Don't buy the hype. Or... do?

Hey readers, what the hell's shakin?

In 2004, I used to review the hell out of movies. I worked at a newspaper at the time, and I had this awesome opportunity to steal secret-pre-screening tickets from the editorial department. It's weird, you know, when you steal a ticket and see a movie a few days—or sometimes even a week—early, there's almost an obligation to write about it.

These days it's all about the hype. It seems that the internet has changed the way we view movies and certainly the way they're marketed. I can remember a time before Al Gore invented it, when a nice little horribly edited movie trailer was all we had to go on. Man, those marketing guys really had us by the balls there, didn't they? We'd see a bunch of quick frames of action... maybe an explosion and a few one-liners... and it looked like the best damn movie since Citizen Kane. That's right, I can justifiably compare—via 1980's movie trailers—Citizen Kane to Weird Science.

Think about it, readers, pull it together.

Through a 1980's movie trailer... we couldn't quite get a grip on our heros and villains, we just knew they were good and they were bad. We knew they had awesome teeth. We knew that the last John Hughes movie we saw really got us emotionally involved, so why not take in the next one on faith? We knew, via the trailer, that somewhere in the movie, there's going to be a sex scene. More than likely, we'll see boobs. I'm pretty sure we'll see Jamie Lee Curtis' boobs.

We'd know the plot revolved around the Russians. We'd know that somebody flips a car.

Other than those few little flashes, we didn't know a whole lot about a movie going in. Back then, the actual experience of walking into the theatre on opening night was the ultimate hype.

Editor's Note: I remember seeing Cosmatos' "Tombstone" in the theatre in 1993. The Morristown theatre, to be exact. Riding to that show in the back of Brad Kinkead's hilarious Pontiac... smelling like gas... and walking in there to see Val Kilmer's blood-coughing, pale ass shoot up some fools was the best experience ever.

Back in those days, movies were a complete surprise. No spoilers allowed. (Unless you happened to have read the book, but what the hell kind of lame ass fairy reads books before seeing the movies?)

These days, I don't even get as much enjoyment watching a film as the hype leading up to the damn release date. I think I could literally wait for a movie for three years and enjoy the hell out of it.

Think of all the treats we're handed now. Could you imagine a movie like Teen Wolf coming out today? The action-packed basketball-shooting, van-surfing, Styles' shades-wearing, Chubs whining, Cheese-Weeeez edited trailer. Followed by another one.

The specially released online clips showing Michael J. Fox biting into a beer can, acting in a play or freaking out in the hardware store when some chump blows a dog whistle.

Imagine the multiple movie posters, complete with a full-size lobby sign where you can stick your head through it... so that the cell phone picture your friend takes will have a 7-foot-tall Wolf-man in a jersey holding your severed head like a basketball.

Imagine the online video games. You're Teen Wolf... trying to make the game-winning basket, or van surfing through town, avoiding the grocery carts and old ladies while doing hand-stands.

Imagine the AIM icons, the Michael J. Fox screen savers and desktops. Imagine the Teen Wolf MySpace page. Imagine the Teen Wolf facebook group. I know I'd sure as hell join.

To be honest, to some degree, I'm almost sad when a movie finally comes out. I know that sounds insane, but it's true. The build up and the expectations are just so fun to dwell on. The excitement and speculation... the entire experience is built around the hype.

It seems that when a movie finally pops its cherry, everything's finished. It's all done. Maybe it lived up to the hype. Maybe it didn't. Maybe it was horrible, and it totally crushed your idea of the film. Maybe all those clever marketing elements had you really, really believing in this movie. Maybe when you've finally seen it... you feel almost lied to. You feel tricked. Betrayed by one of your favorite directors or your role-model favorite celebrity.

For the past six months to a year, it's been a wonderful element in your life. "Oh shit, have you seen that new Watchmen trailer???" "Dude, check out the new photos from behind the scenes on the Sex in the City movie! So hot!!!" "I've got to get my ass to the theatre to see Friday the 13th. It looks amazing."

