Review: “Handicapped…Accessible?”

Brilliant filmmaker Michael Moore taught us to hate the greedy executives at GM, to hate the NRA and perhaps most eloquently, to hate those self important “soldiers” who died grisly deaths on the Iraqi battlefield. Now, in “Handicapped…accessible?” he goes after, with hyena-like intensity, the legacy of another American villain, the late Christopher Reeve.

Finally someone has the balls to expose the selfishness and pomposity of Reeve, his media-whore wife, Dana Reeve, the handicapped lobby, and perhaps most convincingly, physically and mentally handicapped people themselves.

Was Reeve’s paralyzing 1990 fall at Churchill Downs really an “accident”? Careful review and re-editing of the footage from that day suggest an element of deliberateness. It is also interesting how little information was given about this fall. A little digging on Moore’s part strongly implicates Dick Cheney, Charleton Heston, and perhaps even Hillary Duff in this so-called “accident.”

But in classic Moore fashion, “La Michael” hardly stops at Reeve. He leverages his usual combination of cunning, clever stunts, and relentlessness to uncover the truth that they don’t want us to see. Did you know, for example, that when dumped off of their wheelchairs, many allegedly “handicapped” persons are capable of some mobility, at least for a second or two? Or that severely retarded children are nearly as capable of self defense as other children when threatened with imminent death? To make matters worse, Moore ensemble players Susan Sarandon and Jeannine Garofolo must put up with police harassment while trying to help Moore prove these points.

Perhaps most compelling is the interview with Reeves himself, vintage Moore from start to finish. In this relentless, multi-hour interrogation, Moore gets at the truth under Reeves motionless exterior through a combination of combativeness, physical intimidation, and threats to Reeve and his family members. The result is impressive to say the least: tearful confessions from the paralyzed fraud just before he lapses into a stress induced coma (as an interesting footnote, Reeves never again regained consciousness).

With Reeve dispatched, Moore is free to go after his widow, who apparently had much to gain from Reeve’s mishap. As passionate and dedicated filmmaker as exists today, Moore stops at nothing to score the ultimate coup d’etat: a deathbed interrogation of wife Dana.

In a section of the film filled with dramatic intensity, Moore races against the clock to catch up with and ultimately destroy Dana before she expires from lung cancer. As expected, by the time the interview is over, we wonder how real this “cancer” is, particularly after Mrs. Reeves seems no worse even when her oxygen supply is cut off.

The film ends with an interesting epilogue: Moore openly questions the deaths of both Reeves, noting that the aforementioned Hillary Duff enjoyed unprecedented access to their bodies before cremation. Why is this? To put their money where their mouth is, Moore, Sarandon and Garofolo visit and desecrate the graves of the couple, a scene which at first seems unnecessarily scatological, but ultimately quite thought provoking.

This film is an inspired coup. Some may agree or disagree, but all will think twice before they write their next check to the Multiple Sclerosis Society or even hold a door open for a child in a wheelchair. I can barely wait for next fall, when Moore takes on those “starving” Africans.

Review: Schindler’s List 2

Yo homey, get yo ass down the multiplex to catch “Schindler’s List 2”, the blacktastic sequel to Spielberg’s multiple Oscar winning masterpiece.

Despite box office success, critical praise and academy awards, “Schindler’s List” was obviously remiss in its lack of African American characters and failure to adequately capture the lifestyle of the black urban superpimp in Nazi Germany. Consequently, studio research found that few African Americans saw the film, limiting its potential to extend into theme park rides, licensed toys, video games, etc.

“Schindler’s List 2” solves the problem by introducing the character of Coolie Williams (Chris Rock), a German nigga’ whose pimpin’ livelihood is threatened by the encroaching Nazi regime. Coolie suffers multiple indignities at the hands of The Man, in this case SS troops who hassle his Jewish, Gypsy, and other minority hos. In one of the most moving sequences in the film, the homophobia of the Nazi regime is brought to vivid life when storm troopers burst in on Coolie’s lesbian hot tub fourway, arresting all participants. But fortunately, not before we get to enjoy a 30 minute scene involving baby oil, strap-on dildoes (wooden of course, given that this is 1939), and vibrators (coal-powered of course, again this is 1939). What makes this scene all the more amazing is the fact that it takes place on a cattle car headed to Aushwitz, one of many notes of historical authenticity permeating the film.

After arriving at the Nazi concentration camp, Rock joins forces with Princess Chocolate (Starr Jones), former #1 ho to Joseph Goebbels, to battle rival Nazi pimp Gunter Hergen (the riveting Kevin Federline) for control of the lucrative hooker and heroine trade at the Nazi death camp.

