Busy Phillips is going to be on “ER” this season as a medical intern who is also a “devout Christian.” Now, do you suppose this means she's going to treat others as she would like to be treated? Or will she just be there to refuse an abortion to someone and maybe refuse to treat a gay person? Talk amongst yourselves.
Spoilers ahead, be warned…
The day we came back from our honeymoon, Monstro and I made a sacred vow to each other, never again to fly into LAX if avoidance of such was at all possible.
The eponymous airliner of “Snakes on a Plane”'s destination? LAX. This is no mere coincidence, people. Chop chop!
Our downstairs neighbor said she'd watch the baby after yesterday's ill-fated and premature trip, so at 8:30 I plied the babysitter info-sheet into her hands and we beat feet to the theater. I'd made reservations and everything. Totally unneccessary. We were the only people there until five minutes before the show, at which point another couple joined us. Three more kids slunk in during the second preview. It was just as well the crowd was small, because if a full theater's worth of people were doing all the yelling we were doing, we'd not have heard a word.
After reading that it was originally shooting for a PG-13 rating, I'm very glad that they scrapped that dumb-ass idea and went for the full-throated “R”. I tried counting the bodies and made it to seven people and one cat before snakey mayhem erupted and the screenplay had 40 pages of “a bunch of snakes bite the fuck out of a slew of airline passengers.” And when I say “bite the fuck out of,” I'm being literal. The sight of Snake on a Nipple gave me a breastfeeding flashback, but it passed.
Speaking of sucking… lots of snakebites but very little nookie, with the exception of the heavy-breasted blonde and her hot-body boyfriend in the airplane bathroom (biggest airplane bathroom I've ever seen). Not even the great Samuel L. Jackson, as the mighty Agent Neville Flynn, gets as much as a peck from Nurse Hathaway. Has SLJ EVER been kissed in a movie? Maybe “The Red Violin.” I notice from IMDB that his next movie has “Snake” in the title, too, though it's not the “More Fucking Snakes on More Motherfucking Planes” sequel he promised the world at the end of this year's MTV Movie Awards.
So, truly? Worst movie ever. But sooooo worth it, if only for the scene where it's crazy madness and a guy in the back of the plane screams, “Snakes!”
And for the cautionary tale that stands to this day and beyond: Don't. Fucking. Fly. Into. Motherfucking. L.A.X.
Yeah, so our sitter shows up and we make the drive out to Mt. Holyoke, and climb the 14 flights of stairs to the Tower Theater box office, and tell the guy behind the counter “Two for Snakes on a Plane, please,” and he looks at me and says, “you're kidding, right?” and I say “nooooo…” and he says, “Snakes on a Plane doesn't open until tomorrow.” And our sitter is going out of town tomorrow and is unable to watch the baby, and Massachusetts sucks, and it's a crap summer, and BLAH. Hatin' life.
A bunch of Hitchcock movies are playing On Demand for FREE this month, so we checked one out tonight. “The Trouble with Harry.” The film opens on beautiful New England, bucolically leaves-turning-in-autumn, hills ceding to tiny townland. And although the town was laughably small, its four residents were unacquainted.
“Oh sure, like they've never talked to each other before,” Monstro sniffed.
“Honey, it's plausible,” I replied. “They live in New England.”
Here in New England, usually the problem is the humidity. Our outdoor thermometers don't even go up past 95. Until this week. UGH! Three days of dogs-breath-hot weather, one cranky baby, a housebound mama — total drag. Too hot to read Gravity's Rainbow, or to do anything besides bathe the baby AGAIN. It's supposed to cool down this weekend. Pray for us…