Links are passed around like candy at Halloween. "Go here, check this, look at this, watch this, you've gotta see this, take time to watch this, post this on your MySpace."

All such positive, fun-loving, enjoyable conversations to have. It's all about the hype... then it's released and everything goes to shit.

The movie posters are forgotten, the amazing modern-day edited trailers fade away and the secret movie clips are completely obsolete. There's another short build up when the film hits a DVD release, but it's only a fraction of the initial release date.

Remember when we were tapping our feet, counting down the seconds until we could see The Dark Knight? Good times. We were in the middle of one of the greatest movie marketing campaigns of all time. The Web site was incredibly organic with constant updates and secret mysteries to unlock and uncover. Hidden trailers were planted across the internet. Online games popped up, promising tiny glimpses of the film. The trailers were superbly edited, and magazines such as Empire blew us away with still shots of Ledger that gave little kids nightmares. What a fantastic time!!!

Then, the summer came and went. The movie was huge... I can go on and on about it. But then... the hype was deflated, trailers were old news, movie posters were rolled up and sold... and the amazing ground-breaking Web site has been reduced to a lame DVD advertisement with a reminder about the Oscars it recently won. Now the DVD sits on my shelf in my living room, and I'm damn proud to own it. But that's all she wrote. (Gathering dust, currently.)

In today's insane world of f'n Twitters and Books about Faces and Geothermic-locating phones that think for you and hold your penis when you pee... I'm not sure if the actual films are really as impacting as we think. Maybe we just live in a world of hype. All premise... no clue about the payoff.

Maybe we need to start thinking about some Meta-Movie-Reviews. Maybe in the future, we won't even need to read reviews for the movies themselves... we just need some internet application, Web site or magic phone to gather all the hype for us, and base a review on their findings. Maybe that review could be some kind of hologram. A giant, 7-foot-tall Teen Wolf hologram that reviews hype.

These days, the film is just one tiny piece of the huge puzzle, right?

It's a funnel tip, sucka.

-M

P.S. Have you seen this trailer yet? It'll blow your mind.

Celebrate the Mask!

Hey machete addicts and serial murderers!

McClane here, reporting for duty.

It's Friday the 13th again, and I have no choice but to jump around like a little girl who just won 50 Barbies and a date with the Jonas Brothers.

I'd urge you to take full advantage of today by watching as many parts of the series as humanly possible. At least the first four. You can make it. Take a day off work. That's what I do.

Anyway, enjoy this hilarious video I stumbled up on. This random guy counts down his Top 10 favorite kills from the series. He's got some great ones in there!! I can't say I agree with all of his choices, but it's really hard to mess this kind of thing up.

Enjoy and have a great Friday the 13th!!

-Tommy Jarvis

A pair of disappointing events. Or... How I watched the Watchmen.

Yo readers.

For the second time in two months, a horrible theater experience has left a bad taste in my mouth for a film. I'm not exactly sure how this works out, but somehow it's my doing... perhaps some kind of fate. I have no idea.

In celebration of seeing Watchmen, let me spin this tale for you in celebration of Dr. Manhattan's wonderful time-bending monologue. Enjoy this short biographical story about my experiences with two of my most anticipated films of 2009.

__________________________

It is midnight on Friday, February 13th, 2009.

I'm walking into the movie theatre with Jon, Jenn and Michael, and my anticipation is at an all-time high. The dark tunnel of the theater's entrance suddenly gives way to a billboard of an insane-looking, cartoon Coca-Cola commercial paired with the collective semi-whispers of hundreds of people. They're stacked in here like a produce department's Golden Delicious apple display.

The people are rushing in like a water through a broken dam, and I've just gone against my friends' ideas to walk further up the stairs. It's midnight on Friday, March 6, 2009, and I'm searching for a seat to view Watchmen. There's four of us, and no four empty chairs are in sight.

It's Wednesday, November 12, 2008, and I'm sitting at my computer at work. The Watchmen full-length first trailer has just been thrown into the internets, and I'm anxious to see it.

Woah, I've just watched it four times, and this movie looks amazing.

