The Further Adventures of B. Alan Orange in: The Inevitable Return of the Great Mopshoe(tm)!
A stirring look at these featured documentaries: Bowling for Columbine, Comedian, Jackass, and Hooray for America: Mr. Show Live
Against my better judgment, I went and bought one of those new Siemens cell phones that talk to you. Well, mine turned out to be a real asshole. It had no intention of being my friend at all, it just sat in its hub slinging barbs at me all day long in this nasally, asthmatic voice, "Hey, Orange, how come you ain't got any girl's numbers locked in my directory? How come the only person who ever leaves a message is you? Christ, Mantooth's digits gave me a digital rash on my lucid, state of the art interface."
I'll come home at night, and it will sit there, blinking its tiny red eye at me, "No one called while you were out, ha-ha! Your own mother never even rings your sorry ass."
I've gotten to the point where I leave him at home. I can't take him to the grocery store anymore; he taunts my every purchase, "Hey, Fatty, how's about another bag of Dill flavored potato chips? They really add a little extra something to that waistline of yours, buddy. Look at that hot girl standing near the Feminine Hygiene products. She is so not checking you out."
I was on the verge of ripping out its battery and tossing it in the trash when it rang. The damn phone couldn't believe it, "Orange, you lame son of a bitch, someone's actually calling you."
"Who is it, phone?"
"Dunno. Someone calling himself Mopshoe." I went to answer my call, but the phone wouldn't let me have it, "I'll handle this, you couldn't talk your way out of a brown paper bag." He went on to be arrogantly defensive to the guy on the other end, "Mm-hmm...Mm-hmm. Okay, whatever, good-bye."
"What did he say?"
"He said he was coming over here. He's got some unfinished business to settle. Dude didn't sound too happy."
"Why wouldn't you let me talk to him?"
"Because you're a ghostly leper, just like out of John Carpenter's The Fog. What if you won some Mopshoe sweepstakes? Or what if he's setting you up with some corn fed honey who wants to give you a hot oil mopshoe rubdown? You'd probably stand there, drooling into my fragile mouthpiece, gumming up my precious innards. I couldn't have that, you five-time loser."
I grabbed that piece of black plastic, squeezing it tight. I was about to throw it on the floor and stomp it into a million pieces when a thread of barely recognizable music weaved its way through the door, "Nod your head, Mopshoe's coming. Nod your head, Mopshoe's coming?" This was followed by a rather hollow knock. I opened the door to find a man I'd rightly forgotten existed: Kelly, better known as Mopshoe (because he invented the darn thing and uses it to fight crime and grime in the nick of time), "Orange, it took me a while to recuperate in the heat of the high Desert, but I've come to claim the debt of life, which you owe me."
"Ah, for f*ck's sake," Phone wasn't pleased, "He owes you? Figures."
"I'm sorry; I'm not sure what you're talking about." Kelly lifted up his clever shirt, which made some obscure pot reference to John Deere, "See these scars? I took three bullets for you. Those little suckers are still lodged in there. One's right next to my kidney. If I sit in a folding lawn chair the wrong way, I could die. I saved your life. Over the course of the last three months, I changed my mind. I want a refund."
"Killing me won't get those bullets out of your chest."
"No, but it will make me feel better."
"How about, instead of killing me, I take you to see a free movie?" Phone flipped open in a rush of unrealized aggression, "I say kill him, Mopshoe. A free movie is a sh*tty prize."
Kelly took a step back, "I don't know. What's the movie?"
"It"s about guns and sh*t. You might be able to relate, having been shot and all. What do you say?"
"Do we get free popcorn?"
"No. But it's on me."
"I say, kill him!!"
"Shut up, phone."
