are the new British invasion

So, here we are, 232 years after our Declaration of Independence from the British Empire. But we still haven’t gotten over our fascination with virtually all things British.

With the exception of meat pies, which are disgusting. We’re over them. And the same goes for everything else the British pass off as edible. Seriously, the only reason London is now the world’s food capital is because of all the immigrants who brought their native dishes with them. But I digress.

Certainly, American interest in what is, culturally if not literally, the mother land has waned somewhat with the death of Princess Diana. The royal family just isn’t as interesting without her. Even the scandals have lost their luster. And there has been nothing in the past 40 or so years to compare to the British invasion of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.

Still, the United Kingdom is the first place we look to find television shows that can be re-tooled for American consumption.

“The Office” is a prime example, as well as a rare example of a British import that has staying power in its nicer, Americanized version. Personally, I prefer the original, darker model, with series co-creator Ricky Gervais as the loathsome David Brent, versus Steve Carell’s merely clueless Michael Scott. But you can’t deny NBC’s success in finally adapting a British series to the sensibilities of us less jaded Yanks.

Now, AMC is having a go at remaking a British 1960s cult classic, “The Prisoner.”

This is a much trickier proposition. The original “Prisoner,” created by and starring Patrick McGoohan (“Braveheart”), is one of the most revered TV shows ever produced. And it has a small but vocal following — including me — that will not look kindly on any remake that fails to remain true to McGoohan’s deeply personal, philosophical vision.

A surreal blend of science fiction and Cold War spy drama, “The Prisoner” follows a former secret agent, known only as Number Six, as he attempts to escape from the Village, a seemingly pleasant seaside community that is really a prison for people who know too much. During just 16 episodes, the series explores themes like the individual vs. society, freedom vs. conformity, humanity vs. technology and privacy vs. surveillance.

How much do I love this show? Currently, the desktop theme on my computer is emblazoned with one of Number Six’s most memorable quotes: “I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed or numbered. My life is my own.”

Words to live by.

Each week, McGoohan’s Number Six matched wits with “the new Number Two,” the expendable bureaucrat charged with running the Village for the mysterious and unseen Number One. Almost every week, there was a new Number Two, replacing last week’s, who was presumably reassigned after failing to pry loose Number Six’s secrets. Only two Number Twos got second chances, most notably the one played by the late Leo McKern (“Rumpole of the Bailey”), who appeared three times, including in the final two episodes.

The lesson of the revolving Number Twos was simple: It doesn’t matter who is in charge. The problem is the system.

AMC’s remake will be a six-episode miniseries. Earlier this week, AMC announced that Jim Caviezel (“The Passion of the Christ”) will portray the lead role of Number Six opposite Sir Ian McKellen (“The Lord of the Rings”) as Number Two.

AMC’s record doesn’t inspire confidence. The former American Movie Classics is the Holy Roman Empire of cable channels — it’s not strictly American, it doesn’t show only movies, and it rarely airs classics. But at least AMC is working in conjunction with two British companies, ITV, which aired the original series in the ’60s, and Granada.

With AMC playing junior partner to its British co-producers, the “Prisoner” remake should at least retain its Britishness. But whether it’ll be good, much less a worthy successor to McGoohan’s masterpiece, is an open question.

The end product could end up as appetizing as a meat pie.

George Carlin was our comedic George Orwell

Most successful comedians have a niche. For some it’s politics. For others it’s observations about everyday life. For others still, it’s family. George Carlin’s niche was the English language.

Carlin, who died Sunday at age 71, delved into other subjects like religion (he was against it) and politics (he was against that, too). But he always returned to language.

English is a funny language. As Carlin observed, we drive on parkways but we park on driveways. Is it any wonder that non-native speakers have difficulty navigating English’s odd twists and turns?
English is also an abused language. Words mean things, but they sometimes mean many things. In his book “The Mother Tongue,” Bill Bryson writes, “Any language where the unassuming word fly signifies an annoying insect, a means of travel and a critical part of a gentleman’s apparel, is clearly asking to be mangled.”

Too often, people deliberately choose words that obscure what they’re really saying. Used cars are now “pre-owned.” It sounds nicer in advertising copy, but it doesn’t make the car in question any less used.

When politicians are involved, of course, the stakes are higher. Consider one of Carlin’s examples: “friendly fire.” It almost makes getting killed by your own side seem pleasant. Similarly, “collateral damage,” is vague, while “dead innocent civilians” demands that we assign blame.

At the risk of overstating his influence, Carlin was our own George Orwell, only funnier. In his essay “Politics and the English Language,” Orwell catalogs the faults of bad writing.