They use a Muse song at the end of the trailer, which suddenly strikes me as being weird... but then it settles in and I begin to love it. I think I'll watch it again. For the 5th time.

I see two seats together on the end of a row, just below two more empty seats below. It wasn't four seats together, but it was four seats close by. Rather than look for other options, the rushing crowd is scaring the hell out of me, so I'm going to sit down in this first-opportunity seat. Watchmen should begin within 10 minutes. I'm pretty excited.

I see four seats together right in the middle section... in the front... just behind the metal rail. I think I'll rush over and grab those seats right now, because I love to put my feet up on the rail while watching the movie. It's way more comfortable than being jammed in behind somebody, right? I can practically hear Jason breathing now. T-minus four minutes to go-time.

The mask is terrifying, but it's so interesting. I can't take my eyes off this murderer, knowing that I probably shouldn't even be watching this. It's 1992, I'm 13 years old and this is the first time I've seen a Friday the 13th film. I think this is part six, but it's hard to tell. There's a paintball game going. Jason is in the woods with them. Oh man, this should be crazy.

The first thing I notice is the smell. I'm snuggling into my new seat on the end of the row, right next to an extremely large woman. Any minute now I should be hearing Rorschach's voice. Oh wait, is that even a woman? I lean over and now I'm seeing the faint hint of a mustache. That doesn't mean anything, though, women can have those too, right? The smell. What is that smell? She suddenly coughs once, and I jump, startled. Man, this chick has a loud cough. But wait... beyond the long hair, could this be a dude? I probably need to say something.

"Hey there, how's it going?"

My feet are propped up on the rail and the lights begin to dim. Man, this is crazy exciting. I'm about to see a film that I never thought would be made. Jason Voorhees is alive on screen again. There are kids behind me talking right now during this trailer. They're pretty loud. I'm sure they'll stop when the movie starts up. I can't wait for this.

"Sup man," she says in a man's voice. My God, this is a dude after all. Another insane cough. Damn, this cough literally sounds like a Sepultura song. The pure impact on this guy's throat from these coughs must be like a sledge hammer against a headstone. Smash. ... Again.

Smash.

One of the dudes behind me starts thoroughly explaining the ending of Friday the 13th part 1 to the guy beside him. Their volume hasn't gotten any softer. Son of a bitch, these guys are seriously just having a full-on conversation over the beginning of this film. I decide to look over my shoulder and see what these guys look like. My God, there's seven of them. And yeah... none of them look like small dudes. Oh man, this is going to suck.

It's 8:45 on Saturday, March 7, 2009. I'm at home writing this blog. Just thinking about those events is making me angry. I've got to seriously stop myself from getting frustrated at this and go grab a peanut butter sandwich.

What is that smell? It seems to be this mixture of sweat, a moldy car seat and a rat's nest in my Grandaddy's barn. The cough is unbelievable. I say to him, "Wow man, are you gonna make it?"

"I certainly hope so," he says.

"So do I," I reply. I'm not feeling good about this seat at all, but the literal sea of anxiously bobbing heads tells me that at this point, I have no choice. Might as well make the most of it. Now that I think about it... it's more of an old attic full of soggy shoes. That's the smell. That's exactly it.

One of the guys stops talking and apparently he's getting up to leave. He's a big guy, which makes me sad that I can't bitch slap him and drive his nose up into his brain, leaving him in a hospital bed for the rest of his life. I wouldn't do that. ... But right now I'm so annoyed that it certainly is fun to think about. Just like that scene with Bruce Willis in "The Last Boy Scout."

Here he comes back. His friends actually talk to him out loud as he passes them. Wait a minute, how long has this damn movie been going now? Have I not been paying attention to the first 30 minutes? What even happened? All I can remember is that God-forsaken surfer-accented fraternity voice explaining how Jason took an axe to the head in part 3. I am absolutely miserable. Maybe I should say something? God, there's so many of them, though. Plus, they're not small. These crazy frat-looking dicks would probably be the kind of kids to wait for me behind the theatre. I guess I'll just be a pussy and deal with it. Maybe they'll just shut the hell up soon.

