Nicolas Winding Refn’s “Drive” is the essence of crime cinema cool boiled down to its bones, combining the spartan feel of Jean-Pierre Melville’s “Le Samourai” with the sheen of Michael Mann’s ’80s output like “Thief.” Throw in a protagonist reminiscent of Ryan O’Neill’s strong silent wheelman in Walter Hill’s “The Driver,” and you’ve got a shiny movie buff confection.

Ryan Gosling completely owns the nameless lead role, shiny scorpion jacket and all. The year Gosling had in 2011 effectively silenced his critics who wrote him off as a pretty face in “The Notebook,” with “Drive” standing at the head of the pack. His soft exterior makes his cool-yet-vicious character in “Drive” all the more potent whenever he has to stomp some poor henchman’s head in.

I love grizzled, masculine action heroes like Liam Neeson and Lee Marvin as much as the next red-blooded American, but Gosling steps up to the plate, points to the outfield, and knocks the ball straight into the spark-spewing lights. Don’t let his soft features or feathery surname fool you. Gosling brilliantly channels the brand of cool perfected by Alain Delon in Melville’s quiet heist & hitman sagas.

Another great turn is given by Albert Brooks, normally known for playing lovable characters with low self-esteem in “Broadcast News” and “Defending Your Life.” Any trace of Brooks’s natural likability is nowhere to be found in “Drive.” He completely embodies a truly frightening gangster heavy with a penchant for fileting his enemies with a razor. In a conversation with Gosling, he says, “I used to produce movies, in the eighties. Kinda like action films, sexy stuff. One critic called them European. I thought they were shit.” This makes me wonder if Brooks’s character isn’t a homicidal take on Menahem Golan or Andy Sidaris. Maybe both?

As my co-host on the HomeVideodrome podcast pointed out this week, “Drive” was snubbed at the Oscars this year, garnering only one nomination for Achievement in Sound Editing. There were only nine nominations for Best Picture, as opposed to the ten from last year. So it would seem one of the year’s most acclaimed movies was snubbed in favor of … nothing. Ouch. But “Drive” seems like too much of a weird, arty genre outsider to get a nod from Oscar.

Thankfully, “Drive” doesn’t need the potential for gold statues to boost its cred, as it’s already gained a fanatical following from movie fans (when I stopped by Best Buy to pick it up, the racks containing it were almost empty). Excuse me, but I’ve gotta crank Kavinsky & Lovefoxxx’s “Nightcall” while I write the rest of this article.

Available on Blu-ray, DVD, and Amazon Instant

Speaking of Michael Mann, he produced a new flick that’s out this week, and his daughter, Ami Canaan Mann, took up the directing duties.  The title is ridiculous and intriguing all at once: “Texas Killing Fields.” Being a man who has a taste for Texas-fried genre fiction by guys like Joe R. Lansdale, this sounded like a yarn that could be right up my alley. I love sweaty, southwestern noir like “No Country for Old Men” and “The Killer Inside Me,” and “Texas Killing Fields” promised some solid talent, including Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Chloe Grace-Moretz, and Jessica Chastain, who had the best year of any actress in 2011 (Sam Worthington’s in there too, but he ain’t really a “draw” for me). Shame what they served up was just a bland, boring mess.

“Texas Killing Fields” is about as dull as murder mysteries get, it’s characters are burdened by cliche, and the story lacks focus, and happens to be devoid of meaning to boot. A hothead small-town cop (Worthington) is paired up with an emotional detective from New York (Morgan) to solve a string of murders, and a bunch of stuff you won’t care about happens in the meantime. You know the drill, crime scenes procedurals, cliched cop dialogue, it all adds up to something you’ve seen done better a gazillion times before elsewhere.

It could only help the film if it could be called “formulaic,” because at least formula means it would at least hit the proper beats. Instead it’s a ball slow, muddy sludge, with fruitless subplots and a boring mystery. The story might not be such a drag if Mann’s direction added any flavor, but it just lies there on the screen like a dead fish. I would say it’s “television quality” direction, but doing so would be unfairly dismissive of the far more satisfying work in the genre that we see on TV every day.

It’s wildly disappointing when such a talented cast and crew cooks up a big fat nothing-burger like “Texas Killing Fields.” Even the most brilliant talents squeeze out the occasional turd, they are human after all. This is one of those movies that you might come across flipping through the NetFlix Instant Queue one night after you’ve had a few too many beers which might arouse your curiosity, but trust me, hombre, just keep flipping until you find something else.

Available on Blu-ray and DVD

Other Noteworthy Releases

Transformers – Dark of the Moon 3D: Michael Bay’s celebration of boys & their toys finally comes to 3D home video. I sort of admire Bay for making something as unapologetically vapid as this movie is, it’s pretty much a Bay’s trademarks blasted straight at your face without any hint of pretensions towards character and coherent storytelling. You can also grab the entire series in a deluxe box set, which should make for a remarkable tool if you’re into marathon S&M sessions.

Available on 3D Blu-ray

Star Trek – The Next Generation – The Next Level: I loved the Blu-ray releases that were put together of the original series, and it looks like they’re doing something similar with “The Next Generation”, offering re-created effects for high-definition. This three-episode set is a taste of what the full season sets will offer, serving three episodes that have been given the hi-def treatment: “Encounter at Farpoint,” “Sins of the Father” and “The Inner Light.” The beauty of what they did with the original series was they offered you a choice: you could watch it with the old effects, or the flashy CGI stuff, whatever floats your boat. Hear that, George Lucas? Choice. We like that. This release comes at an affordable price, but it’s a release for the impatient. If you’re gonna buy the whole shebang anyway, save your money and wait for the real deal.

Available on Blu-ray

In Time: Andrew Niccol’s stuff hasn’t ever really scratched my sci-fi itch, though “Gattaca” was pretty sweet. I love how Harlan Ellison sued the makers of this film for ripping off “Repent, Harlequin! Said the Ticktockman”, only to drop his lawsuit once he saw the film. I guess he only likes to take credit for stuff that’s good.

Available on Blu-ray, DVD, and Amazon Instant

The Thing: Back when I would gobble up any horror film I could get my hands on, curiosity would’ve been a good enough motivator to see this one. It doesn’t seem like it’s sure whether it’s a prequel or a remake, so I’ll just stick with the John Carpenter one, thanks. Also, the Christian Nyby/Howard Hawks classic is pretty swell too.

Available on Blu-ray, DVD, and Amazon Instant

The Big Year: A film starring Steve Martin, Jack Black, and Owen Wilson about bird watching … which bombed badly at the box office. Given that my Father is an avid birder, I’ll be watching this one with him for kicks some day soon.

Available on Blu-ray, DVD, and Amazon Instant

Dream House: Another bomb, this Jim Sheridan film starring Daniel Craig looks like a script someone dug out of M. Night Shyamalan’s garbage can. A sure sign a movie needs to make some fast cash after a bad box office draw: it’s available for rental on Amazon Instant the day it comes out, instead of making you purchase it for streaming. Not a rule, but it’s interesting how duds often come out of the gate accepting rentals there.

Available on Blu-ray, DVD, and Amazon Instant

The Double: In case you were wondering what Richard Gere is up to.

Available on Blu-ray, DVD, and Amazon Instant

Outrage – Way of the Yakuza: A new Takeshi Kitano film?!  Sign me up!  Ever since I saw him terrorize high schoolers in “Battle Royale”, I’ve been a fan.

Available on Blu-ray and DVD

The Magnificent Ambersons: Orson Welles’s half-masterpiece finally gets a stand-alone DVD release.