Passive voice, for example, is a favorite of anyone trying to avoid responsibility. We’ve all heard this one: “Mistakes were made.” Well, yes, mistakes were made, but who made them?

Orwell illustrated his point in his novel “1984.” He invented a simplified language, Newspeak, which the book’s totalitarian government invented in order to control its subjects. Without the right words, Orwell believed, certain thoughts are impossible.

Unlike Orwell, Carlin went for comic effect, but hidden somewhere behind the laughter was a point. Who, after all, really ever heard of a “civil” war?

There is even a point to Carlin’s infamous “Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television” routine.
I can’t repeat any of those seven words here, even though you can now say them on cable TV. And only one of the seven — it starts with a “C” — is still truly unacceptable in most polite company. But if English is strange, then profanity, in any language, is stranger. And English profanity, by implication, is the strangest of all.

What makes one word off limits when another word, which means exactly the same thing, is not? Why can I write “urinate” but not an equivalent word starting with “P”?

In the TV series “Battlestar Galactica,” “frak” is a stand-in for the F word, but it doesn’t upset anyone. You can say “frak” 50 times in prime time without so much as getting a disapproving letter from the Federal Communications Commission.

Even within English there are oddities. In Britain, “shag” is the same as the F word. Here, we put “shagged” in the title of an Austin Powers movie. Another word is derogatory toward homosexuals here but is slang for a cigarette there.

Not all languages, however, have this problem. In Japanese, the difference between acceptable and off color is sometimes just a matter of a word’s inflection, or so I’ve read.

It’s probably a good thing Carlin didn’t live in Japan. His “Seven Words” might not have made much sense there.

‘Hulk’ do-over gives the fans what they want

The fanboys got what they wanted. So did Marvel Studios, the Hollywood-based corporate sibling of Marvel Comics.

The fanboys wanted a Hulk movie that was non-stop action, with none of the pesky psychological drama and fancy editing of Ang Lee’s “Hulk” getting in the way. If there’s one thing they’ve made clear during the past five years, it’s that they didn’t appreciate Lee’s attempt to do something artistically ambitious with Marvel’s Grumpy Green Giant.

I’ll say this: There’s nothing remotely psychological about Marvel’s do-over, “The Incredible Hulk.” In terms of plot, this movie is about as thick as the Hulk’s skull. But that doesn’t prevent it from being a decent enough summer action movie. It just doesn’t aspire to be anything other than a decent summer action movie.

Marvel Studios, meanwhile, wanted a second hit to carry forward the momentum its first in-house production, “Iron Man,” generated last month. And Marvel’s studio executives must be pleased with a $55 million, No. 1 opening.

But let’s put things into a bit of perspective. Lee’s unfairly maligned 2003 version also opened at No. 1 and grossed about $8 million more during its opening weekend than the new model did. The only thing director Louis Leterrier’s 2008 edition has going for it is the lack of a fanboy backlash, which should soften the second-weekend drop-off that doomed Lee’s film at the box office.

If “The Incredible Hulk” has the legs that Lee’s adjectiveless “Hulk” lacked, Marvel’s plan for a multi-character franchise will be in good shape. If not, Marvel Studios may be holding its breath until 2010, when “Iron Man 2” and “Thor” are set to open.

Honestly, there is a lot to like about “The Incredible Hulk,” and if I seem overly hostile to it, it’s because my own inner fanboy is also a bit of an art-movie snob, and I still haven’t gotten over the drubbing comic-book fans gave “Hulk.” To me, the Hulk’s alter ego, Bruce Banner, is the more interesting character of the two, and Lee’s movie grasps that. The Hulk is Banner’s abused inner child throwing a tantrum — a literal “monster of the Id,” to quote the 1950s sci-fi film “Forbidden Planet.”

As played by Edward Norton, however, Banner isn’t particularly tortured. He just has an unusual medical problem. There is no real reason for his alter ego to be so angry, apart from constantly having to fend off an Army unit led by Gen. Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross (William Hurt).

Ross wants to capture the Hulk and find out what makes him tick, so that he can use it to create super soldiers. As an added complication, Ross is also the father of Banner’s estranged love interest, Dr. Betty Ross (Liv Tyler).

Drawing more from the “Incredible Hulk” TV show starring Bill Bixby and Lou Ferrigo than from the comic books, the film shows Banner in hiding, taking menial jobs and searching for a cure for his condition. That is, until Ross and Capt. Emil Blonsky (Tim Roth) track him down. Then it veers off into virtually nonstop action scenes: Banner vs. commandos, Hulk vs. commandos, Hulk vs. the Army and, finally, Hulk vs. Blonsky, who uses a cocktail of super-soldier serum and Banner’s blood to turn into the equally hulking Abomination.