I'm absolutely terrified. Rather than enjoying the opening credits right now, I'm counting the minutes in between the next coughing fit. Every time they come... they come with this ravenous, shocking, thunderous surprise. I keep jumping every time. Just a second ago, I saw this brilliant shot of Dollar Bill lying dead on the ground, surrounded by photographers and policemen. Just as I got into the scene (and just when Dylan's melodic voice has calmed me down---Damn this song is awesome with these credits), there's another catastrophic coughing fit. This one is particularly intense. Is this fucker going to die right now? Judging from his smell—I actually think he's already dead.

MY GOD. He just coughed so hard and so violently I thought he was going to vomit. I scoot over as far as I can. The smell. God, those old shoes. Is that what that is?? Definitely. The guy in front of him also imagined vomit coming, because he just now jumped nearly out of his seat from fear. Why the hell didn't he stay his ass at home?

Jason just threw an axe right into the back of the token black kid. My God that must hurt. Just look at him... wait... did that guy behind me just say that Kane Hodder was the best Jason? Did I just seriously hear that? Dude, that's some shit you talk about over waffles or at the salad bar at Ruby Tuesday's. You don't have a full-volume conversation about it during the film. On opening night. At a midnight show. My God I hate these kids.

This could be one of the best peanut butter sandwiches I've ever had. Probably not, but it tastes fantastic. This blog looks like it's going to shape up to be a pretty long post. It's 9:00 p.m. now, which means I've been writing it for more than 15 minutes. Maybe 20. I need more water.

"Seriously, dude, you going to be okay?"

"Sorry," he says with a pathetic whimper.

My friend Logan has had enough. Not only has this fat idiot wrecked the entire first half of this movie for everyone around him, but he's officially given me a full-on dose of paranoia. A little piece of spit just landed on my hand. What the hell do I do about this??? I guess I'll make some noise to demonstrate how pissed off I am. "Aw man, damn." I say out loud.

He only replies with another coughing fit... and I cover myself with my hoodie. Logan just got up and left the theatre, rampaging down the stairs like a man on a mission. I don't think he's going to pee. Where the hell IS he going?

"Excuse me, guys, seriously, I'm not trying to be a dick, but could you please STOP TALKING." Michael says. He apparently got sick of it too. My God, I can't believe they've actually stopped talking. For the first time in the entire movie, they've shut the hell... wait. Dude. Come on, don't tell me you're... ... damn, now they're doing the 'loud whisper' maneuver. How much longer is even left of this movie? I kind of just want to leave.

"WHAT ARE YOU WATCHING???" My mom walks by the TV in my room and catches a glimpse of Tommy Jarvis fighting a very pissed off Jason Voorhees on a boat in a flaming lake. "What is this??"

Luckily, it's edited for television. I guess she can't say much to me... considering a commercial break for Dairy Queen just eased the tension. I wonder if Tommy is going to be able to tie that big ass chain around him? Mom just shook her head at me. I can't wait for this stupid commercial break to be over.

I see Logan coming back. Oh shit, what's that in his hand?

"DUDE. DRINK THIS," he says in this extremely loud voice. "THERE'S A WATER MACHINE RIGHT OUTSIDE. GO DRINK MORE WATER. LEAVE THE THEATRE. PLEASE STOP COUGHING."

The moldy shoe kid... woah... how old IS this kid? Now that I look at him, I think he's like 18. Damn, he looked 40 before. Well, at any rate, he's terrified of Logan (I'd be too, this guy is pissed off and big) and he's chugging the water.

...As Rorschach's mask is removed... his screams are not interrupted by sledge hammer scraping and pounding against a brick wall. I can hear what he's saying right now. This looks so incred... what the hell? What's this kid DOING?? He's standing up and squeezing by me. My GOD this smell is inhuman. Did this kid seriously drive over here in a car made of gym bags?

There he goes, wondering down the stairs. It would be awesome if he were going to shower.

Jason is almost dead. Could he be? These filmmakers are going to be crazy ballsy if they just seriously dramatically kill him. Oh my God, it looks like his head is going to be completely ground up like lean beef in this wood chipper. Surely they won't do this. Not this hard core.