Available on DVD

Blubberella: I just wanted to point out that this exists. Of course, Uwe Boll is involved. Note how the titular character is firing off machine guns while gripping the clips in the cover art. Just sayin’.

Available on DVD

To Kill a Mockingbird: Man, it’s been a long time since I’ve watched this. Time to give it another look now that it’s got a Blu-ray dip coming out.

Available on Blu-ray, DVD and Amazon Instant

Adaptation: The best Charlie Kaufman creation, “Adaptation” is as brilliantly meta as it gets.  Nic Cage haters need to remember that the man is great when he’s in the right movie.  This one, “Moonstruck,” “Wild at Heart,” “Raising Arizona,” “Leaving Las Vegas”… recognize.

Available on Blu-ray

Shakespeare in Love: It’s Oscar season, so a bunch of movies that got a bunch of wins/nominations are getting Blu-ray dips. I couldn’t ever muster up the will to force myself to watch this movie. Now that it’s on Blu-ray, I’m not shocked I still don’t care.

Available on Blu-ray

The English Patient: Anthony Minghella’s middle name was “Oscar” during his career. Another one of his movies, “Cold Mountain,” also comes to Blu-ray this week.

Available on Blu-ray

The Piano: When I think of tortured female-driven dramas, I think of Jane Campion’s “The Piano” starring Holly Hunter and Harvey Keitel’s penis.

Available on Blu-ray

Frida: Being an admirer of Diego Rivera’s murals, I really enjoyed Julie Taymor’s biopic on his wife, Frida Kahlo, which covers her career, and their tempestuous relationship. Taymor’s such a visually-driven director that this Blu-ray release should look fantastic.

Available on Blu-ray

Malcolm X: He may have blocked my mouthy self on Twitter (hey, shameless plug time, follow me because you love me), but I do enjoy me some Spike Lee movies when he hits the right notes. “Malcolm X” is one of those times where he knocked it out of the park.

Available on Blu-ray

This article originally appeared over at Parcbench

Here’s a blurb for the new film, out this week on DVD: “It’s the best birding comedy of all time!” Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean much.

“The Big Year” is about three very different men all struggling to juggle their personal lives with their love for birding … or bird watching for the uninitiated. A character corrects another when he says “bird watching” at one point, but I couldn’t figure out what the difference was. All three men are setting out to have a “big year,” which means they aim to see as many different species of birds as they can in one year to become the “greatest birder of all time.”

As two men with accents say early in the film, “Only Americans can turn birding into a competition.” Owen Wilson then proceeds to flip them his own bird. I actually laughed at that one.

Brad Harris (Jack Black) is a 36-year-old man who lives with his parents and hates his job. Stu (Steve Martin) is a rich businessman who just wants to retire, but his underlings seem lost without him. And finally there is Kenny Bostick (Owen Wilson) who holds the big year record of 732 birds and now returns to defend his title. Bostick struggles to keep his marriage alive while he constantly chooses the birds over his pregnant wife.

“The Big Year” is pleasant enough. There’s not much to hate here, but there’s definitely a lot to dislike. A film with Black, Martin and Wilson should have been much, much better – and funnier. Instead of seeing the peculiarity in the concept of bird watching, the film dusts over it and never delves too much into why people love it or why others can’t understand it.

There’s a sentimental scene where Brad tries to tell his father why some … uh … grey bird … is his favorite, and we sense why he feels so much love for them. Other than that we get nothing. Stu has apparently wanted to do a big year since he was a kid, but we never know too much about why. There’s a scene where Stu and Brad have dinner, but we hear almost nothing they say save some narration by Black’s character (which should have been cut entirely. It’s lazy writing).

Brad and Stu seem to be the focus point of the film. They form a friendship and team up against Bostick. This relationship is also where the film fails and never lives up to its talented trio of stars. In fact, the film fails at just about all of its relationships. We should have gotten a sense of why Brad and Stu are drawn together. Sure. We know that Stu is looking for a father figure and ends up with a friend, and Stu admires that Brad is young and passionate, but the script needed to flesh such details out more instead of completely relying on the talents of Martin and Black.

And then there’s Bostick. Wilson really gets the short end of the stick here. His character is consumed with winning, but that thought doesn’t include the participation of his wife or unborn daughter. We also don’t get a sense of why he loves birding so much. Black’s character gets a love interest (Rashida Jones), but their courtship is given almost no screen time and then becomes too big of a plot point for the movie near the end.

“The Big Year” had a lot to work with: a talented cast, an original story, a quirky premise and a chance to dive into human interactions and relationships for the sake of our laughter and sympathy. But, the movie skips over all that and aims to tell a much simpler story. The movie should’ve gone into “Bucket List” territory, but it decides to play it safe and just show our characters having a few good laughs here and there, running around seeing birds to the soundtrack of recent hits and an occasional emotional moment that usually hits a false note.

The DVD offers no special feature except for a couple of trailers and a slightly extended version of the film.

But, alas, “The Big Year” is not a terrible film. It’s a nice enough 90-minute watch for you and a loved one or the whole family. Everyone in the cast is likable and there seem to be no negative motives for making the film. It’s well directed by David Frankel and script has no animosity or irony when it comes to its central hobby of bird watching…excuse me…birding.

The film presents itself as a nice alternative for a couple or the family to watch in place of the mindless drivel thrown out by Hollywood. “The Big Year” never rises above its own mediocrity, but it also never falls into the category of complete disaster. Let’s just hope its three leads have some much better work to offer soon, maybe even some more “birding comedies” (I got it right that time!).

—–

Politico:

The video stars Kevin Spacey, Matt Damon, Sean Penn, Kristen Wiig, Ben Stiller, Jack Black, Ted Danson and Mary Steenburgen as part of the foundation’s celebrity division, pumping out ideas like not breathing to save the environment. There’s even a cameo from Bubba at the end.

More here.

And when they leave the theater they won’t know much more about the wonderful world of birds.

‘The Big Year’ illustrates the pitfalls of being a “birder” – the sudden travel, the pricey hotel fees and the risk of alienating the ones you love. But where’s the joy, the sense that we’re watching nature’s handiwork up close and personal?

We’re left with a trio of comic actors rummaging for narrative scraps, let alone enough laugh lines to justify their respective paychecks.

‘Year’ casts Steve Martin, Owen Wilson and Jack Black as three very different men united in their love of birding. Ken Bostick (Wilson) is the reigning Big Year champion, meaning he personally spotted 732 bird species over a 12-month span. Now, he wants to break his own record, even if it means spending weeks away from his frustrated wife (the luminous Rosamund Pike).

Stu Preissler (Martin) has everything a man could want – a loving wife (Jobeth Williams), beautiful children and a thriving business. But he’s willing to set them all aside to complete his own Big Year.

And then there’s Brad Harris (Black), an IT shlub who listens to bird calls on his iPod at work. He thinks winning the Big Year competition will prove his self worth, much to the dismay of his grumpy dad (Brian Dennehy).

The three repeatedly bump into each other on their mad dash to spot as many bird species as possible, a competition ruled by the honor system. That concept itself sets ‘The Big Year’ apart from other male-bonding comedies. But there’s little about ‘Year’ that bothers to peer beyond the surface.

Director David Frankel, who had far better success with the animal-centric ‘Marley & Me,’ fails to capture the warmth and vitality of birding. And the script can’t decide if Ken is a cad or a clown, robbing the film of a potentially intriguing villain. Ken’s wife desperately wants a baby, but Ken seems more interested in migration patterns than painting the nursery. Yet Ken refuses to cheat in order to retain his title.