So, Mopshoe and I went to see BOWLING FOR COLUMBINE:
Guns, guns, guns. This emotive documentary came like a wiener slice on a toothpick; a tiny snack to wet the appetite. Maybe my initial response is wrong, but upon leaving the theater, I really wanted to watch a highly explosive, shoot 'em-up flick full of overturning cars and Keanu Reeves in a trench coat. I'm not sure that's the reaction Michael Moore was trying to evoke, but it sure worked for me. Maybe it's because this is too grisly in its realism, and I'd rather delve into the fantasy world of Commando and Point Break. Or, maybe after two hours of hardcore pragmatism, I just wanted something to take my mind off this spiteful, stupid world.
Moore's film isn't big on preaching; instead it takes a rather equilibrated stance on the whole firearms issue. A notion that comes directly from the filmmaker himself; Mike is a card-carrying member of the NRA, yet at the same time, he also wants some sort of gun control. The answers are never easy, and there is no clear-cut path leading to a righteous alternative. Bowling for Columbine doesn't really ask for the 2nd Amendment to be eradicated, that's not its reason for breathing. Instead, the film takes a deep look into why we, as Americans, have more gun-related deaths than any other country, on average, per year. A whole plethora of avenues are scourged, but we're eventually led down a road that dead-ends at a deserted intersection. The film doesn't tell us what to think, it asks us what we think. And after it's over, I doubt anyone will be positively sure of their own feelings on the subject matter at hand.
Even so, Mike tries hard to find some kind of resolve. He asks tons of people why the U.S. is king of spent ammunition, but none of them can give the correct response. Maybe this is because there isn't one. He even ventures into Canada to find that they have just as many guns, but less than one percent of the shooting deaths we have here in America. Those wacky, back bacon-eating fools even leave their front doors unlocked on a daily basis. One of the film's funnier moments has Michael testing this theory.
The biggest contention for our bullet-riddled bloodlust is that the Nightly News feeds into an overwhelming fear of fear, shared by millions. "If it bleeds, it leads." If we listen to the experts on TV at night, everything is dangerous and we probably need to kill it. Yeah, I'll buy into that. But Moore's weaknesses foul up this notion, and his documentary is hard to take seriously when he's either trying to be cheeky with his presentation, or when he's trying to evoke questionable emotions through the use of dead children. That's kind of uncalled for, don'tcha think?
We know from his resume that Moore is a smart man, but like a little kid who continues to get an A in class, he wants to rub this in our faces. His idea that bowling inspired those kids at Columbine to go on their rampage is funny for a moment, but then we realize Michael is trying to stand above us with his wit. Sure, the media blamed everything from Marilyn Manson to the Matrix, jumping at every chance to point a finger, but the recreational sport of tossing a few hard ones down a lane was what these kids were up to right before they went on their asinine berserker. Bowling could have just as easily pushed these teenagers over the edge as the song lyrics, "I got my Lunchbox, and I'm armed real well." It's a thought that looks at just how ridiculous placing certain blames can be.
But Moore sells it at too high a price. He seems on the verge of taking himself too seriously, almost believing his own jokes in real time as apposed to keeping them a parody. Another example of this is the cartoon that unexplainably pops up a few minutes after Mike has a talk with Matt Stone (co-creator of South Park). It's supposed to be a funny, animated look at America's love affair with guns. Sadly, it misses the line, going too far over the top. It becomes ridiculously offensive in a bad way, and hurts the overall sale of the package.
Still, there's something undeniably compelling about the rest of the footage being shown here. Whether you want to or not, you simply have to watch it. There's not one moment that will have you turning away. And it's never boring. At points, heavy-handed. Yes. And while it seemed like a good idea at the time, taking a couple of the Columbine students, who, like Mopshoe, still have bullets lodged in their body, to K-Mart for a refund plays like another coy instance of Moore trying to prove to us just how smart he really can be. That this almost-jokey stunt ends with the President of K-Mart implementing the eventual phase-out of bullet sales is baffling. Who knew? At the conclusion of what was an obvious skit masterminded by Moore, I couldn't help but feel that it was pointless.
