IRON MAN 2 : Vulkan

'Welcome back to the Stark Expo - everything is achievable through technology - better living - leaving more time from life's activities...' Yes, 'life is activity.' Especially if amounting to nothing is a personal profit margin shared with nobody. In which case, thank you Russian Technical Education, you should be marked for very personal death. Or obvious body snatching. 'We believe in you Iron Man?' 'God Bless America and God Bless Iron Man?' COME ON!

Frickin' Jesus H. Christ could only muster water skis. Tony Stark invents new elements and straight up flies and the Suit of Steel needs community ego stroking by a living personality cult?

I get it, 'tears of the cyborg,' totally sounds like a deploying ballistic calamity. IF YOU VOTE FOR ROBOTS! Let's face it, Chemistry Failure is so Superman and therefore Batman. Iron Man's only existential crisis is a shooting-script. Maybe Tony Stark can't multitask paint job but not even the Stone Masons can confuse Iron Man! Except, perhaps, the families alcoholic. But Tony Stark drinks to attract sleepless enemies from commandeering time zones outside of the San Andreas Faultline of course! He's a superhero! 

"Anthony Stark possesses a sword of untold possibilities and he insists it's a shield." Yes, Iron Man 2 is replete with stumpy writing. If there is an Anti Empire Strikes Back, Iron Man 2 is it. Superman 3 it is not. Even though Nick Fury does't punch anybody out, celebrating a birthday is superhero for drunk. So what if Jimmy Buffet still lives in stereo, so what? Hermeneutic perfection is an engineer with a night job: "My bond is with the people; you can count on me to pleasure myself," is a campaign promise for the working folk who know ACDC to be in the spirit of Jimi. Anyone who donates millions of dollars of inane modern art to the Boy Scouts of America to dwarf is pro progress. 'Yes we can,' is the supreme technocrat who knows not to, 'Say windfarm - it gives me gas,' because nothing is impossible and everything takes time, which is why the evil competition proports, 'As revolutionary as this technology is, there will always be a place for man in the theater of war,' for me to target! Destruction, is not so much a scientific exercise as a mixed metaphor: 'let's just focus on arming it... make god bleed; people will cease to believe... and the sharks will come.' 

Iron Man may be scared of the likes of Mickey Rourke and his escapades but in the end he doesn't have the time to dialogue with the great aquatic and that's why we wait for Iron Man 3. Because Mickey is a worldly and interesting supervillian and Tony Stark still pretends to be Robert Downy Jr. so he killed his latest co-star.

BOUNTY HUNTER : The Best Man Wins

Go to the corner of crescent and get the news to deliver your ex-wife to jail for disrespecting the same court that granted her such a speedy divorce. Do so and collect five thousand dollars. Now this is a video game concept Hollywood! A fun video game that can be funny but doesn't have to be. Enough with the scripted documentaries on explosions already! Who's running Hollywood - a Chemistry failure?

Woman may be more the sensitive sex, but man is most immature, most vain, and most selfish and therefore a better mother, because it takes a sensible man to teach a child about the real world. Real men do not allow reporters on their team. Jennifer Aniston is a reporter. Sure, she herself discourages another reporter from helping her be a reporter, but this changes nothing. She claims,'I'm an adult,' and she has adult problems like investigating the suspicious details of a suspicious suicide. Apparently, neither the police nor the helpful reporters hate investigating suicides enough for this reporter who needs help.

Guy Butler is not police. He is a bounty hunter. Superstar detectives get all the evidence, but bounty hunters just get all the state sponsored prejudice. Guy Butler was married to Jennifer Aniston but now has a real judge to date with a 'smoking hot body' who is a 'great cook.' Teresa is her name. Jennifer Aniston is so jealous that she blows on Guy Butler's dice to get him to release her from her fate of jail. Guy Butler ends up blowing on his own dice and obviously loses all his money. 'You are not the boss of me' points out Jennifer Aniston who can tame Guy Butler with tears.