All of those combinations work well, except for the last one. Fight scenes should amount to more than two CGI cartoon characters pounding each other.

But “The Incredible Hulk” makes even my jaded inner fanboy smile by placing itself firmly in the larger Marvel Universe. Scattered throughout, if you know where to look, are references to other Marvel characters like Captain America and Nick Fury. The film also cleverly sets up the villain for the sequel.

Best of all, however, is Robert Downey Jr.’s uncredited cameo as Tony Stark — aka Iron Man.
Still, when the best thing about a movie is the actor who reminds you of a better movie, maybe there’s a problem.

‘Swingtown’ promises sin in the ’burbs but doesn’t deliver

They say history repeats itself — first as tragedy, then as farce. But when the 1970s repeats itself, it’s pretty much farce every single time.

I’m referring specifically to “Swingtown,” a new drama airing, improbably, on CBS. Set in a Chicago suburb during the decade of disco and leisure suits, “Swingtown” focuses on three couples, all charting different paths through the jungle of casual sex and even-more-casual drug use.

Just about everyone loves to hate the ’70s. Liberals hate it because it commercialized 1960s radicalism and made it mainstream. Conservatives hate it because it commercialized 1960s radicalism and made it mainstream. Actually, the ’70s is one thing both left and right agree on.

It was the decade when sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll broke out of the counterculture. Music was groovy, and movies, finally free of decades of censorship, entered a new golden age.

It’s just too bad that the clothes and hairstyles were so awful. Probably the reason so many people were having so much sex in the ’70s is everyone, no matter their shape, looked better naked. In fact, that also may explain the streaking fad. And in the pre-AIDS era, even if sex wasn’t always safe, at least it couldn’t kill you.

That brings me back to “Swingtown,” which is all about sex, even though it doesn’t really show any.
First, you’ve got Tom and Trina Decker (Grant Show and Lana Parrilla). He’s an airline pilot — place your own cockpit joke here — and she’s a former stewardess who now mostly stays home and watches “The $25,000 Pyramid.” But at night, they’re the swingingest couple in the Windy City.

Yes, they’re swingers, wife swappers, whatever you want to call it. Asked if she has an open marriage, Trina replies, “Don’t you?”

The Deckers are the reason Jerry Falwell founded the Moral Majority.

Next, you have Bruce and Susan Miller (Jack Davenport and Molly Parker). They’re new to the neighborhood and to the whole swinging scene, but they’re eager studies. Of course, if “Swingtown” lasts more than six episodes, I’m sure they’ll learn that everything isn’t as groovy as it seems just after a couple of Quaaludes and a few Harvey wallbangers.

Ah, the intoxicants of yesteryear.

The Millers have two children, a son who has just discovered Playboy and a daughter who is into the works of Henry Miller and really into her literature teacher. (Feel free to pencil in your own “teacher’s pet” or “hot for teacher” one-liner here.)

Lastly, are Roger and Janet Hopkins. Janet is Susan’s best friend from the old neighborhood, and she’s simply appalled by Susan’s new friends. Roger, however, doesn’t seem particularly upset by the Deckers’ idea of a good time.

I sense marital discord in the Hopkins’ future, which is one of the two big problems with “Swingtown.” Just from the first episode, I figure I can predict with 97 percent accuracy where the rest of season 1 is headed. Assuming it’s not toward cancellation, which is my first guess.

Give “Swingtown” credit for getting the fashions and the music right, but for a show about swinging it’s depressingly sexless. What it’s doing on CBS rather than HBO or Showtime — or at least FX — is a mystery. As far as networks go, CBS doesn’t love the nightlife and doesn’t have to boogie. In fact, if CBS boogied, it’d probably break a hip.

On HBO, “Swingtown” would have made an excellent replacement for the explicit yet boring “Tell Me You Love Me.” On CBS, however, it’s like the first season of “That ’70s Show,” only not funny.
Unless the characters break out of their stereotypes, all “Swingtown” has going for it is its nostalgic setting. But how long will that stay interesting?

If it lasts, “Swingtown” will probably seem like just another network drama. Except without cell phones.

Lucas, Spielberg ruin my childhood memories again

I confess, I was too depressed to write last week. I blame George Lucas and Steven Spielberg.