Wilson proves a poor choice for a role crying out for clarity. He’s in slacker mode, again, a scruffy chap you can’t stay mad at for long.

Black, in comparison, can bring an outsider’s point of view to an iconoclast like Brad, someone who thrives on the poetry of a bird in flight. But his character remains just out of focus, particularly when he’s trying to woo a fellow birder (Rashida Jones).

‘Year’ squanders not just its lead but a gaggle of ripe supporting players. Blink and you’ll miss Jones, Steven Weber, Kevin Pollack and ‘Community’s’ Joel McHale.

‘The Big Year’ lacks purpose as well as laughs. It’s far too bland to be a straight character study, and the film’s talents aren’t tapped for any comic set pieces of consequence. Couldn’t Martin have attempted one signature pratfall to break up the monotony?

Based on Mark Obmascik’s 2004 nonfiction book ‘The Big Year: A Tale of Man, Nature, and Fowl Obsession,’ this ‘Year’ ends on a note that essentially tells us birding is, well, for the birds if it means losing the ones you love.

Audiences should walk out of ‘The Big Year’ eager to scour their neighborhoods for bird species they never gave a second thought to before. Instead, they’ll likely wonder what the fuss is all about.

—–

Screenwriters Jonathan Aibel and Glenn Berger are back from KFP, and bring audiences a fun story with a similar flow to the first. KFP 2 is a natural progression in the life and times of Po, and Jennifer Yuh, the head of story and supervisor of action sequences from the first film, was the natural choice to take the series to the next level. She does so with more action, and solid backstory, while keeping the film as light-hearted as the original. 

There’s even more play on the characters’ animal nature in KFP 2, from a hilarious “revelation” scene when the panda Po finds out that – surprise – his goose father adopted him, to the Soothsayer goat (Michelle Yeoh) stereotypically trying to eat Lord Shen’s cloak and Mantis (Seth Rogen) waxing eloquent about his hopes for a future when he can settle down with a praying mantis wife who will ultimately eat his head off. 

The vocal performances in KFP 2 are all solid, with Jack Black’s Po leading the way, supported by a strong Gary Oldman as Lord Shen and Angelina Jolie as Tigress. Martial arts experts play many of the supporting roles, packing the film with a great conglomeration of action and Kung Fu film stars, including Jean-Claude Van Damme, Jackie Chan, Lucy Liu and Yeoh. 

Substantially, the film moves Po beyond the atrocities that Lord Shen committed against his family, and shows that facing your past and reconciling with it brings inner peace. Additionally, Po sees his adopted father as his real one in a touching moment at the end of the film. The Soothsayer goat is a little odd, but not too dark, and fits the film’s Eastern nature. 

Aside from that, KFP 2 is more of the same from DreamWorks and Jack Black, but after KFP, who wants anything different?

The concept is simple but rich in characters and potential comical situations. Suspended lawyer Jeff Winger (Joel McHale) has been sent back to college because his academic degree was discovered to be phony. Now he’s stuck at the local community college—which he describes as a “school-shaped toilet.”

The show includes at least a few genuinely amusing moments per episode, but it also takes its characters seriously to some degree, which makes it more than just a string of gags. In the first episode, Winger ends up leading a Spanish-language study group even though he has little grasp of the language. The various members of the group are comically beset by a multitude of emotional, social, and functional problems.

Winger, however, very quickly (and somewhat implausibly) turns the group into what he describes as a “community.” The tables are soon turned on him, however, as he is revealed to all as a shallow, selfish, conceited moral relativist. This is not characterized as a good thing.

Taking up this theme of the need for redemption, in the first episode a professor tells Winger he has “a second chance at an honest life.” Then, demonstrating both forgiveness and kindness, the other students in the study group end up helping him study for a Spanish test because he never learned good study habits, having always been able to get by with little effort because of his intelligence.

This motif recurs in subsequent episodes as the others in the group make frequent efforts to help one another with their problems, big and small. They really become their own little community, entirely by their own choice.

The characters’ troubles are typically shown as being the results of their own bad choices, especially the search for shortcuts to happiness. For example, in Episode 3, “Introduction to Film,” Winger takes a film class because he figures it will be an easy A. In a later episode he becomes the supervisor of the student newspaper and uses his reporters to get free things for him. Both schemes turn out to be bad ideas.

Similarly, in a recent episode, “Investigative Journalism,” guest Jack Black plays a new member of the study group, Buddy, whose enthusiastic narcissism leads to some good jokes. The humor of Buddy’s character derives from his powerful desire to be seen as a distinctively interesting individual without actually accomplishing anything distinctive, let alone anything good.

In this way Buddy contrasts with the rest of the people in the group, who are actually trying to better themselves by developing whatever meager talents they possess—and thus he directs attention to that laudable desire on their part. That includes Winger, who really does try to be a good mentor to the group.

The members of the study group want to exclude Buddy, as he is extremely annoying, and Winger initially agrees. In the end, however, he decides to let Buddy stay because he sees that Buddy’s admiration for the group as a good thing, which he recognizes by mentally putting himself in Buddy’s place. In so doing, of course, he is clearly exemplifying Jesus’s Golden Rule, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” yet this is done with humor and without overt piousness.

Ironically, Buddy immediately ditches them for “the cool group” led by guest star Owen Wilson. Thus doing the right thing works out best for everybody.

In the most recent episode, “Physical Education,” the group tries to help plain-looking Abed get a girlfriend, only to find out that he does very well in that area already, and that looks and other superficial measures of attractiveness aren’t nearly as important as they thought.

An even more comical and bizarre story line in that same episode concerns a physical education class in which Jeff’s instructor insists that he give up his obsession with clothes and other cool-guy attitudes. This leads ultimately and inevitably to a naked billiards match between the two, and a good time and serious learning experience for all. Well, maybe not too much of the latter.

In all, Community does an excellent job of providing laughs and a little more. The jokes and occasionally sexed-up story lines will draw viewers, and the exploration of personal choices might just give them something to think about.

Natalie, whoever’s advising you … fire them. If no one’s advising you, find someone who doesn’t carry a small dog in their purse or dates someone who does. Look to the real world for help. Look to someone who’s spent a few years in a land where the zip codes don’t start with “9-0.” Someone who cares enough about you and your career to say (without any “Honey, babys”):

“Nat, past the gates of your community and away from the hills of Hollywood losing your job doesn’t fuel passion, it fuels despair, and working a job you hate is almost as bad because of the big black  permanent ball of dread it plants in your gut. I know you dig Barack, I did too before he targeted my children and health care, but you can’t flak for his recession. That’s what the mainstream media is for. You have to empathize with your audience, build goodwill. Besides, you’re closing on that castle tomorrow, so today wouldn’t be a good time to get all gushy over how exciting Barack’s recession is. And if you do, I quit.”

Now I don’t mean to pick on Natalie (much), but this goes to a larger problem facing both Hollywood and those of us who love movies: The death of the movie star.

One of the big entertainment stories this year is how well starless films like “Star Trek,” “Up,” “The Hangover,” and “District 9” did while Johnny Depp, Christian Bale, Denzel Washington, Julia Roberts, John Travolta, Jack Black, Eddie Murphy, Leonardo DiCaprio, Russell Crowe, Will Ferrell, Jamie Foxx, Steve Martin, Robert Downey Jr., etc… fizzled in blockbusters and mainstream films aimed at a wide audience.