So, K-Mart won't sell ammo to kids anymore. Weren't these Trench Coat Mafia sh*t-f*cks pretty determined to shoot up that school? Seems so too me. They could have just as easily went to any Sporting Goods store and bought the same rounds there. If you want something bad enough, you'll get it. Especially with the internet acting as a cataloguing tool these days. Just because K-Mart doesn't sell bootlegs of Mr. Show Live doesn't mean I can't get a copy somewhere else. Taking these shot-up students in for a refund seems like a moot point. It's a tool used for selling movie tickets. I doubt it will effect much more than that.
I initially wanted to watch Bowling for two reasons. One; the celebrity interviews. I'm not big on listening to whatever celebrity wax on about his or her latest project, but I did want to hear what Manson, and especially, Charlton Heston had to say in defensive of their selves. Too bad these are some of the weakest scenes included in the finished film. The Manson interview is too short, and he doesn't really say anything I haven't heard him say before. I wanted something new, a taste of how intelligent this seeming monster can be. We're refused that chance. Then the Heston interview comes on like a coup, yet fails at providing much insight. Here's another instance where Moore comes off looking like an ass, and we actually sympathize more with the oft celebrity he is trying to hound. The same can be said for that awkward moment where he rushes Dick Clark in a van. If I were Dick Clark, I would have shut the door on Michael, too.
The other knowing promise that flung me into the theater was a chance to see some of that Black & White security camera footage of the Columbine shootings. My overall want to see these horrifying images plays directly back into what Michael Moore is trying to prove with his film. I can't explain why I want to watch this sad moment in our history. But I do. There's some animalistic urgency in my system that compels me too seek it out. His use of it here might at first seem exploitive, but it's not, really. And telling you that I was disappointed with the grainy images, that really don't show anything, will make me seem like an asshole. But I'm sure other people are thinking the same thing. Basically, we, as a nation, are fascinated with guns. And that's what makes this entertaining and thoughtful at the same time.
One thing I am wondering, though: Some of this footage is shot on video, and it looks like it. But other times, he's obviously using film stock and the picture is evidently clear. Crisp and clean. Why, then, do all the scenes extracted from other movies, such as South Park and the Matrix, look like they were transferred from an old inner tube? If anything, shouldn't these edited pieces look fresh and new? I'm a little disappointed in the image quality of over half this documentary. It's a minor quibble that probably won't pull to many people out of their seats, but it did start to bother me a bit.
After the film was over, Mopshoe sat, massaging one of his bullet scars. Bowling for Columbine must have really pinched a nerve. He wanted to sit through the credits. I told him I was going to the bathroom. Instead, I walked home, forgetting that anyone had even gone to the movies with me. I mean, jeez, it's been almost ten years since I went to the theater with another living, breathing human being. Forgive me for letting it slip my mind.
I got home to find that my phone had drunk all the Quilmes in the refrigerator. He wobbled about in his hub, angry with my reappearance, "Some girl called while you were out. I told her you were on a date with some dude calling himself Mopshoe. She didn't think much of it, until I asked if that sounded gay. Then we got in a rather heated discussion about how uncomfortable you are with your own homosexuality."
"Who called?"
"Your mother." I grabbed him, ready to kick him through the side window. That's when he pleaded mercy and told me he was joking. We settled the matter with a handshake before settling down to watch A New Tale of Zatoichi.
About an hour after the movie was over, that same thread of bass-bumping music came creeping up underneath the door. Kelly didn't even bother to knock, he just waltzed right in, "Hey, you got anymore Vodka?"
"Mopshoe, what happened to you?"
"I got up to leave the theater and this hag of a woman asked if I wanted to watch another movie. I did, so I went with her. What is it with this town? Every time I turn around, someone's asking me if I want to see a free movie? Where's the Vodka?"
"Phone drank it all. So, what did they show you?"
"I don't know...Some movie called COMEDIAN."
"Never heard of it."
"Yeah, it had that guy from Seinfeld in it."
"Which guy? Michael Richards or Jason Alexander?"
"NO, no...That guy. Jerry."
"Seinfeld?"