Thank you, George, for once again violating my childhood. “The Phantom Menace” wasn’t enough, was it? It wasn’t enough to make all those years I devoted to “Star Wars” feel like a colossal waste. To say nothing of the money I spent on the action figures, comic books and, of course, my “Star Wars” lunchbox. I even had the stupid bed sheets.

No, you had to sully my memories of the Indiana Jones trilogy, too.

And Steven, you let George get away with it. You could have said no. You could have said the story was terrible and just walked away. But you didn’t. Way to go, Steven. You haven’t disappointed me this much since “Hook.” You ripped out my heart and laughed while it was still beating.

I ought to send you two the bills for all of the therapy I’m going to need to erase “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” from my brain. Refunding the eight bucks I spent on the ticket isn’t going to cut it. I saw the movie, and I can’t unwatch it.

See, I knew it was a bad idea to revisit the Indiana Jones series 19 years after “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.” Even back then, I could see the trend line: The humor was broader, the dangers less threatening than in “Raiders of the Lost Ark.” But “Raiders” is the ultimate adventure film, better even than any of the “Star Wars” movies. So, I gave “Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” a chance, despite the nagging voice telling me to look away, like when Indy said not to look at the Ark.

But I didn’t, and I got my face melted off.

Still, you’ve got to hand it to Harrison Ford. The man is 65 years old, but he has an easier time beating up the bad guys and escaping certain death than he did back during his tomb-raiding prime. Oh, wait. That’s because “Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” stinks.

When Indiana Jones retrieved the Ark of the Covenant from the Nazi convoy in “Raiders,” we felt every bump and bruise along with him. That was an Indiana who knew how to take a beating and still emerge triumphant.

Now, when he should be cashing his Social Security checks, Indiana can emerge from even the most ridiculous danger without a scratch. Survive a nuclear explosion? No problem. Go toe-to-toe with the Red Army? Piece of cake. Plunge over a waterfall not once, not twice but three times? Hey, sign him up for a fourth.

That’s because the Indiana Jones of “Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” is no longer an action hero. He’s a cartoon character. The movie never convinced me that he was in any danger. It didn’t even try.
It did convince me — as if I weren’t convinced already — that Lucas is more interested in special effects than storytelling, even when the effects aren’t that special anymore. After all, he’s the executive producer, and he shares the “story by” credit.

But don’t let that fool you. The film’s failings aren’t all Lucas’ fault. As director, Spielberg sets the tone, and he hits all the wrong notes.

I never felt that the stakes were high, even though the baddies — Soviet agents led by Cate Blanchett’s Irina Spalko — have a pretty ingenious plan. They hope to use the fabled crystal skull as a mind-control device to take over the United States from within. It’s a clever nod to the Red Scare movies of the 1950s and one of the film’s few good ideas.

Maybe the Soviets just don’t make for interesting villains the way the Nazis do, because Spalko and her bumbling crew are about as exciting as Soviet architecture.

If “Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” were the latest entry in the “Mummy” series, its juvenile antics might be excusable. The “Mummy” films are as much about slapstick comedy as they are action. But “Kingdom” fails utterly as an Indiana Jones movie.

Please, guys, you’ve made your money. Now, put the hat and the bullwhip away for good this time.

Scarlett Johansson’s debut CD is a dud

This has been a depressing couple of weeks. Scarlett Johansson has broken my heart twice.
First came word that she is engaged to “Van Wilder” star Ryan Reynolds, making her even more unattainable than she was before.

It doesn’t help that I’ll always think of Reynolds as Billy, the clueless hanger-on who mostly annoyed the older teens on the Nickelodeon soap opera “Fifteen.” (Now you know my guilty-pleasure viewing back when I was in college.)

Now comes the release of her first — and, with any luck, last — album, a collection of Tom Waits covers titled “Anywhere I Lay My Head.” And while it isn’t an embarrassment on the order of Eddie Murphy’s “Party All the Time” or Don Johnson’s “Heartbeat,” it pretty much confirms my theory that singers have an easier time becoming actors than actors have becoming singers. (For the record, I dispute the notion that Jennifer Lopez is either.)

The compact disc arrived in stores Tuesday, but anyone who has already heard streaming audio of it online knows the bad news.

It isn’t that Johansson can’t sing, although she can’t. Waits isn’t exactly known for his vocal range, either. A music critic once colorfully described Waits’ voice as “like it was soaked in a vat of bourbon, left hanging in the smokehouse for a few months, and then taken outside and run over with a car.” So, Johansson’s breathy delivery — she sounds like she’s been downing bottles of cheap scotch and smoking menthols since she was 7 — should be up to the task.