Once upon a time stars worked as a kind of insurance. No matter how good or bad the product, a strong opening weekend or two was assured followed by home video sales that pretty much guaranteed the film would at least break even. Once upon a time people wanted to see a INSERT NAME HERE movie.

No more.

Some will float excuses like the “Twitter Effect,” but that doesn’t explain crashing DVD sales or historically low ratings for the Academy Awards’ telecast. Spin it any way you want, thanks to a decade-plus of arrogant unforced errors and self-inflicted stupidity, we are no longer enamored with … The Movie Star.

The problem isn’t each individual star – who doesn’t love them some Denzel? – the problem is those damaging the brand as a whole. Airheads and insulting big mouths like Portman, Julia Roberts, George Clooney, Alec Baldwin, Streisand, Matt Damon, Sean Penn, Susan Sarandon, Tim Robbins…

Year after year after year the bad apples have so soured so many of us that we no longer look at the name above the title. We don’t care who’s in it. Instead it’s, “What’s the concept, is it safe or familiar?”

In other words, “I’d rather have my intelligence insulted than who I am or what I believe in.”

For those of us in love with the movies, this is an awful trend. We love being in love with movie stars. And we don’t care how they vote or live their lives… There were all kinds of liberal stars during the Golden Age who supported all kinds of causes. No one cared. I don’t care now.

The difference between John Garfield and Sean Penn isn’t talent or politics … it’s a little thing called “class.”

Just shut up and be awesome.

The new film Year One is definitely taking a beating from the critics, especially conservative ones.

Two reviews by my colleagues at Big Hollywood exemplify the complaints. Comedienne Victoria Jackson expresses immense disappointment with the film’s high proportion of obscenity and vulgarity (she reports that she left the film in tears of frustration and sadness), and John Nolte observes that it lacks a sensible story line, excessively indulges in its performers’ ad libs, manages to have scenes that are both overlong and end too abruptly, has a nonsensical timeline, and is just sloppy and poorly executed overall.

Both of these critics’ observations are quite accurate, but I think there’s more to this story.

Certainly the film is absurd, disorganized, obscene, and ludicrous. Produced by Judd Apatow and starring the notoriously self-indulgent Jack Black, Year One could hardly avoid having those characteristics. Harold Ramis has done much better work than this, notably as co-writer of Groundhog Day, Ghostbusters, Back to School, and the first couple of seasons of SCTV, but he also wrote the inept screenplays for stinkers such as Club Paradise, Armed and Dangerous, and the year 2000 remake of Bedazzled. Films on which he had the most influence as writer seem to have the poorest scripts.

Hence, expecting a logical, coherent story and some respect for audience sensibilities from Apatow and Ramis seems rather a forlorn hope. Moreover, anarchic comedy of this type can be both funny and somewhat meaningful. As Nolte noted, the film seems to be an attempt in some ways at replicating the breezy narrative style of the “Road” films of Bob Hope and Bing Crosby.

I agree, and would note that while the character played by Jack Black does suggest Hope’s “Road” characters, the one played by Michael Cera is more reminiscent of Woody Allen’s early film persona. The two characters work well together, as in the classic SCTV sketch “Play It Again, Bob.”

The film’s silly, illogical timeline and other such features thus accord with a long comedy tradition, and the obscenity is no greater than much of what passes for theatrical film comedy these days (alas!).

And as Nolte correctly observes, the comical references to religion (of which there are many) are clearly meant to be silly, not satirical. In fact, a speech at the end of the film by Jack Black really focuses on politics, not religion, and warns the people of the city of Sodom not to place their faith in political messiahs, advice that applies today as well.

Moreover, in their own mad way the earlier scenes of the film seem quite positive toward monotheistic religion, with Jack Black’s character defending religious faith and the idea of an omnipotent, fully benevolent God (as one imagines Bob Hope would in the same circumstances) against the attacks by Cera’s character (which one imagines Woody Allen would press in this situation).

There can be no question, however, that the film is chock full of grossness, vulgarity, and an adolescent obsession with bodily functions to an extent that is extraordinary even in today’s no-holds-barred theatrical film culture. It’s as dirty as a Frenchman, as Homer Simpson would say.

Fixating on this unpleasant subject matter, however, is causing critics to fail to see a perfectly evident meaning of the film: that the monotheist religions are the great source of civilization in human history.

This is the clear conclusion to be drawn from the film if we step back from its stream of ugly events and think about what the narrative actually means. It’s essential to note that the protagonists are treated well only by the monotheistic, religious people, the Jews. In their prehistoric home at the beginning of the film both the protagonists are viewed as outcasts, with Black as an inept hunter and Cera a timid, epicene gatherer of nuts and berries. Their life is brutish and unfulfilled, and their fellow tribe members treat them very badly.

In the Biblical city of Sodom, where the characters end up eventually, they are captured, enslaved, beaten, threatened with death, imprisoned, subjected to continual threats of being sodomized, and witness the appalling barbarity, cruelty, and injustice of that pagan society. Whereas the film mines much humor from the uncomfortable reality of adult circumcision among the Jews, in Sodom the people are engaging in regular sacrifices of female virgins, who are burned to death to win favor from their pagan gods.

(One of the film’s most successful attempts to bring the Bob Hope attitude into the vulgar contemporary context is Black’s observation that a human sacrifice is a waste of a perfectly good virgin.)

The scenes in the city of Sodom depict a society of immense awfulness, and the filmmakers explicitly allude to similarities with the modern-day United States, including a direct reference to Las Vegas when a character observes that what happens in Sodom stays in Sodom. That’s an comparison one might expect a from political conservative or the Religious Right.

In Israel, by contrast, where the protagonists are the guests of Adam and then Abraham (yes, the timeline is irrational), they encounter decent hospitality and are treated quite well. Having witnessed Cain’s murder of Abel (the motives for which are presented quite accurately, and comically), they are thereafter continually endangered by the world’s first murderer, who moves to Sodom and finds the place very much to his liking.

The protagonists’ reaction is exactly the opposite. They want nothing more than to get away from that place, while attempting to rescue two female members of their tribe who have been captured and enslaved (which happens to the protagonists as well).

Thus the film clearly depicts non-monotheistic societies as horrible (albeit in varying ways), while connecting these to what is unattractive about contemporary American society, and the monotheistic one as vastly better places to live despite a few comic eccentricities.

Certainly one would wish Year One to be a good deal less adolescent in its humor and rather more sophisticated in its attempts at wit, but it’s also important to recognize what the film actually means behind its preposterous and frequently annoying surface. The wisdom of a fool is nonetheless wisdom, after all.

And let me make this perfectly clear, even if they do say Jehovah!

Sentence must be read before being carried out. And unlike Soraya M., the board members of the Asylum of Motion Picture Airheads and Stooges will deserve every rock that’s thrown their way. I also believe that, in light of events in Iran today, the following commentary will stand out in much starker prominence than it did when I first started reporting on them in early March, when Team Oscar first set off for the Unfriendly Skies of Islamist Iran.

The backstory. In late February, the decision by AMPAS (as defined above) to send the Nine Stooges to the fascist hostage-taking, women-stoning, gay-exterminating Islamic Republic of Iran (at that time, things may be changing) set me off hotter than a Kim Jong Il nuke. Five days after the gay rights infomercial Oscars, no less! My gay rights heroes.

Somebody give ‘em an Oscar! For what it’s worth nowadays. Sean Penn getting an Oscar for playing a gay rights hero with his sorry track record on the subject is like Yasser Arafat, Jimmy Carter and Al Gore getting Nobel Prizes. They just ain’t worth what they used to be these days.

But I digress. On With The Show Biz Trial.