Bounty Hunter is an old fashioned flick which features a 3-d golf ball effect that would make Robin Williams nod in somber approval, a golf cart chasing a caddie, and the inimical talents of Carol Kane! In the end, the man who couldn't decide what color to wear admits that 'Life's about making mistakes and death is about wishing you made a whole lot more.' So Guy Bulter gets the girl. Jennifer Anniston falls back in love with Guy Butler in jail.

KICK ASS : Martyr Turns To Home Schooled

Ever been to the house of the rich kid? The one with all the bad candy. Why does he live alone? Why is the father always absent? Why does the kid waste your time? 'Big brother. Watch and learn.'

Enter the American high school space cadet. What once was drugs, music, jokes and bravado is now clandestine pornographic internet surfing and copious amounts of antidisestablishmentarianism. What he really wants to do in life is dress in a costume and help others. Alas, 'it's fucking hard to be a superhero.' Bad guys exist and the superhero has to be - badder. At school, the space cadet's rumored homosexual. At home he buys a sporty wetsuit and poses in front of the mirror, facing up the eventuality of staring danger down.

Enter Mark Strong. This is an R - rated film. Brutal and gratifying. And then an eleven year old girl steals the action and the show and we the audience realize that most of the stars are children who could't get into the movie theater to watch themselves maim and fuck. So what's going on here? Nicholas Cage... Again? Oh, home schooled vengeance - !

It's true that there are street thugs performing petty felonies but they usually work for a truly bad guy who practices graft, extortion, racketeering, money laundering, vengeful home schooling on such international dimensions with such rabid velocity that he cannot continue as a corporate criminal without a little petty crime - like black mail, grand theft auto, assault. So our Martyr gets knifed for bringing batons, a big mouth and a day glow ninja suit to prime turf in the struggle for life. Go Martyr go! And he does, returning a godless Martyr to stupefy a three person gang in front of a crowd recording idiocy on the latest gadget: 'Yeah, I'd rather die than let three assholes lay into some guy while everyone else watches.' And so the martyr suffers internet broadcast beatdown to save another.

Of course internet fame destroys the martyr and he attempts messenger. Apocalyptic Mistake. Once there were singing telegrams that could gayly ruin the day of the most feared individual and prance away with a tip - now there are day glow 'ninjas' who don't sing or dance and desperately need an 11 year old girl's home schooled endowment but will never get it because yet another generation of female assassins blossoms in the west to bloody the socially uncouth with heart breaking artistry and mind numbing rocksteady muzak. Bollywood must stop this Hollywood monster once and for all. Give peace a chance - this movie does not.

Need help? Can't get it because the world is run by a King Pin and an eleven year old ballerina with fake i.d.s, government information, advanced weapon skills, and expertise in all your prospective jobs? Well you're right, one will just sell you bad candy and the 11 year old will answer a cry for help with, 'Need help? Contact the mayor's office. He'll put a sign in the sky of a giant cock, gaylord.' Whaddya want kid? Childhood is way overrated and knowing is only half the battle, because sooner or later your going to have to fuck somebody. Knowing, practicing and fucking people keeping you from your job is something worth living for. Matthew Vaughn, I salute you, this movie is SOOOOO TALIBAN. 'It's ball deep in your juristication.' 'And I fuck you very much' for your portrayal of New York. 'This is how you brain wash.' The fact is, 'We can no longer continue to broadcast due to the extreme violence of what's now being broadcast live on the internet - what we presume to be a live execution,' is the state of things. Everything's under control. The big guys get the bazooka against an 11 year old girl because they weren't home schooled, and admitting that you're a cowherd is the first step to avoiding doomed confrontation. Lehigh em' Matthew Vaughn, Lehigh em' til' death do you part...

GHOST WRITER : Looks Could Kill

I don't know if Machiavelli would approve of theater about two Prime Ministers - former and present - fighting over the services of a writer as they moralize to the death, but I'm sure he'd consider it comedy. The fashion show of cinema has drawn Roman Polanski from the world of demons to news of Swiss politics. Yeah, it's, 'war on terror,' now and forever, til avalanche due us part. Thankfully, it's mostly down hill.

Politician: 'The worst thing about my life - it's so boring - I'm so out of touch.'

Writer: 'How does it feel to be so out of touch? How does it feel to be so hated... loved?' 