It’s that everything around her sounds worse than she does. Either this is the most overproduced Tom Waits album in history or it’s the most underproduced pop album. In any case, the end result sounds like Johansson singing karaoke in that bar in “Lost in Translation.” That’s fine for a movie role, but terrible for an actual album you expect people to buy.

Wired.com Listening Post blogger Eliot Van Buskirk compares Johansson’s effort to the Cocteau Twins. Yeah, I could see that. If, of course, the Cocteau Twins recorded all of their albums while doped up on Valium. If there is one word that sums up “Anywhere I Lay My Head,” that word is “lazy.”

The blame rests squarely with the album’s producer, TV on the Radio’s David Sitek, who lays on the syrup so think that even Johansson’s backing musicians get stuck. Seriously, I’m not sure any producer has ruined an album like this since Phil Spector got his hands on “Let It Be” or David Bowie took the edge off The Stooges’ “Raw Power.”

Speaking of Bowie, he shows up on “Anywhere I Lay My Head,” too, although his backing vocals at least don’t make matters worse.

Ultimately, Sitek’s approach fails to live up to the material because the combination of Johansson’s voice and Waits’ jaded, jazzy lyrics should work. If Ben Folds can make William Shatner sound good, then anything is possible.

If there is any saving grace to “Anywhere I Lay My Head,” it’s that no song is so campy that it’ll end up on a Dr. Demento compilation CD. And with any luck, Johansson had gotten the singing bug out of her system so she can go back to doing what she is good at — making movies.

Speaking of which, Johansson is starring in yet another Woody Allen movie, “Vicky Cristina Barcelona,” with Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem. It’s scheduled to open in late summer, and it better be worth the wait.

I don’t think I can take Scarlett breaking my heart again.

Dr. House offers his diagnosis for the human condition

What makes Dr. Gregory House the best character on television isn’t his medical knowledge. It isn’t even his ruthless wit. It’s that he gets — really gets — human nature.

OK. Maybe I’m just as cynical as the title character of Fox’s hit medical drama “House.” After all, one of House’s key insights is “everybody lies.” But I prefer to think I’m a realist.
So, what is it about human behavior that House (Hugh Laurie) gets? First, he understands that people respond to incentives.

This is basic Economics 101, which means it’s a hard truth that most people would prefer not to believe. But anyone who has ever had to deal with a job-for-life government employee knows it’s true. Zero threat of losing your job equals zero incentive to do your job well. Car salesmen, on the other hand, get paid on commission. That means they have a powerful incentive to sell you a car — whether you want one or not — tempered only by their incentive not to alienate you as a future customer.

House understands this and even cites a classic example of behavioral economics.

In a recent episode, “No More Mr. Nice Guy,” House offers up this bit of wisdom about how people respond to incentives: “You want people to drive safer? Take out air bags and replace them with machetes pointed at their necks. Nobody would drive over three miles per hour.”

I first came across that argument in Steven Landsburg’s 1993 book “The Armchair Economist.” Landsburg uses it to show that seat belts and air bags don’t actually save lives. People willingly accept a certain amount of risk. So, when you make vehicles safer, people drive more recklessly — just as they would drive more carefully if you made cars more dangerous.

Of course, most people don’t understand that.

On an automotive Web site, I found an article that said, “Surprisingly, that grim crash fatality statistic (40,000 deaths per year) has held steady for the past two decades — even as cars have become more crashworthy and sophisticated safety features more widely available.”

Here is what House would say to that article’s author: “You’re an idiot.” There’s nothing surprising about it if you understand incentives the way House does.

House also understands another subject that makes lots of people uncomfortable — evolution.
In the same episode, House is convinced that a patient’s extreme niceness must be a symptom of some underlying disease. Why? Because being nice with no expectation of getting something in return isn’t natural.

House explains: “Three cavemen see a stranger running toward them with a spear. One fights, one flees, one smiles and invites him over for fondue. That last guy didn’t last long enough to procreate.”

Evolutionary psychology holds that just as plants and animals pass down physical traits to future generations, people pass down behavioral traits. So, just as it does with physical traits, natural selection weeds out some behavioral traits — like extreme, naïve niceness — because the people who have them tend to die before passing them on.

This is the sort of evolution that upsets most liberals just as much as it upsets conservatives. It’s one thing to say that people’s physical characteristics are the product of millions of years of natural selection. But behavior? Lots of liberals hate that idea because if behavior is largely biologically driven, you can’t make people behave differently just by forcing them into sensitivity training.

But, as John Adams said, “Facts are stubborn things.” They’re still facts whether you believe them are not.