For ten days and uncounted humiliating punkings in early March, Team Oscar was a national embarrassment and a disgrace to this country and people, and an affront to the innocent Iranians suffering under a yoke of oppression not seen since Hitler’s Third Reich. A yoke which they are desperately and bravely fighting and even dying to cast off even as we speak.

And now, despite all that transpired back then, and all that is happening now in Iran, AMPAS is looking to whitewash the whole affair as a Bob Hope and Bing Crosby Road trip! Not on my watch! Fat fucking chance! Can you imagine how Iranian gays felt, watching the same people who facilitated tearful speeches on “gay rights for everyone” socializing and galivanting around town with the very monsters who were hunting them down, torturing and killing them?

If that alone isn’t a stoning offense, then nothing is.

Some may consider my charges harsh, even unreasonably so. So be it. Brutal Injustice and rank hypocrisy bring out the Zarqawi in me. But I will present to you, Dear Hollywood non-Academy Readers and Fine Fellow Americans everywhere, the foul evidence at hand in toto.

When charges have been read, and sentence is to be passed, I will leave it to the rest of you stoners as to which direction your rocks should fly. But first, to put the matter into Supreme Court-like perspective, look at the precedent law upon which I base my charges and my case.

THE WORLD v. SOUTH AFRICA

In 1985, during the oppressive Apartheid era of South Africa’s all-white fascist regime, actors, artists, producers and many fine musicians like Little Stevie van Zandt and The Boss, Bruce Springsteen, united to make a statement against that racist government, which held Nelson Mandela behind bars unjustly for 29 years, and murdered noted anti-apartheid activist Steven Biko while in police custody. That murder was memorialized in the Peter Gabriel song of the same name.

In conjunction with worldwide sanctions and divestment of business from South Africa at the time, the musical statement made by that group of most talented artists, better know as Artists United Against Apartheid, was immortalized in the song Sun City, which became a smash hit worldwide. We all know the rest of the story. The white South African government eventually folded, and Nelson Mandela was freed and then elected to the presidency.

What were South Africa’s crimes besides just Mandela’s imprisonment and Biko’s murder? Officially enforced racial segregation and subjugation, violent repression and the banning of opposition political parties. Certainly more than enough justification for international outrage, and both official and unofficial sanctions.

Yet compared to the current theocratic Hitlerite thugocracy running the Islamic Republic of Iran, which the world is also widely sanctioning today, South Africa’s Apartheid government was operating an island paradise fit for Chinese Uighurs. In Iran, political empowerment is nonexistent, and has been since the 1979 Islamic revolution.

All the power is in the hands of Supreme Leader Ali Khamanei and the Mad Mullah Guardian Council. Reform was impossible. Any measure passed by Iran’s Parliament, the Majlis, deemed ‘un-Islamic’ by the Mad Mullahs could be overturned on review. The Church is the State in Iran. Like a nationwide Westboro Baptist Church from Hell. Only worse. Much worse.

Examples. Children are routinely executed, gays are hunted down, tortured and brutally exterminated, and women and young girls are stoned and hanged, even for the crime of being raped. Until international outrage interceded, as happened vis-a-vis Roxana Saberi, seventeen-year-old Nazanin Fatehi was awaiting a death sentence for the crime of stabbing and killing one of the three God-fearing Islamists who attempted to rape her and her niece in a West Tehran park.

Here is a 27-minute documentary that re-enacts the attempted rape and the unbelievably misogynist injustice which followed. Had the world not screamed so loud in outrage, Nazanin would have suffered the same fate as that of twenty-year-old Delara Derabi, who was hanged by the Islamic Republic only six weeks ago. Iran has held mass hangings as recently as May 14th. And given the official death penalty announcement for Mousavi protesters, many more may follow depending on the outcome of current events.

This doesn’t even take into account the fact that many in Iran’s terror-sponsoring Islamist extremist leadership, including ‘moderate’ Hashemi Rafsanjani and recent presidential candidate Mohsen Rezai, former head of Iran’s Revolutionary Guard and former ‘diplomat’ to Argentina, are wanted by Interpol for their involvement in the worst terror attacks in Argentina’s history back in 1994. An Interpol warrant was issued for Rezai as recently as May 22nd.

Here is a piece I wrote back in early March, branding the regime as today’s Third Reich. Look at all the horrific and barbaric evidence of crimes against humanity committed both at home and abroad, and you tell me if I’m overstating the case. Keep also in mind that Hamas and Hezbollah terrorists are now in the streets of Iran, beating and killing the same Iranians who have supported and patronized the Islamist groups for decades.

Taking time out from killing innocent Jews to killing innocent Iranians. No surprise there, since the regime already kills its own people on an assembly line basis. Even bloggers. Given all this brutal evidence of the Iranian thugocracy’s bloody track record which spans the globe, I ask you, Dear Readers of jurisprudence and humble advocates of human rights for all, how was the Islamic Republic of Iran worthy of cultural diplomatic exchange, and South Africa not?

They should be forming Artists United Against Insanity to oppose Iran’s theocratic thugocracy, not flying over for tea, fingers cookies, and film seminars! Disgraceful!

Charges as follows. Bear with me. It’s a longer list than you think.

1. THE FIRST PUNKING OF FAR TOO MANY

Even though AMPAS was promised no politics would be involved in the visit, Team Hollywood was no sooner off the tarmac at Khomeini Airport in Tehran than they were totally punked by the best punks in the world, with harsh demands for apologies and submission by Iranian leaders over the films 300 and The Wrestler, or they wouldn’t get to meet their Iranian film buds. Curiously, Team Oscar was allowed to meet with their Iranian counterparts shortly thereafter. My question to the Academy is this: did they apologize or not?

Iif you recall, what so outraged Iranian government stooges over The Wrestler was Mickey Rourke breaking an Iranian flag and tossing it into the crowd. Deliciously ironic, considering the desecration of our flag is a national sport with the regime. There was also a declaration by Iran’s Foreign Ministry spokesman, Hassan Qashqavi, that thirty films currently in production in Hollywood were ‘anti-Iranian.’

Civilized governments don’t act like that. Yet I broke the punking story in America to Drudge and Nikki Finke because I knew something like that was going to happen. I was looking for it. Hell, the regime has been punking us for thirty years! Ahmadinejad had even said Hollywood was devoid of all culture and art. Something’s Gotta Give. I must admit, however, that maybe Ahmie was onto something with that comment. Never thought I’d agree with anything the Little Hitler said.

Academy politics makes strange bedfellows, I reckon.

That infamous Punking Heard ‘Round the World should have proved to all concerned that President Obama’s attempt at diplomacy through Team Oscar was a horrendous failure, as all other efforts since have been. Like the Khamenei-led Death to America rallies in response to Obama’s peace video. Yet Team Oscar suffered that humiliation and degradation only to suffer many more. And the rest of us, since Team Oscar represented us over there as a nation as well.

Some were even worse, if you can believe it. In short, if somebody wrote a script like this, no one would ever believe it. But I already read the book. Been reading it since 1979.

2. TEAM OSCAR’S STOOGES TRAIN IRAN’S PROPAGANDA STOOGES

Iran ‘film industry’ experts, many of whom Stooge Team Oscar no doubt gave seminars to, gave their own previous film seminars on Iran TV on the Ziono-Hollywoodist conspirators for making such anti-Iranian celluloid slanders as Harry Potter, Chicken Run and Pirates Of The Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest. And let’s not forget the Jew Disney’s cartoon conspiracy, Tom and Jerry. Also deliciously ironic, considering Iran exports child martyrdom cartoons across the Middle East, a business so thriving the BBC called it, in blackly comic Joker-like fashion, ‘booming.’