('Like an avalanche is loved hated?' thinks the writer...)

Of course politicians are actors that wrestle their egotism instead of reading and paying. Politicians should pay for spying don't you think? The taxes do that you say? They pay for the machines and algorhymthems? You can't be serious. The world's changed. Serving others by seeking royalties for government business is to be guilty of corruption. Secret Service should not mean self serving. Self service is private. A patriot of little else but pageantry and denial undoes his country through ignominious royalty. He feeds on deniability and makes glorious ignorant suspicions instead of capacities. I feel like period. You feel you me? A politician is like a child, he's merely punctuated, and so should be seen - not heard - unless of course he serves the greater artistry.

Enter : concept : ghostwriter.

A ghostwriter is a reporter who publicizes those who cannot tell their own stories because they've already been so wildly successful cheating others that they can't be trusted authorship for fear that they might cheat themselves and further frustrate a readership bordering on revolt. Very true, Roman Polanski, very true. God loves peace and is quite the ghostwriter. Ghostwriters don't threaten people, ghosts merely publish heros too stingy to admit that writing is the historian's art form.

Writer: 'Did you ever want to be a proper politician?'

Politician: 'Did you ever want to be a proper writer?'

Writer: 'Ouch. Ghosts are gentle spirits.'

John Belushi - good American - Tom Wilkinson - bad American. Not since Peter Seller's Clare Quilty, has the Brown Recluse been so stunningly portrayed on film. 'Bipolar relationships In A Multipolar World,' is perfectly ironic title for an artificial science, and therefore perfectly so pedantic a cover don't you think?

Way past the point where Google would take care of your ignorant paranoia with a single 'feeling lucky' button, there's a ghost in the machine making sure nothing gets blown and all that's black and white and red all over continues to be the news... Which would otherwise tend to be blue if not tragically black and bleakly capped like the North Sea.

When secretary has become walking stick, writer has become secretary, and prostitute has become publicist, the politician can play-act psychiatrist, priest, and whistleblower, and the ghostwriter can have an agent and the media a moon-raking union. Muck rakers used to expose the worst our society had to offer to dare the politician to form a more perfect union. Now, armed with late breaking news, politicians rake us like coal, oil, mandatory minimum sentences, breeding a more perfect state to unite coutry sides to traditions of justice and ignorance.

Machiavelli would be proud:'we had our disagreements,' (regarding mass murder), 'but we always stayed close,' some how encodes, 'the last guy committed war crimes - not me - I'm against that - anyway - he couldn't stand before my stunningly fair tribunal because he got what he had coming to him and now he's dead. So let's gather together in solemn continuity because war is officially civil before martial.'

Mr. Polanski has officially earned the right to direct operas... er, music videos.

THE LIMITS OF CONTROL : Africa's Magic Kingdom

"That's it. That's the way you do it: Money for nothing and your chicks for free. Andy Warhol believes in the can opener. My can opener believes in his canvas. A sledgehammer might be the greatest piece of art if you're imprisoned. Everything is subjective: no sex on the job, no cell phones and plenty of time to appreciate the finer things of life is fine. Reality is arbitrary. Life isn't worth nothing. Bohemians all work to join some European state that they have yet to move to. Want to execute the impossible? Distribute a code. The code inspires different things from different people as the code translates. Listen. These are artists. People have been very fine for a very long time. People appreciate hard things. Gold is soft. People are soft. Your accommodations are soft. Your final destination will reveal the names of those who would prevent you. Now those be bank accounts. Remunerate to execute. Your imagination is infinite and you are invisible because your patience is affordable. Having patience is magic if you remember that you are rich. This is Africa. We are one billion served by the richest organizations, servicing the poorest capitalists. Cradle of the saints, supplier of states, keeper of chaos, and unwilling colonizer. Denomination is arbitrary. Return your target to dust as he no longer serves the kingdom of the patient."

- The finest opening monologue in any Assassin/Gangster/Mob movie I've seen even though the translation was shoddy.

AGORA : The Hand Of God Is Atheist

The time is 391 years into the 'A.D.' experiment. The place is Alexandria, Africa. The problem is ignorance at least some 440 years after the biggest library in the Mediterrian started burning. The internets are in conflict. Let the Science Fiction Begin!