"Yup, that's the dude. It wasn't very good. It looked like a skate movie, all shot on crappy video cameras and sh*t. But there wasn't any skating in it. Actually, the film was pretty horrible. I've had more entertaining things squirt out of my ass after a heavy night of licking the tap. There wasn't any plot. I mean, I'm not stupid, I know it was a documentary, but all I seen for about eighty minutes, and I'm talking a long eighty minutes here, was this multi-millionaire whining about how hard a job being a comedian is. F*ck right, he's going on like he's been digging ditches. That dude's a crybaby. Whaa-haa."
"So, I take it this is something I shouldn't spend money on?"
"Hell, no. When it was over, I jumped up on that screen and did a little dance, scrubbing the filth off with my Mopshoe." Yes, he got all sing-songy on me, "When you see a movie, and it's this bad...Scrub it off the screen with Mopshoe, and you wont feel so sad!"
"Indeed." Kelly's bottom lip sank, unhappy that these past four hours had been spent on such downtrodden entertainment, "Guess what, The Orange? I'm still going to have to collect my Life Debt. Do you want to do this the easy way, or the hard way?"
"How's about we don't do it at all?" I waited for a cheeky response from the phone, but he'd passed out in a Quilmes cloud over near the couch, "Do you like that MTV show Jackass?"
"I guess so."
"I got two free passes to see their new movie. That would be three free movies in one day. What do you say? Does this sound worth taking a bullet for?"
"If it's good, yes. If it's another Freddy Got Fingered, I'm going to stab you where you sit, in your cupholder seat."
"Fair enough."
So, Mopshoe and I went to see JACKASS:
I'm equally happy and, at the same time, disappointed with Jackass. It's one of the funner times I've had at the theater this year, yet I kept waiting for something mind blowing to happen. That moment never came. Please don't let this statement downgrade what these fools have done here. They've gone to great lengths just to give you something above average. Everyone present has extracted extreme pain from themselves just so you could have something to do for exactly an hour and twenty-one minutes on a Sunday afternoon. And it's definitely worth the nine bucks. But I kept hearing on the commercials, "With stuff you'd never see on TV." That one sentence threw my expectations to the roof. Sadly, I could never pull those expectations back down.
I know, you're asking me, "What did you want to see?" And I'm not sure; that's the problem. Everything witnessed here is something I could have imagined, and we see the genesis for most of these stunts in the trailer. I walked into the theater ready for something I'd never think of in a million years. Something beyond comprehension that would make my skull split in half and spill my brains out onto the floor. I haven't been surprised in a long time. I thought Johnny Knoxville and Company would be just the guys to do it. Nope, not this time. Maybe in the sequel, which is sure to come after this weekend's 22 million dollar opening. Hopefully, Steve-O will come up with a mind-altering way to kill himself.
The best thing about Jackass is that it cuts out all those unhealthy vegetables and dives right into the meat. There isn't any downtime to be found here, it just skips from one bone-shattering exploit to the next, hardly stopping to take a breath. You'll see more action-packed oddities in this tight monster than you will in just about any other movie released in the last five years. Even after the credits are finished rolling, this team keeps its hand squeezing the gas pump until it tops off and spills in pools of flame onto the floor. The guys of Jackass make Jackie Chan look like an amateur. And they're smart about this sentiment, extracting the lame story that usually surrounds his death-defying handiwork, giving us only what we want to see in a landslide of quick clips.
While most of it is shot on video for obvious reasons, this quasi-documentary about a bunch of sadomasochistic jerks is bookend by two rather nicely filmed sequences that rule the rest of the picture. Almost all of the set-pieces being shown are worthwhile; hardly ever does a skit go the wrong way. That's a rare feat and the makers of Jackass should be proud of themselves. I'm sure there's a lot of footage that didn't make it in, maybe will see all of it on the two-disc DVD surely headed our way? Oh, wait. Paramount doesn't do two-disc DVDs. That's too bad, this is probably worth it.