I can understand the cultural aspect Team Hollywood pursued. I even respect it. But in my opinion, given the circumstances, it was the equivalent of sending a cultural team to Hitler’s Berlin during the Holocaust. The real great Iranian filmmakers were all heel-ground. The ones who aren’t languish in Evin prison or are awaiting kangaroo court religious tribunals, like Iranian-American Esha Momeni, for the celluloid slander of interviewing Iranian women for a womens rights documentary for her master’s degree.

Filmmaker Tehmineh Milani was sentenced to death for her celluloid slander. Again, only international and, in Ms. Milani’s case, even domestic outrage saved her neck from the rope. Another filmmaker, the French-Iranian Mernousche Solouki, was thrown into Evin prison for the crime of stumbling across a mass grave.

Here’s Ms. Solouki’s recounting of the event. She still suffers nightmares from her experience in Evin. I read that, and other horror stories of the Gestapo-like Evin prison when Roxana Saberi was still there. Horrified me. I know her father must have known of that. He’s from Iran. He must know. They all do. I can’t even imagine how he felt with Roxana there. Again, the South Africa analogy.

Yet despite all those goings-on, Annette Bening took time out to tell the world how great women’s rights were in Iran. Which brings us straight to Team Oscar’s next great offense.

3. ROXANA SABERI AND THE SOUND OF SILENCE

Throughout Roxana’s unlawful detention, i.e. hostage status as a political pawn, and bogus conviction on trumped-up espionage charges, Team Oscar couldn’t have been more silent or unheard from than Roxana herself. Not one public message of support for either Roxana or the Academy during her unlawful detention in Evin, never mind anyone else in Hollywood except us right-wing extremists. In fact, the whole human rights-championing left-wing PRAVDA-like MSM and government pulled a complete disappearing act on Roxana right after Hillary demanded her release, like she was bad press for the Obamamessiah to be swept under the rug.

At the time, my linked article above generated twenty times more Google hits than the entire media coverage combined. It’s at over 7300 hits now, more than 100 times the number of hits generated on Google vis-a-vis coverage of Roxana in late March.  I’m still getting hits on it. I don’t think people can believe what they’re seeing still. But I digress. You get the point.

No public statement of support from Team Oscar for Roxana that I can find. Team Oscar member William Horberg’s Iran blog made no mention whatsoever of Roxana’s unlawful captivity, or any plea they might have made on Roxana’s behalf to Iranian authorities. I have to assume none was made. Perhaps the Academy could clear up that matter, too. Inquiring Minds Want To Know.

Knowing the King of Hearts-like unreality that resides in the La La Land of AMPAS HQ, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least to hear any of them claim credit for Roxana’s release in the future, or even for the green revolution going on in Iran today. If they do, just remember Annette praising the regime’s great women’s rights record while Roxana was still in Evin. For starters.

That should clear things up.

What was really depressing to me throughout Roxana’s Hostage Crisis was how few in Hollywood spoke up on her behalf, when no one knew whether she would live or die. That will forever be a black stain on those who profess to be the greatest human rights champs in the world.

4. OF STOOGES FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC

Perhaps the most vocal filmmaker during Team Oscar’s prolonged humiliation in Iran was domestic thugocracy stooge and new Team Oscar BFF Alireza Davudnejad, who wrote an open letter to President Obama claiming that the only road to peace, freedom and justice in this world was for the President to destroy all of America’s nuclear weapons and give up its UN veto.

Mr. Davudnejad also requested a schedule as to when those world-shaking peace, freedom and justice-inducing landmarks would be carried out. This, from a regime that foments war, writes injustice into its penal codes, crushes freedom with an iron boot, and races to build nuclear weapons they swear to Allah and their own people they’ll use on Israel just as soon as they’re built.

Now THAT’S Comedy! Fortunately, the President didn’t fall for it. If he had, it would have been the Punking Of All Time. No punking for Mr. Ali-Duh, but a gold star on the forehead for effort. Mr. Davudnejad did, however, manage to give a closing backhand to his new BFF, Team Oscar:

“My last recommendation is not to follow your previous cultural policies and avoid your Hollywood friends from playing any tricks to dominate the cinemas of Iran. The United States once removed Iranian cinema from the Iranian life with the help of the former dictatorship; and sacrificed our industry with the import of foreign films.

The fallen cinema of Iran has once again regained its footing with the Islamic Revolution and has been fighting to survive for thirty years. We will not forgive the enemies of this cinema wherever they are. By the way, which is harder, to relinquish the veto right, or to forbear the domination of Iran’s cinema again? You have a hard path ahead. I pray for you. Only the right path has no deviation.”

How about neither, Ali-DUH? Over my freakin’ dead body! Go sit on a projector!

By the way, you got all that, Sid, Annette, and the rest of you Ziono-Hollywoodist conspirators? No more tricks! Or they won’t even let you apologize next time!

Q. What was the difference between Team Oscar and Ali-Duh in Iran?

A. He’s a domestic film industry stooge.

Yet another degrading episode Team Oscar let slide. I guess they’re more on the M side of S&M. Seeing as they represented all of us in a diplomatic capacity, so were we. How does it feel? Mr. Ganis also stood by for yet another punking by the Director of Iran’s House of Cinema, one of many he seemed unfazed by. Some people are just gluttons for punishment, I guess.

As a comic relief sidebar, the culture ministers who approved Team Oscar’s trip were summoned before an angry Majlis, Iran’s parliament, to explain who let the Great Satan into their pure Islamist paradise. But that’s how it goes. Nobody is safe in Punkedville. Even the punks! No word on if the ministers apologized, but it was rumored Mr. Ganis couldn’t find his ministerial escort anywhere.

Hell, they’re the liberals in Iran! Fuggeddaboutit!

5. THE BURQA BABES OF BABYLON

It would seem that, as Team Oscar was reeling from their hot-off-the-tarmac punking, the Mad Mullahs used the opportunity to wrap up the goils like mummies in burqas. They may call it a fashion statement or cultural sensitivity, but why didn’t they make a bold statement by wearing Western dress the whole time, instead of looking like every other oppressed woman in Iran?

6. THE GENOCIDE PRIDE PARADES, or BOY, CAN THESE GUYS THROW AN O-BASH!

On March 6th, the same day Iranian authorities promised to release Roxana Saberi ’soon’ after SOS Clinton’s demand the day before, news broke of the ICC warrant issued for Sudan’s genocidal leader, General Omar Bashir. It was an insult, an offense and a crime against humanity (Majlis Speaker Lari Alijani’s words, not mine) against the Iranian regime’s BFF O-Bash.

In response, the entire upper leadership of Iran’s thugocracy, along with their Islamist Gestapo Blackshirt stooges from Hamas and Hezbollah (the same ones beating and killing Mousavi protesters this week), took to the streets of Tehran AND Khartoum, the very streets where the genocide was and is being committed to this day, to throw genocide parades for human vampire and Dear Leader Bashir.

Now, what should you do if you know your host country is officially celebrating the most abominable crime known to man in the streets below your gilded cages? Do you a. speak up in outrage? Do you b. hightail it out of Dodge as fast as you can? My answers are a and b. Team Oscar’s appears to have been c. keep the tea and finger cookies coming, Ahmie! Now I don’t know the law in that situation, so maybe some fine Hollywood lawyer could tell me. Is that being silent accomplices?

