This post contains spoilers for the second season of True Blood, so if you haven’t watched it…well, read ahead anyway, because I’m doing you a favor.
Last summer, I spent a not-insignificant portion of my week at the shore catching up on the HBO series True Blood. My sister and her friend were both captivated by the dark, edgy show and its portrayal of vampires, which seemed more honest to canon than the ubiquitous Twilight versions. I devoured the first season quickly and caught up on the second in time to watch it finish out in real time, spending the majority of it praying that Maryann, the godlike minotaur who co-opted Sookie’s house and brainwashed the entire town, would go away. With her killed, I thought the third season would prove more watchable. Continue reading
Previously on the Race, the cowboys went from worst to first, which was awesome, but the WFC succumbed to whiny decision changing and were elimiated. Kind of like the real Phillies. I guess it’s cowboys or nothing.
Welcome to France. Formerly a pit stop in a racearoundtheworld, this scenic country was the sixth pit stop…in a racearoundtheworld. Seriously? You spent two legs in freakin’ France? That’s lazy planning, if you ask me. Anyway, one by one, teams open their clue and admit that they have no idea where they’re headed next, but for once I’ll let them slide because there’s way too many islands in the world and Donald Trump probably owns or owned half of them at some point in his life. The flight to this destination is one big bunch, rendering the first 10 minutes of the episode useless, unless you want to hear “near the front of the plane” seven times, which nobody does.
Every time I see a trailer for Death at a Funeral, I get angry. Not because I think that Chris Rock isn’t funny, or because it pokes fun at a vulnerable situation. No, I get angry because the exact same movie has been made before. In 2007, Frank Oz directed a stellar cast in the droll, zany movie, which I saw but never reviewed for some reason. If Firefly hadn’t done so already, the 2007 Death would have endeared me to the work of Alan Tudyk for life. Now Niel LaBute, writer and director of the unknown but brilliant In the Company of Men and not much else of consequence, is helming a remake that seems content to replace understatement with catch phrases and screaming. It’s not that I don’t enjoy Tracy Morgan – I’m a huge fan of his on 30 Rock – and I’m sure this movie will find some kind of audience (probably more than the $8.5 million it grossed in 2007), but it’s completely unnecessary to remake the movie three years after its initial release, especially when the original was so good. At least they had the good sense to re-cast Peter Dinklage in his role.