If you like seeing a bunch of asshole guys torture themselves, then you'll probably dig this. I did, it's quite liberating. Though, I'm not sure if I'll count it into my Top Ten films of the year just yet. Maybe if one of the principle cast members had died, I might consider it. Still, one of them did take a sh*t in a toilet inside that weird Hippo store on Burnside Avenue in Portland, Oregon. Have you ever been to that store? The place is spooky and deserves a turd. Okay, I might still consider putting it on there...
I think Mopshoe really liked it, "Yeah, it was pretty good. But not worth getting shot in the chest for. I know I claim to be a superhero, but I'm not Superman. I don't have skin made of lead, why should I be made too suffer?"
"So, a couple of free movies aren't going to wipe away my life debt to you? What do you want me to be, your personal slave?"
"Sh*t no, that's gay as gay can be. If it was October 4th, and you had an extra ticket to Hooray for America, then I might think about forgetting our little mishap in the high desert." As luck would have it, I'd just been shipped a bootleg copy of the show. I explained this to Kelly, "It's not like actually being there, but it is pretty close. You won't be able to see it anywhere else. I haven't even watched it yet."
"Dude, I want to watch me some Mr. Show!"
"First, you gotta make me a promise? If we watch Hooray for America, my debt to you is wiped clean. Otherwise, I'll be dead and you'll never get to see it. I hid it in a really hard place to find." Mopshoe shook my hand, "Deal!"
So, Mopshoe and I went home to watch the only known bootleg of Mr. Show Live in HOORAY FOR AMERICA:
The greatest thing about going to see Mr. Show was the merchandising table. Even with all the shirts, and the book, and the hat, and the coffee mug, and the postcards, and the stickers, and the poster, this plagiarized videotape acts as the best kind of souvenir.
At this point in time, I don't know if Bob and David taped any of their live shows for posterity, or, even if they did, if they'd be releasing them to the public on VHS or DVD. I haven't heard any rumors that this is a possibility, but if you didn't know, David Cross is releasing a 2-Disc CD through Sub+Pop on November 5th, called Shut Up, You F*cking Baby, which was recorded during his Summer Concert Tour with Ultra Baby Fat. That should be fun. You can order it direct from subpop.com.
Just the other day, I received a lifted copy of Mr. Show's Hooray for America in my mailbox. It is the only known recording that exists, which makes it more valuable than Roger Patterson's Bigfoot footage. (Yes, the colors of the Rainbow are so pretty in disguise.) I was elated to pop this baby into my VCR. It was like taking a trip back through my evasive memory. It acts as a great reminder of what these two sub-geniuses did just a short time ago. If anything, it's nice to have a copy around just for the videotaped segments. Who knows if these will ever be presented anywhere else but onstage. (Kind of like their lost movie, Run Ronnie Run.)
As far as the quality of this bootleg goes, it's pretty good. Which means it's horribly shot but watchable. If Bob and David do release an official version of Hooray for America, they don't need to worry about losing money from this. I'd exchange it and twenty bucks for the real thing in a second.
What we have here was shot on a Cannon Mini-DV. Being familiar with the camera, I'm shocked that this doesn't look a whole Hell of a lot worse, or that the camera didn't overheat and stop in the middle of filming. Rest assured the whole show is accounted for, though the image quality does start to blur and deteriorate towards the ending. The unnamed man or woman behind the camera has a pretty good eye for what's being captured. This person usually zooms in and out at all the right spots, yet, sometimes, you want to scream at the screen, "Zoom in, please!"
It's done with a fairly steady hand, but something is obviously hiding the camera, and we see this object fall in front of the lens a time or two. It's not distracting. If you've seen the show, which was presented in only eleven of our fifty states, you'll love being able to go back to it. This is almost like watching it through someone else's drunken mindset as they run to and from the stage. If you didn't get a chance to go, save yourself and hit it up when it comes to your town. They will be touring again, and Hooray for America is best viewed in a live arena, not on some twisty videotape unfit for the masses.