See, I believe genocide parades are a crime in themselves, as though other nations were celebrating Hitler in the streets of Berlin and their own streets, had Hitler been charged by the League of Nations for genocide during the Holocaust. But that’s just me.

SUBPLOT: I just read that O-Bash flew to Zimbabwe on June 10th. He’s wanted for genocide. Why is he being allowed to fly all over Africa and the Middle East with impunity? What, we don’t have aircraft carriers out there that could send up a couple fighter jets to escort Blacula to justice?

7. AHMADINEJAD’S WILLIE HORTONS

As a bonus, highlighted by Ahmadinejad’s condemnation of Hollywood as devoid of culture and art, and followed up by the summoning of ministers to the Majlis over Team Oscar’s invite, both Ahmadinejad and Supreme Asswipe Khamenei used Team Oscar as their Willie Horton in the recent elections. You know. Who let the Great Satan in?

So rather than fostering a liberalization of Iran, as they no doubt naively thought, they instead served as a political tool with which hardliners could beat moderates over the head with. Considering the extreme Islamist nature of Iranian politics (as least last week), they made the situation for moderates even worse. The only thing they didn’t appear to do was make the political ads themselves. But they did train the propaganda stooges who no doubt made any, if any were made.

Damage done either way. Hooray For Hollywood!

THAT’S A WRAP!

I suppose I could rummage for even more egregious offenses, and glaring or willfully blind oversights. But I have far more than enough to convict. If you seek more for purely historical reference, feel free to check all my linked articles above. You’ll find ‘em. My problem was trying to choose which offenses and oversights to pick from.

WILLIAM HORBERG FOR THE DEFENSE

Currently posted at the Academy website is the following prosaic account by William Horberg of Team Oscar’s late-term abortion of a trip to Iran: The Road To Isfahan. Let’s hear what he has to say in Team Oscar’s defense before we stone them. That may seem predicative of the outcome, but remember, these offenses took place in Iran. Islamist extremist rules apply. Got it now?

Actually, just check the link above. We’ll stone ‘em now and rule ‘em guilty later. I mean, come on people. Given the evidence, they may as well have been jumping up and down and screaming “Jehovah!” Time to get stoned. And if you’ve misplaced yours, here’s another one.

IN CLOSING

Now, I fully condemn the shooting of Dr. Tiller by lone madman Scott Roeder in Kansas, as all right-minded human beings should. But I would fully endorse the shooting of whatever single-digit IQ Academy PR doctors were behind this afterbirth. They Shoot Horses’ Asses In Hollywood, Don’t They? If anyone at the Academy had any brains, they’d be stocking up on ammunition like a right-wing extremist Timothy McVeigh-like Montana militia for that very purpose right now!

QUALIFIER: Yes, I’m kidding. No need to call DHS just yet, thank you very much. Besides, you’re as likely to find a gun at Academy HQ as you are a hymen on Heidi Fleiss.

Despite the current brain-dead off-the cliff lemming leadership at AMPAS today, I love film. I love Hollywood I even love the Academy Of Motion Picture Arts And Sciences. Always have. Broke my heart to declare war on them. I even told them so. But all the above is Casus Belli. Gloves are off.

The blackest irony of all? I was in the middle of writing a loving screwball comedy tribute to Oscar when the news of their trip broke! By the way, I even warned them that if they tried giving all this Iran shite the Red Carpet treatment, I’d pull the rug out from under them. And I know and they know I’ve caused a lot of PR damage already over their Iran trip, both here at Big Hollywood and elsewhere.

My Iran opeds since the PUNK’D piece on Nikki Finke February 28th are pushing 30,000 hits at one blog alone. Can’t anyone in this business keep their mouth shut? How stupid can you be? Are they total masochistic gluttons for punishment? Oh yeah, I already covered that. Drop that last one off at the Department of Redundancy Department, LOL! In the meantime, I’ll do my best to have the Nine Stooges ejected off the Academy board and into the Pacific.

Now, I’ve had some very juicy tastes of Tinseltown. The Red Carpet A-List circuit in Beverly Hills and Los Angeles. I’m not a Guild Member, but my first screenplay got a number of finalist nods from some of the toughest Emmy-winning and Oscar-nominated contest judges in Hollywood. And I got an option with it. I got some chops. And I’ve only gotten better over the years through hard work, practice and learning. I know that because industry pros doing my coverage told me so.

But you know what? As much as I wanted to trash that story and never write another word in screenplay format again, I love that script. Put a lot of love and time into it. Think it’s my best work so far. So does my writing partner. In fact, I’m going to finish that script very shortly. And I’m going to finish it in the spirit in which I started: with love, tenderness and affection, even towards Academy members I wrote into the script with boundless love that I totally detest now.

How? I call it professional detachment. Like sniping Nazis as I lovingly listen to Mozart. Best of, worst of. I don’t let politics poison my scripts. I’ll leave the Lefties to do that. I’d rather not bomb at the box office. And I’ll have coverage done by someone I know and trust networked into the industry like a spiderweb. If I get a nearly impossible grade of RECOMMEND and it doesn’t move, I know my self-inflicted film industry Hiroshima is complete.

But you know what, people? I’ll take as many of them with me as I can, just like the wounded Mickey Rooney in Ambush Bay offering Japanese soldiers pineapples. He had plenty for everybody. Point being, I won’t stand for this crap and let it slide just to sell a script. This matter goes way beyond film to me. Look at it this way. AMPAS spends four hours championing gay rights at the last Oscars, then flies off to Iran to give that gay-butchering regime its gold-plated PR kiss, even praising women’s rights in the most violently misogynist regime on earth? STUFF IT!

God, how I wished I lived in the era of the Hollywood of an earlier day, when the top stars flocked to the service of their country, instead of the service of thuggish and violent dictators like Chavez, Castro and Ahmadinejad. By the way, Sean Penn holds the Trifecta of Shame on that one.

Let me be explicitly clear that I believe extreme left-wing morons like Sean Penn, Danny Glover and Harry “Bananas” Belafonte are the minority in Hollywood. Squeaky left-wing wheels get all the grease. I know a lot of great people in the industry personally. And I can’t praise highly enough Angelina Jolie, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Mia Farrow, Jim Carrey, Gary Sinise, Robert Davi and so many great USO supporters like Saddam million dollar bounty-offering Bruce Willis, Scarlett Johansson, Jack Black and Ben Stiller.

There are really too many to name. But you know who they are. As to the distinct minority, I will quote my former Obama-like governor and liberal tank commander Michael Dukakis for the first time in my life: “A fish rots from the head down.”

Tom Hanks dares to call gay marriage opponents un-American? Well, if President Obama, most Americans and 52% of Californians are un-American for not supporting gay marriage, what is Tom Hanks and the rest of the Motion Picture Asylum guilty of for signing off on a trip to a regime that hunts gays online, raids gay parties, tortures them horribly and then hangs them from crane wires to die agonizing deaths that can take up to an hour, as they did with two gay teenage boys?

There’s too much blanket idiocy in Hollywood. Megan Fox, jokingly telling the Transformers to take out all the white trash to save the earth, the irony totally lost on her. The Twitter crowd at afterellen.com. Like Adrianne Curry, who calls Prop 8 a human rights offense, but remains dead silent on the holocausts against LGBTs in Iran and Iraq. Why isn’t Dustin Lance Black screaming to the skies about this stuff? I couldn’t find any evidence of him opposing the AMPAS Iran trip on purely humanitarian grounds. WHY NOT?