That’s why all of the other characters on “House” think Dr. House is a jerk. He’s armed with more facts than anyone else on TV. And facts don’t necessarily play nice.

Iron Man to power Marvel movies through 2011

Thank you, sir. May I have another?

And just like that, Marvel Enterprises said, “Yes, you may have another.”
With “Iron Man” raking in more than $200 million worldwide last weekend, Marvel announced Monday that its next in-house film production will be “Iron Man 2,” set for release April 30, 2010.

The near two-year break between “Iron Man 2” and Marvel’s next self-financed movie, “The Incredible Hulk,” which opens June 13, is the result of the recent screenwriters strike. But Fox will release “Wolverine,” starring Hugh Jackman, next year under its pre-existing deal with Marvel.

“Iron Man” vindicates Marvel’s new strategy of producing movies in-house and using the major movie studios — in this case, Paramount — just for distribution. The big Hollywood studios have managed to produce huge hits based on Marvel’s most popular characters, Spider-Man (Sony) and the X-Men (Fox). But they’ve stumbled with many of the company’s lesser-known characters: Daredevil, Elektra, the Punisher and, most recently, Ghost Rider.

Now, Iron Man has been my favorite superhero since I was 5 years old. But he was hardly a household name, at least until last week. Still, Marvel was able to turn the character’s big-screen debut into 2008’s first blockbuster. It will probably finish as one of the year’s top-five grossing films. And in a year with highly anticipated Indiana Jones and Batman sequels, that’s no small feat.

Give Marvel credit for taking chances the big studios might not take, like casting Robert Downey Jr. as the film’s lead. The 43-year-old actor, who has found his greatest success in small films and supporting roles, isn’t the sort of actor most Hollywood executives would cast as the star of a big-budget action flick.

But Downey makes billionaire industrialist Tony Stark the most watchable superhero since — well, since ever. It’s the sort of performance that critics will be comparing to Johnny Depp’s turn as Capt. Jack Sparrow in the “Pirates of the Caribbean” films.

“Iron Man” moves along at a supersonic clip, and gives its cast a chance to shine as much as the special effects. Now that is how you make a superhero movie.

Fans will argue about whether “Iron Man” is the best comic book/superhero movie yet made. I think it is, and the film’s 94 percent “fresh” rating at RottenTomatoes.com backs me up. But I don’t think there is any arguing that it’s the most fun superhero movie so far.

In or out of his high-tech armor, Stark handles his demons like an adult. There’s no Spider-Man angst or Batman brooding anywhere in sight. (Not that there’s anything wrong with the occasional brooding Bat.) And that makes for an enjoyable romp. Not like Peter “Spider-Man” Parker fretting about how he’s going to pay for his Aunt May’s cataract surgery and other such soap-opera dreariness.

If you stay through the closing credits of “Iron Man,” you’ll get a teaser for what Marvel Entertainment has planned for the future. But in case you can’t hold your bladder in check that long, Marvel has announced its other projects for 2010 and 2011.

After “Iron Man 2,” “Thor” hits theaters June 4, 2010. Then in 2011, expect a Captain America movie (working title, “The First Avenger: Captain America”) on May 6, followed by what could be the superhero movie to beat all superhero movies, “The Avengers,” in July.

Like the comic book, “The Avengers” promises to team-up Iron Man, Thor, the Hulk and Captain America to face some menace none of them can tackle alone.

So, if “The Avengers” can lock in Downey as Iron Man, “Incredible Hulk” star Edward Norton and whoever stars in “Thor” and “Captain America,” it’ll be the most star-studded comic book movie ever.

Miley’s Vanity Fair pics stir moral panic

A thousand words apparently aren’t enough for at least one picture. Not if it’s a picture of Miley Cyrus. So, here are about 700 more.

The 15-year-old Disney starlet, better known as her TV character, Hannah Montana, posed for Vanity Fair magazine and famed celebrity photographer Anne Leibovitz. But before the May issue of Vanity Fair hit newsstands Wednesday, the photos were everywhere, after Cyrus and her Disney caretakers issued press releases basically claiming that Leibovitz had tricked her into posing for a sexually provocative shot.

The photo in question shows Cyrus topless but holding up a sheet so that only her back is exposed. Now, I’m probably not a good judge of how sexual the photo is. You’d be better off asking someone who is into 15-year-old girls and will actually admit to it — like, you know, a 16-year-old boy. But what I get from Leibovitz’s now infamous shot of Cyrus is vulnerability, which is what Leibovitz does, and does well. Her photos of the rich and famous are known for laying their subjects bare. And I mean that in the figurative sense.