How long has that walking junkyard been gone now? I suddenly realize that my thoughts through this entire film haven't been focused on Dr. Manhattan's monologues at all... hell... not even his penis. I've been terrified of germs... plotting the many ways I could ninja flip my ass out of this seat if the choking sound of barf comes rumbling out of his chest like a cement mixer. I've counted minutes in between coughs. So far he's up to an impressive 4 minutes between hacks. In those little 4-minute intervals, I'm really enjoying this movie. He's gone now, so at least I can start to absorb the story more. Maybe he'll stay gone.

It's January 30, 2009, and I've just emailed Jon a series of new Watchmen portraits, photographed and illustrated by Clay Enos. My God this guy's work is amazing. This movie can't get here fast enough!!! I'm definitely going to buy a midnight ticket for this picture. It's so weird and simultaneously amazing how much these characters look like Dave Gibbons' art. I guess I need to get back to work. The way I figure it, though... if you're going to waste some time while working... why not waste it on some Watchmen goods? March is way off. I can't wait.

He's coming back. The son of a bitch is coming back. Here he comes, waddling up the stairs like an old man who's angry that he never had that in-home elevator installed. Apparently, he did not shower.

"I just CAN NOT tune that shit out!" I scream sternly at Jon and Jennifer. We're standing outside the theatre and I'm weaving in and out between discussing my frustrations with the film and the complete dicks sitting behind us. I just have this awful, wasted feeling like I've waited so long for this movie, and just three minutes ago I finally saw it. But instead of being elated right now, I'm more interested in thinking of newer and better ways to follow those guys home, hide in a bush outside their door and break their legs with a crowbar when they leave for school or work in the morning. I hope I just get over this soon, let the frustration go, and breathe in the coolness of how the hockey mask looked in the dim light of the shower scene.

Now that I think about it, I never got over my frustrations. Even though it's been nearly a month, I'd still like to sit in those bushes with my crowbar. It's 9:20 on Saturday night, and I think the blog is going well. It seems to be pretty interesting, but I have no clue if anybody will find this thing entertaining. I guess I'm just spilling out my frustrations for the day. I wonder if that crowbar line seemed too harsh. Eh, who cares. I feel harsh right now.

Dr. Manhattan's giant blue hand has just crashed through the glass ceiling, and as he says, "You disappoint me..." the extra-large sweaty gym-towel monster beside me starts leaping up and down in his chair like a maniac. This appears to be either his very first orgasm, or his favorite line in the entire graphic novel. His excitement would have been almost cute, if it would have been anyone but him. By now my hate has grown exponentially. His building excitement must have been too much for his lungs, because now he's in the middle of another round of thunderous, earthquake-inducing coughing fits.

I just want to go home and wash my entire body. To hell with Watchmen.

I turn off the television and immediately grab a piece of white copy paper and my handy 0.5 mm lead pencil. That had to have been the coolest horror movie I've ever seen. I can't quite get the angle right on the holes in the mask, but the machete is looking pretty solid. I pop in my over-viewed VHS-recorded copy of John McTiernan's "PREDATOR" and I'm slightly worried about the tracking problem. That's so weird. I wonder if this is because this tape is just busted and old, or if it's my VCR. The sound is okay, I guess. Back to my drawing.

I think we've all been talking about the coughing kid for a full 10 minutes on the sidewalk behind the theatre. Logan and I are about to hop in the truck and head home. It's nearly 3:00 a.m. Jon tells me that he was so invested in the film that he never even noticed the coughs. He's got to be bullshitting me. No way in hell could any human in a 50 foot radius NOT notice those rumbling volcanic spit-eruptions.

Jon makes a great point about the film.

Logan has brought the conversation back to the coughing kid, but I'm still dwelling on Jon's observation. He just said that fans of the book could be completely satisfied with the film, but someone who has no idea about the source material would be completely buried in the deep, complex story and have a very hard time keeping up or even liking it. Especially the ending. It's not exactly your "let's run through the daisies while children sing and twirl around flags like the end of Paul W.S. Anderson's beyond hilarious Mortal Kombat" movie. No, the ending that I just saw 15 minutes ago could really wreck somebody's perceptions. Or just piss 'em off royally.