In an age where everybody loves a crowd, some men control crowds of men. These men are hard. They walk through fire but they respect wood; they ridicule statues but they attend to dead bodies; they wear black; they joke; some are even accomplished public speakers. They carry rocks and they administer the stoning. They're the mob. Their patron is Jesus Christ. Meanwhile, people that walk around in sheets with metal plated muscles amid irrigated temples of stone, altars of marble, and statues of exquisite realism continue to fail to recognize that a circle is an impossible concept and only a metaphor for a fucking ecosystem.

A street fight is brewing and the mob of unemployed carpenters - called christians - are gaining on the mob of unemployed masons - called pagans. The smartest person in the city is the principal's daughter. She's the headmistress of the pagan university. She knows how to plot parabolas, hyperbolas; she knows what an ellipse is and she even describes a circle as two impossibly close foci which totally blew my mind. But she spends most of her time talking about circles and the people who've used the most circles to describe the world. She teaches kids geometry and more than a couple of Mel Gibson's secret languages. She can predict the appearance of the night sky and foretell stuff. She's like a website - an oracle. But she's continually frustrated because she wants to explain the movement of the bright things in the sky through circles and nothing else.

(Sigh).

Now this is a time when 'witch' is a serious accusation. If a witch was an embezzler of state funds to prolong her tenure in balmy Greek inspired, Roman administered Alexandria, then perhaps Rachel Weisz is playing a witch, because the heros who do all the hard work in the city understand life to be a grinding stone and therefore define two impossibly close foci as being ground by the stone. These socially awkward christians who flourish in times of misery and live under clear night skies should be able to speak at great length about the manual cycles of long symmetrical movements and compare them to the fucking stars in the sky but the state pays a fucking woman who has figured out that the sun gets larger in the summer and smaller in the winter without caring to invent sun glasses for everybody. On top of that she still can't communicate the fact that the our planet earth spins while it rotates around the sun and the rotation looks like an egg with the yolk off center, making the planet's proximity to the sun, our fucking yolk, variable. Damn. If god wanted us knowing things he wouldn't have made so many of us such terrible story tellers. Rachel Weisz is not alone, there have been many failures in the world, and the things that make them similar are far greater than the things that separate them. 'We are all brothers,' says the headmistress Hypatia, or we are all slaves to ignorance. The common language determines how great the ignorance. This English speaking foreign film from Spain raises many interesting questions. The least of which is if I'm the hand of god do I touch myself?

COP OUT: Captain America In New York

What in the name of Thirdly Beverly Hills Cop?! For crying out Hudson Hawk!!! For the love of Kevin Pollack what happened to Tribeca! Stop Jason Lee! Ay Carramba, Sean William Scott is brilliant. The people on screen robbing me of my conquistador language experience actually burst out laughing as they're trying to 'act.' This all so 3 d. Everybody's trying so too hard to be serious but Sean William Scott is just so funny. Cop Out must be the prequel to Captain America. Kevin Smith is one smart cookie to make such a comedically b movie out of such an expensive icon given the political environment. People with guns these days just can't make jokes the way they used to on the screen in any kind of effective timing. To do it, it used to be, they had to be deranged by previous top secret heroic circumstances; they had to be psycho or they had to be the bad guy. But now a retarded mood unbecoming anybody who values their job somehow passes for funny because of the sucky premise of sucky gun wielding. Did Charlie Chaplin ever got a gun? No, Charlie got poverty and the world laughed. But still, Kevin Smith stands up for the freedom of speech, the power of a union, and provides the news flash that, yes, reality is potentially still stranger than a terrorist's list of demands. It's true. Captain America is jacked, demented, and on hallucinogens but he mostly trains cops in his hours out of underwear, which he wears to blend in with mob leaders who wish to wear underwear everywhere. There is a red meat movie here for people who understand guns protect a man's right to control alt zany whenever he wishes, but meat lovers must know how to negotiate pork because not everyone can stage a chase scene in a cemetery without golf carts and pretend he's totally invested in making a comedy and not a stirring cameo of Steve Rodgers on vakay.