The idea that Cyrus was tricked is a bit silly. She and her handlers signed off on the photo shoot. Her father, country music star Billy Ray Cyrus, was part of it. Everyone knew the score.

So, Miley changes her mind and says she is now “embarrassed” by the photo, either because she really is or thinks it will damage her reputation. She is a 15-year-old girl, so she probably changes her mind a lot. That’s fine. But Disney is in spin cycle. After all, it has been less than a year since another Disney star, Vanessa Hudgens of “High School Musical,” had to apologize when a nude photo of her — intended to be private — hit the Internet. And at least she was 18 at the time and not jailbait. But Disney’s public relations department is obviously in overdrive, making sure no one thinks its most profitable contract player is auditioning to be the next Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan or Paris Hilton.

’Cause you know, one minute you’re posing for Vanity Fair, and the next you’re out partying, drinking, crashing your car, flashing your crotch and shaving your head. From there, the only thing left is an extended stay at the Betty Ford Center.

Everyone involved in the Vanity Fair affair seems to have an agenda. So, it’s hardly a surprise that the usual suspects are in attack mode.

On his radio show Monday, Mike Gallagher — the poor man’s Rush Limbaugh — went into a truly disgusting rant that focused on the fact that Leibovitz is a lesbian, and worse yet, a liberal activist. He went on to describe Cyrus’ expression in the photo as a “come hither” look and the photo itself as “soft-core pornography.”

All that tells me is that Gallagher has never actually experienced a come-hither look, or thinks that every woman who smiles in his general direction is saying, “Come and get it,” nor has he ever seen any real soft-core pornography.

While the photo fiasco is much ado about nothing, it’s still symbolic of modern society’s latest moral panic — a generalized hysteria about sexualizing “children,” meaning teens. We’re all supposed to pretend that teenagers aren’t sexual. But 200,000 years of Homo sapiens biology and 6,000 years of human civilization beg to differ.

Until the Industrial Revolution, people in their teens were expected to go out and start families of their own. They were expected to be adults. Now when teenagers do “adult” things like flaunt their sexuality, it’s a national crisis. But a century ago, it was life.

It’s fine for parents to want to protect their children as long as they can, but it’s no use pretending that teenagers aren’t sexual beings.

Yes, teenagers today probably aren’t as responsible as teens of centuries past, if for no other reason than they don’t have to be. And, yes, that means it’s a bad idea for teens to have sex. But nobody in the media — especially not Anne Leibovitz — has to sexualize them. They’re sexualized already.
Maybe that’s why some people see “come hither” where it doesn’t exist.

OK, Apple, you win; I finally have an iPod

“I bought an iPod. It can hold 20,000 songs or one message from my mother.”

— Steven Wright, comedian

I’ve finally given in and purchased Apple’s signature product, the iPod. Funny, I remember when Apple was a computer company. Now, it’s a music company that also makes computers.

If it weren’t for Apple’s “I’m a Mac. I’m a PC” commercials, I might not remember that Apple even makes computers. And what’s up with those commercials? The PC guy is likable, but the Mac guy is a jerk. This is supposed to make me want to buy a Mac? Now, Windows Vista — that’s a good reason to buy a Mac.

Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. My new iPod.

For years, I’d gotten by with my iRiver MP3 player. Yeah, you may think the iRiver is just a cheap iPod knock-off, what with the similar names and all. But, trust me, the iRiver is huge in Asia. Still, my first-generation iRiver didn’t hold enough songs, and it was a pain keeping extra AA batteries on the go. I’m sure iRiver makes better MP3 players now, but it’s hard to keep up with the iPod. Not even Microsoft can do it. How many people own Microsoft’s Zune players? A lot fewer than Bill Gates would like.

I swear, the Zunes on the display shelf at Best Buy are gathering dust. OK, not really. But I’m sure that’s only because the staff dusts them.

Part of me still says the iPod is a textbook case of style triumphing over substance. Other MP3 players can do pretty much everything the iPod does. Everything, that is, except play music downloaded from Apple’s iTunes store. But with other companies, including Amazon.com, offering music downloads without Apple’s proprietary copy protection, that’s less of an issue.

So, what is the iPod’s allure? It’s sleek. It’s shiny. It has an easy-to-use interface. And it comes right out of the box ready to plug into your computer. It automatically synchronizes with the iTunes software and copies all of the music on your computer’s hard drive. Within minutes, it’s ready to go. Like most Apple products, the iPod is idiot-proof.

I take pride in my computer skills, so being idiot-proof is not normally a selling point with me, and it’s not an unequivocal plus with the iPod. Idiot-proof electronics are often harder to deal with for those of us who know what we are doing.