I'm driving home upset. It's 2:30 a.m. on Friday, February 13th. What a lame experience.

I'm driving home agitated and conflicted. It's 3:00 a.m. on Friday, March 6th. I really wish that kid would have just stayed at home. I would have never gone to a packed theatre if I was coughing like that. What a damn idiot. What a dick. Ugh.

I've just finished an extremely cool portrait of Jason Voorhees, and there was just a commercial on TV that said "Jason Lives: Friday the 13th part 6" would be re-airing tomorrow night. I've already got my eye on a blank VHS tape. The next time will be way better... I'll be able to fast-forward through commercials.

The guy just scanned in my Fandango printed paper, and I'm anxiously walking towards the theatre. Woah, Watchmen is actually playing on two different theaters tonight! That's insane... I bet this movie will be absolutely huge across the nation. I can't believe I'm here right now seeing a movie adapted from one of my all-time favorite pieces of literature ever published.

This is going to be one of the best nights of my life.

No Squid = Pissed off Nazi

Oh dear, Watchmen fans. One of us is not happy with the ending.





How disappointing.

-M

Who gets the blame on "Blame It?"

Hey Blog-Team Action Force!!!

Thanks for joining me for an all-new action-packed edition of The McClane Tirade. I'll be your host this evening, Matt McClane.

Let's get this show started immediately with a new music video from R & B music legend, Jamie Foxx:




I don't know if you were able to make it through the entire video, and if you somehow did, let me suggest some Tylenol or perhaps a nice cold wrap for your head. If the bleeding persists, see your doctor immediately.

If the bleeding persists for more than a week, you should get your ass over to Lacuna, Inc. and get Dr. Howard Mierzwiak to erase those troubling memories immediately. You don't want the memory of this video sneaking up on you when you're in the shower... or even worse... while having sexual intercourse with yourself or even another person.

However, for now, I want to take a post and discuss this damn thing.

First of all:  No, you didn't accidentally trip, fall and jam a bunch of acid on your tongue. That was, indeed, Ron Howard.

I don't have a MySpace account, although I did for quite some time. This morning I ran up on a link for this new video and my curiosity got the best of me... mostly because the link had this picture of Jamie Foxx looking like a helicopter pilot.  And with the wink of a whispering eye, and the click of a button, I was pulled back into the world of MySpace video.  I was also quickly reminded why I don't go near that site anymore.

The first thing to note is the awkward credit sequence.  The credit sequence, I think, is actually the meat of the entire video. Most of the people in this sequence only appear in tiny seconds of the dance club place. 

Anyway, out of nowhere... and I mean OUT. OF. NOWHERE., Ron Howard drives up in a convertible with his combover flailing in the breeze. The music playing to this credit sequence could be easily dubbed over one of those "save these animals from being euthanized by donating a shit-ton of money to Sara McLaughlin" commercials.  Seriously, this music made me want to cry. Picturing both Ron Howard's skull and sad kittens and tiny puppy paws... both desperately needing YOUR help to survive... it all gave me the chills.

Anyway, after our stars take their sweet time in getting out of their cars (this could have taken the best part of an hour, I think), they all enter into the photo dark room that's been converted into a night club. This strikes me as being CRAZY awesome, because now that digital cameras have pretty much cornered the entire photography market, nobody uses those dark rooms anymore. (Except, that is, for experimental college kids and stubborn, 60-year-old photographers who refuse to let go of their past.) I sure as hell don't see any 60-year-olds carrying around 1984 Cannons in that club, do you?

Anyway, upon entering, Donnie Darko and Ron Howard abruptly realize that they're the only white men in the entire building. Apparently, they slowly make their way over to the buffet line to pick up some fruit on toothpicks and tiny ham & cheese sandwiches. (There might have been some miniature hot dogs in there as well, but it's hard to tell from the annoying darkroom lights.)  They steer clear of the video for the rest of the night, discussing how awesome mayonnaise tastes.

