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Kino Korner December 11, 2002
Die Now, Not Another Day!
By Mark Ames Browse author Email
Page 2 of 3
Seems I need a kind of Ted Bundy icon for men, thanks to Bond. Aileen Wuornos would fit that bill. A terrifying bulldyke who iced seven male hitchhikers in Florida before getting the chair, Wuornos was a man-hating hooker who claimed to have laid a quarter of a million men before turning on her tricks with a gun. If she'd seen Die Another Day, she would have killed hundreds. Three full Wournoses for extreme boring-male-murder-inspiring scenes, and for the fact that most men claim to find Halle Barry attractive.


As readers of the expat list may have seen, I've decided to make a tradition out of watching chick flix with chix. An innovation that I call "eXtreme Chik-Flik Film Reviewing." The pain that the last chick flick, My Big Fat Greek Ass, might have inflicted on me was massively reduced by the presence of a "date" whom I landed on the expat list. I used her as a buffer against the serial-murder-inspiring effects that most chick flicks produce on the functioning male. Her calming influence allowed me to judge it on its own low merits without bursting my appendix in the process.

This time I landed what I would call a "Westernized Russian" as my chick flick date. We'll call her "Sofia" for the sake of protecting her identity. It was a little tougher hooking a date this time since we had to watch it on pirate video at my apt -- Sweet Home doesn't hit the local theaters until after this issue goes to bed. I tried to bait potential expat "dates" by promising a free Jack's pizza and one dessert all on my tab, but bites were few.

Expat women were right to be cautious. Anyone who has seen Legally Blonde knows that forcing a man to watch Witherspoon is as dangerous as pumping Mike Tyson full of PCP and setting him loose on a sorority slumber party.

I saw Legally Blonde exactly a year ago on a flight from Kauai to Los Angeles. A pretty young islander sat next to me on the plane and cheerfully chatted me up. Usually I keep my mouth shut on flights but she was too attractive and dumb to ignore. I stood a decent chance of earning a free happy finish when we landed.

And then the headphones were passed out. For Legally Blonde.

"Oh! This is my favorite -- my fa-vor-ite movie. I've seen it twice already and I love it!" she said. "You'll really like this, Mark!"

Sweet Home Alabama

Sweet Home Alabama

I was ready to like it. But about fifteen minutes into the movie, Witherspoon, whose chin looks like that thing that hangs down from the back of your throat only bigger, nearly drove me to going Atta. I stared long and hard at that cockpit door, as Reese Witherspoon smiled and postive-thinked her way through one of the worst movie crimes of the new millennium. It was like breathing mercury fumes.

"What's the matter? You don't like it?" the islander girl asked me. I couldn't even talk to her anymore. She liked the movie -- in my eyes, that made her even worse than a Muslim extremist. I mean say what you will about the tenets of extremist Islam, at least there's an ethos. But Legally Blonde? Fuck me. She was a Nazi, I swear.

Given my hatred for Witherspoon, Sweet Home Alabama should have been dangerous for my date. Yet for some reason Sweet Home didn't drive me as insane as it should have. In fact, my date Sofia hated it more than I did. She complained repeatedly that the plot was a tired old formula -- and she objected to Witherspoon more strongly than I did. I find the contrast of me playing the chick flick moderate pretty disturbing.

I guess that's because Sweet Home Alabama is more sad than murder-inspiring. If you don't guess the plot by the ten minute mark, then I promise I won't cum in your mouth.

Witherspoon plays a hick from Bama who moves to the Big Apple, makes it big as a fashion designer, and becomes engaged to the most eligible bachelor in town, the mayor's son. The mayor is played by a believably-mean control freak, Candice Bergman (whose numerous facelifts have left her nearly unable to pronounce vowels without risking her entire face snapping off and flying across the room like one of those Alien crab-larvae). Bergman has always struck me as the face(lift) of evil, so it's kind of a relief to see her openly play the role of striver-bitch. That -- and her graceless aging -- helped set my spleen at ease.

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Save The eXile: The War Nerd Calls Mayday
The future of The eXile is in your hands! We're holding a fundraiser to save the paper, and your soul. Tune in to Gary Brecher's urgent request for reinforcements and donate as much as you can. If you don't, we'll be overrun and wiped off the face of the earth, forever.

Scanning Moscow’s Traffic Cops
Automotive Section
We’re happy to introduce a new column in which we publish Moscow’s raw radio communications, courtesy of a Russian amateur radio enthusiast. This issue, eXile readers are given a peek into the secret conversations of Moscow’s traffic police, the notorious "GAIshniki."

Eleven Years of Threats: The eXile's Incredible Journey
Feature Story By The eXile
Good Night, and Bad Luck: In a nation terrorized by its own government, one newspaper dared to fart in its face. Get out your hankies, cuz we’re taking a look back at the impossible crises we overcame.

Your Letters
Russia's freedom-loving free market martyr Mikhail Khodorkovsky answers some of this week's letters, and he's got nothing but praise for President Medvedev.

Clubbing Adventures Through Time
Club Review By Dmitriy Babooshka
eXile club reviewer Babooshka takes a trip through time with the ghost of Moscow clubbing past, present and future, and true to form, gets laid in the process.

The Fortnight Spin
Bardak Calendar By Jared Lindquist
Jared comes out with yet another roundup of upcoming bardak sessions.

Your Letters
Richard Gere tackles this week's letters. Now reformed, he fights for gerbil rights all around the world.

13 Toxic Talents: Hollywood’s Worst Polluters
America By Eileen Jones
Everybody complains about celebrities, but nobody does anything about them. People, it’s time to stop fretting about whether we’re a celebrity-obsessed culture—we are, we have been, we’re going to be—and instead take practical steps to clean up the celebrity-obsessed culture we’ve got...


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