To manually manage my iPod’s content, I must connect it to my computer and turn off the automatic synchronization. Then, iTunes asks me if I’m sure I want to do that. Well, my name isn’t Dave, and iTunes isn’t HAL. So, yes, I’m sure.

But the same idiot-proof features that make Macs annoying and Microsoft’s Vista insufferable are a plus with something simple like an iPod. You don’t want it to do anything fancy. You just want it to play music.

Then there are the peripherals. Since iPod is by far the market leader in the U.S., every other electronics company wants to make gadgets to go with it. So, I can buy a cable that plugs my iPod into my car’s cigarette lighter and then plays my iPod over the car’s speakers. Presto! No need to ever lug compact discs to and from my car again. Plus, everything from the largest stereo system to the smallest clock radio now features an iPod plug-in port.

Ironically for Microsoft-hating Apple partisans, this is exactly how Microsoft came to dominate desktop computing — by gaining such a large market share that everyone else had to make Microsoft-compatible applications. What Microsoft did for computers, Apple has done for digital music.

So, I give in. After years of avoiding Apple’s sleek, trendy products, I have an iPod. And, yes, it’s as good as advertised.

But I’m still not buying an iPhone.

Things to do on the Internet when you’re dead

Note: The following column contains Internet language. It may be unintelligible to people over 30. Teenage translation is suggested.

I don’t have statistics to prove it, but I’m reasonably sure that the second most common use of the Internet, after looking up naked pictures of celebrities, is wasting time.
But there are more and less productive ways of wasting time while surfing the Internet. So, here are some of my favorites, in no particular order.

Lolcats. Once upon a time, there was a photo of a forlorn kitty who asked a simple, if grammatically suspect, question: “I can has cheezburger?” Did the cat ever get a cheeseburger? Who knows? It doesn’t matter. What matters is what followed. From that one photo and its semiliterate plea grew a phenomenon.

Now, the lolcats — cats who will make you “laugh out loud” — are everywhere. They’re in cars, buckets, washing machines and, yes, even in ceilings. Some are happy, others sad. They can’t quite grasp the English language. They made you a cookie, but then eated(cq) it. And most have simply had enough of you silly humans.

One Web site collects them all: icanhascheezburger.com. At last count, the site was up to more than 240 pages of pictures of cats, and a few others animals, too, in funny situations with funnier captions.

But just Google “lolcat,” and you’ll find them everywhere.

The lolcats have become so popular that the dogs have become jealous. So, now the loldogs have their own Web site, ihasahotdog.com. But it’s not as good as the lolcats’ site, because LOLCATS > LOLDOGS LOL!!!

(Author’s note: All dog lovers offended by the idea that cats are better than dogs, please e-mail your complaints to Scott Morris, managing editor and cat hater, at smorris@decaturdaily.com. K? THX.)

The Rickroll. There you are, minding your own business, when a friend e-mails you a link. You click it. Then, you realize your mistake, but it’s too late. You’ve been subjected to totally unexpected Rick Astley. Now you’re going to have his stupid song stuck in your head for the rest of the day. You’ve been Rickrolled.

Astley is the freckle-faced poster boy for 1980s musical mediocrity, as exemplified by his biggest hit, “Never Gonna Give You Up.” He was everything that was wrong with pop music during the decade of Ronald Reagan and “Family Ties.” He couldn’t even succeed as a one-hit wonder, because he actually had a second hit, “Together Forever.” There is some minimal amount of coolness that comes with being a one-hit wonder. But there is no such thing as a two-hit wonder. Having two hit singles before sliding into obscurity just makes you lame.

That’s what makes the Rickroll such a devious Internet prank. Well, that and the fact that Astley’s lyrics make him sound like a potentially dangerous stalker.

Last.fm. First there was Friendster. Then MySpace. Then Facebook. But there is one social networking Web site that lets you truly appreciate how terrible your friends’ taste in music is — Last.fm.

In addition to letting you listen to a lot of music online and free of charge, Last.fm can monitor the MP3s you play on your computer or iPod and match you with others who have similar musical tastes. You can also see what music your friends are listening to, and if it’s good, you can then e-mail your so-called friends and ask them why they haven’t already burned you a CD. (Editor’s note: The Decatur Daily’s staff and management do not condone music piracy.)

Of course, you’re more likely to discover that your friends, like most Last.fm users, have rotten musical tastes. And in that case, you can mock them for it. I mean, really, Coldplay? Coldplay??? I thought I knew you people.