No. I, a straight conservative Republican screenwriter, offended to my very core by the savagery of Shiite extremist gay death squads in Iran and Iraq, have to be the one screaming to the skies about LGBT terrorists who engage in atrocities even the Nazis can’t compare to. Like super-gluing gay men’s anuses shut and pumping them full of diarrhea cocktails so the gay killers, some on our tax dime, can catch a few pious laughs as their victims endure unimaginable agony before dying.

No. I am left with the dirty jobs and lonely tasks of networking REAL gay advocates like Michael Petrelis and the Gay Patriot blog over these inhuman gay horrorshows. I am the one who has to research and dispatch gruesome reports to sites like BestGayBlogs.com, and LGBT orgs all over the globe like LGBT Network EU. I am the one left to scrape around for signatures on petitions at Iranian Queer Railroad and Iraqi LGBT to save the lives of Iranian and Iraqi LGBTs, who live in fear of torture and unimaginable horrors the incredibly spoiled toddler-like Hollywood Leftie morons and unmarried gays of California will never know.

As a screenwriter, I now know what it feels like to work under an offensive and idiotic oligarchy that is totally brain-dead and out of touch with the realities of the world at large, and those whom they profess to lead. In that respect, though I do not agree with them, I now understand the passionate outrage Lefties felt during the reign of the Bushitler. Like Michael Moore’s and Al Franken’s bloviations during that dark time, I do not expect my heated rants to impact my Golden Bubble-insulated industry oligarchy one whit.

In fact, I fully expect it to to earn me black marks and disfavor, the full McCarthy treatment they so profess to detest, yet practice every goddamn day. Ron Silver, anyone? But like the aforementioned Twin Towers of Leftie-ism, I care not one whit what the ruling establishment thinks. My anger is righteous and justified. In fact, it could not be moreso. What’s happening in Iran and Iraq are de facto gay genocides. What cause could be more righteous than trying to stop those?

Screw sexual conduct! They’re innocent human beings targeted for extermination. They don’t deserve that barbaric treatment. No one does, except the blood-drinking Islamist Gestapo stooges that are doing it all! If that revolution in Iran goes through and the people win, somebody Tweet them to hang on to all the crane wires. They’re gonna need a lot. For the Hamas and Hezbollah Blackshirts, too.

If my harsh words mean my film career is dead, so be it. In fact, if I came to Hollywood for no other reason than to address the horrific hypocrisy of so-called gay and human rights champs who are anything but (some like Bening and Penn even extremely damaging to those they don the mantle of Human Rights Champs for), or to champion the cause of Iraqi and Iranian LGBTs unlike any cause I’ve ever championed based on purely humanistic outrage, then I will feel that my life will have had meaning.

If I have helped to save the life of only one Iraqi or Iranian gay, I have saved the world entire. I can go to my grave totally at peace with myself. If I must bury my screenwriting career ahead of me, this is a small price to pay. So many others, like those now on the streets of Iran fighting and dying for the freedoms that are as natural to us as breathing, or risk brutal torture and horrific death merely for sexual conduct or being raped, are paying far higher prices than we most likely ever will.

In closing, I am resigning from Big Hollywood. I came here on a mission nearly four months ago to bring attention to all I have highlighted above. All the in-between was a bonus. And I do have a comedy piece in the hopper, which is rare for me. Haven’t had much to laugh about lately. Which is why I want to return full-time to screenwriting as well. There’s enough tragedy on Planet Earth. If I can use my award-nominated humor to inspire laughter and comic relief, then that is my main mission now. The rest I leave to the card deck of fate.

If I return, it will be in the cause of those who cannot speak for themselves. There is no shortage of hacks and pundits flame-throwing politics these days, and there are far too many not flame-throwing at all on issues that should enrage them beyond measure. As I am enraged today. Certainly beyond politics.

I do not need anger management. Like Johnny Rotten sang with Public Image Limited, Anger is an Energy. Righteous anger is what freed South Africa. Righteous anger fills the streets of Tehran as we speak. Righteous anger is why we Americans no longer say to each other, “G’day, Mate! ‘Ow about a pint and some bangers and mash? Got some up in me lorry! God Bless the Queen!”

In closing, God Bless The Queen anyway. And God Bless America. I say that as an agnostic secularist, okay? It’s good luck! And may God look down a lot more kindly on the poor LGBTs in Iran and Iraq. Perhaps, if there is a God, and I’m hedging my bets here, I hope his hand is in events in Iran. Maybe with a youth-driven revolution, LGBTs, filmmakers. students, dissidents, bloggers, and raped women need not fear for their lives anymore, or offered the choice of castration or death if they wish to remain gay.

What? Did you think Ahmadinejad was kidding when he said there were no gays in Iran? He said it with the same certainty Hitler said there were no Jews in Germany. The discussion is moot. I really hope to God that changes, as Iran itself seems to be right now.

We do, however, have a most powerful hand in Iraq. The gay killings must stop. The gay death squads must be disbanded with an iron fist. Just like Al Qaeda. Or, to tell the truth, I don’t care if Al Qaeda takes the place over. I would feel the same way if I were in West Berlin in 1947 and the locals were still hunting down and killing Jews. Let the Red Army move in.

Uncle Joe, they’re all yours! Bin Laden, they’re all yours! Let them ALL share in the terror they love with a religious fervor! OR, they can wise up and join the human race. If not, screw ‘em. Let ‘em go back to Al Qaeda torture houses and eating bombs for breakfast. I may not be gay myself. No, really. But must one be Jewish to be totally repulsed by Auschwitz?

Good Luck and Good Night, all. Peace. I hope

Zed (Jack Black) and Oh (Michael Cera) play hunter-gatherer cavemen who don’t quite fit in with their small tribe. Both are clumsy, intensely disliked and in unrequited love with a couple of lovely cavewomen. After Zed breaks rule number one and tastes the forbidden fruit, he’s exiled. For some reason, Oh follows along and they set off on a series of tedious antics involving Biblical characters, the city of Sodom and whole lot of wondering as to what director Harold Ramis, the genius behind “Groundhog Day,” “Analyze This,” “Caddyshack” and “Vacation,” was thinking.

Judd Apatow is one of the producers, so that explains the overlong scenes full of unfunny, self-indulgent ad-libbing, but there’s practically no story. Like a foul-mouthed, sex-obsessed Bing Crosby and Bob Hope, the duo heads off on the Road to Interminable drifting from one “comedic” set up to the next riffing along the way in that annoying, hesitant-enhanced, post-modernspeak that passes for clever dialogue nowadays: “Yeah, I know, but … you know, if you were … because I could … and then we would – you know what, forget it.”

Beyond plodding, many of the individual scenes are also choppy. Scenes end abruptly as though what the makers had on film was so bad there was no other choice. The whole affair reeks of sloppy, laziness or plain old poor planning that couldn’t be salvaged in the editing room.

The timespan of the film makes little sense. Our protagonists start out in prehistoric times but then walk their way into the Old Testament era of Cain, Abel and Abraham. I bought it, but those of you who didn’t skip World History to smoke Newports and listen to Led Zeppelin might find it jarring.

In many ways, “Year One” most resembles Mel Brooks’ “History of the World: Part 1 (1981),” but one of those ways is that neither is a very good movie. As far as any talk about how the film mocks the Bible… The satire is silly, not mean-spirited, so some effort would have to go into being offended.

If you’re desperate for prehistoric antics this weekend, Netflix Ringo Starr’s “Caveman” (1981). It’s no classic, but there are at least a half-dozen laughs (six more than you’ll find in “Year One”) and Ringo’s wife, Bond-babe Barbara Bach, will help you to forget all about the comedic lulls.