The Last King of Scotland proceeds to take three Ecstasy pills, rip his pants off and stumble into the crowd, thirsty for human blood.

Why, do you ask, does Forrest Whitaker go on a blood-letting rampage culminating on him chewing a video bitch's kneecap off?  It MIGHT have something to do with Jamie Foxx's synthesized voice. Let's dig deeper into this mystery.

Readers, I'm just going to throw this out there to be bold: I absolutely LOATHE these damn mechanized, synthesized, fake-ass voice enhancers. Kanye West... Lil Wayne... T Pain... Jamie Foxx... Cher... The Guitarist from Bon Jovi's band... ridiculous. I don't know what kind of impact this kind of shit is having on the music industry, and I have no idea what the billions of kids out there buying this shit think about it, but it's ripping my ears off and stomping on 'em.

You can probably find billions and billions of other blog posts about this, so feel free to scatter around the internet and digest all the hate (and/or love) for this new fad in the music biz. I'll be happy, however, to give you a little something here on the Tirade that you won't find on any other blog:

What the music business guys aren't telling you is that there's something far more sinister and deadly happening with this voice synthesizer business than meets the eye. Not only are they using these synthesizers to make famous rappers & actors sound like they can actually sing... but they're also using them to hypnotize us into eating each other.

Trust me... I know it sounds ridiculous, but the next time you listen to Lil Wayne sing that lollipop song, ask yourself: What does he REALLY mean by licking a lollipop?  Could it be the ravenous slaughter of another human being, followed immediately by skinning him alive, bathing in his blood, eating his brains and gaining his knowledge & power?

I think so. Definitely.

At any rate, things are getting hot and heavy in the photographic developing room when the panda in a suit shows up. By now, T Pain has taken over, but it's really hard to tell since they're both using the cannibal synthesizer software at the exact same time.

Forrest Whitaker's whereabouts are unknown by now (his trail of blood runs cold near the rear exit and there's a half-eaten hand by the Air Conditioning unit), Sam Jackson gave up hours ago and went home to cry over his busted career... Jake Gyllenhaal stole all the silverware and also Ron Howard's car... and Howard got caught up in an intense game of piss-racing in the women's restroom. 

(If you blink you could miss it, but I also caught a glimpse of Opie Taylor doing whip-its with Freddie Prinz Jr.)

The video ties everything up nicely when the giant panda is revealed to actually be... ((SPOILER ALERT!!!)) Jamie Foxx!!!!!

Attention Hype Williams: dude, did you just sit at your house playing Battleship and phone this shit in?  Did you let your 10-year-old nephew direct this thing? Remember when the videos you directed were actually cool?  

California Love? (Absolutely brilliant.)

The Rain? (Vintage awesome overweight Missy Elliot at her best.)

Put Your Hands Where My Eyes Can See?

Nice and Slow?

Yeah, that's right. I just named my favorite Usher song right here on the Tirade.  (Besides, at the end of that video, a giant building explodes for no apparent reason at all while Usher drives away on his motorcycle. That's badass.)

Sure, Hype, you've got a videography the size of the Sears Tower, but that doesn't mean you can let all those Jamie Foxx fans down. When it comes to their favorite Jamie Foxx tunes, it's going to take a lot more than a giant panda head and Ron Howard's uncomfortable face to make a cool video.  Even a blood-hungry, kneecap-chewing Ghost Dog can't save the day.  No, Hype, a breakthrough, stylish and highly original song like this deserves a video that... can...

... oh man, wait a minute.

Breakthrough? Stylish. Original? Aaah...

Now that I think about it, this video is absolutely perfect for this song.

Damn Hype... in the end... I DO see your thinking.  Touché, my friend. Touché. I'll never doubt you again.

I can't stand the rain,

-McClane  (Supa Dupa Fly)

P.S.  At one point in the chorus in this song, Jamie Foxx actually says "Feeling on your butt, what?" 

What indeed, Jamie. 

What indeeeeeed.