This certain show took place at 11 pm, in Philadelphia, PA. It's great to actually see a different performance, done on the other side of the United States. The material is exacting, and the cast members deter from the script only occasional. Here, the most improvising is done in a segment where President David Cross takes questions from the audience. During the 7 pm show at UCLA, (which I was lucky enough to see live, with Weird Al, Tom Kenny, and Wes Borlin, ex-member of Limp Bizkit, in attendance) this part flowed more smoothly, but a lot of improvising was done in response to the malfunctioning microphone system that was in use.
They even stopped our show for an unscheduled intermission to fix the problem. From other accounts I've heard, this seemed to be a running setback through most of their ride. As seen in this videotaped version, there is only one really bad microphone problem, and a few other minor glitches. Overall, even though it was one of the earliest shows being preformed, it is pretty tight. It's a lot more graceful than that first UCLA show. That's for sure.
Hooray for America follows David Cross' term as President of the Untied States, under the supervision of Globo-Chem. Just like their HBO series, this runs the gamut between live skits and filmed segments. It's a brilliantly put together play that mixes old jokes with fresh ones. Most of it is funny. Some of it is unexplainable. Of the extracted bits, we have Shampoo, The Burgundy Loaf, Hail Satan, and Indomitable Spirit. These all flow seamlessly with a story thread that sees David running for office, getting elected, partying for the people, and eventually impeached, all to the chagrin of Bob, who feels he is a more capable candidate. Odenkirk is, after all, the wind that flaps the flag.
I don't feel like giving any of the new scenes away, because that would be cheating. You'll have to see them for yourself. I will tell you that Ronnie Dobbs makes an appearance, which sees him doing a very funny monologue. He was more polished and funnier at UCLA, but this tape acts as a good representation of the work. The same can be said about the show's ender, which saw a rousing rendition of Ewww, Girl, Eww as preformed by 3x1-1. This is the version seen in Run, Ronnie, Run. One of the best parts of that classic movie, they obviously wanted people to enjoy this hard bit of comedy which has since been sourly abandoned by New Line Cinemas. The tape, in whole, is a must own for Mr. Show fans.
I don't condone the selling of Bootlegs. I hate to see someone else making profits off of the extraneous work put in by Bob and David, or anyone else for that matter. But, if you want a copy of this tape, it's gone twice on eBay. Once for $75, which the girl actually paid. And the second for $41 dollars. You'll probably see it for sale on there again (as I write this, it's listing for ten dollars. Get your bids in quick.). It won't be too hard to find with the right keywords. And no, I didn't pay anything for the copy I received. (Thanks, kind sender.)
If someone sends me a second VCR, I'd gladly make free copies for the masses. Or, if someone were willing to trade something of greater or equal value, I'd also consider that. If you want, I don't care. I have a copy, and that's all I'm concerned about.
Mopshoe seemed less than enthused with the tape, "I'm not sure that was worth saving your life for. It looks awesome to have actually been there, but seeing it this way has left me feeling seasick and queasy. You tricked me. I think you should promise me a ticket to the next live show they do in town."
"Done." (Yeah, right. Their next performance is at the Wiltern for Clash of the Titans. Tickets cost two hundred dollars for a decent seat. Like I'm going to buy Mopshoe a pass for that.) I shook Mopshoe's hand and sent him on his way. His signature theme music whistled in the wind behind him, resting into his world-weary feet.
I sighed a sweet breath of relief, then realized my life probably isn't worth three free movies. I should have let Mopshoe kill me. Sadly, I went back to my couch, where I was once again verbally raped by my new phone, "Hey, jerk, I work two ways! Ah, who would you call anyway? Ghostbusters? Are you even smart enough to remember a phone number? When was the last time you went out on a date? Look at you sitting there by yourself like some weird hermit. You suck."
And so it is, my life?
To purchase the greatest cleaning product known to man, click on http://www.mopshoe.com/, and drop a couple of dimes on this wonder tool, you fools. (Mopshoe is a registered trademark with a patent pending.)
|
Top Stories
5 Comments