I certainly don’t want to give away much more, but potential critics can relax: there are ample boodilicious black chicks, a satisfyingly blaring rap soundtrack, and enough gang fights and bloodletting to satisfy even the most discerning gangsta cineaste. A few other big pluses: the sex scenes, as I’ve noted, are frequent, explicit, and lengthy; the costume design is inspired, with most of the imprisoned characters dripping with blinding gold bling and enough velvet and fur to warm an entire city; and there is a virtually endless parade of pimped out Nazi-era rides, like Princess Chocolate’s 1932 hot pink Duesenberg, complete with crushed velvet breakfast nook.

So this reviewer hopes yo bitch ass enjoys “Schindler’s List 2”, a moving and inspiring new masterpiece that now can be truly appreciated by black muthafuckas everywhere. And I look forward to the superpimp version of the Armenian Genocide of 1915, from MTV films this fall.

Field of Dreams 2: Field of Screams

“Field of Screams”, where Kevin Costner must kill each ghost of the 1919 Chicago White Sox before finally offing the spectre of the father that brutally molested him as a child, is vastly more emotionally authentic than the weak and minor original. And one obvious problem is solved in the opening credits: the original films’ excised strap on dildo sequence has been digitally restored and inserted in a way that feels completely organic and seamless.

“If you build it, they will come”, Costner once again hears voices and this time they want him to kick some baseball ghost ass. Before long, he’s built another baseball diamond in his back yard that quickly becomes a deliciously satisfying killing fields.

Director McG not only knows rap, hardcore sex and nudity, he knows graphically violent horror flicks. In a nice touch, each of the Chicago White Sox, from Shoeless Joe to “Lefty” Williams , soon appear, but now with a special power that makes destroying them that much tougher. To kill them, Costner must execute an elaborate dismemberment ritual, including beheading and castration - an exercise in gore that makes “Kill Bill” look like Sesame Street. But watching each Soxer die in blood spewing agony is supremely satisfying - because as we all know, all these guys were cheating, game throwing little fuckers in the first place.

Asia Carrera (“Best of China Vagina”, “Chew Mai Asian Pussy”) replaces the mousy Amy Madigan as Costner’s wife. She spices up the original yawnfest by inviting the dead players’ hot wives inside the farmhouse for a different kind of recreation with the team’s baseball bat. With Asia distracting the wives, Costner is free to stalk the blood drenched baseball field, dispatching the team with a combination of spiked nunchucks, a farm plow, and a woodchipper.

I can see where the battle between Costner and his father earns the movie its NC-17 rating. I don’t want to give away too much, but let’s just say this scene of poetic justice includes key elements of films like “Caligula” and “Star 80.” It will have every member of the audience cheering, at least as soon as they’re done becoming violently ill.

Congrats to McG, for replacing the tepid, effete original with a movie with some real balls (no pun intended). For he truly knows what makes a great American movie: porn stars, stomach churning special effects, and a hip soundtrack filled with moving favorites from the likes of Jay Z, Paris Hilton, and Tenacious D.

Sneak Preview: Quentin Tarantino’s “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix”

After coming out of an advanced screening of the fourth Harry Potter film, I can honestly say that Quentin Tarantino has truly “aged up” this sagging franchise. “Order of the Phoenix” is an exploding whirligig of blood, human waste, and sexual emissions that may alienate a few die hard fans but is sure to bring millions more into the fray.

New cast members initiate the transformation: Michael Jackson is perfectly cast as the new headmaster of Hogwarts. His transformation of this legendary school of magic into a carnal playground filled with cross dressing Sinhalese male prostitutes is just what the doctor ordered. And Jenna Jameson delivers a spellbinding performance as Headmistress McGonagall, replacing Maggie Smith, who basically dialed in this role in previous installments.


Of course, Harry, Ron and Hermoine are all grown up now, and Tarantino takes great pains to make this point. The quadruple penetration scene (professor Dumbledore and Hagrid help out), punctuated with an explicit human sacrifice, erases any memory of the giggling prebubescent teens of “Harry Potters” past. Plus, it’s probably one of the most interesting opening credits that I’ve seen in a while.

Plot elements are hip and topical: Muslim terrorists run rampant through the school; Mel Gibson appears, spewing anti-Semitic expletives; Hermoine becomes a rabid anti-abortionist, then a white supremacist, then reverses course and uses her magic to perform abortions and disembowel racists; Dumbledore has a raging meth problem.

And we finally see Harry consummate his relationship with Hooter, his owl. In this richly satisfying sequence, Harry and Hooter perform a coital ballet that covers everything from brown showers to fisting to Dirty Sanchezes. . The scene is a bit awkward at first, but completely engrossing by the time its 70 minutes are played out. Best of all, anatomically correct camera angles make it hot, and opera music in the background makes it classy. PETA activists made a fuss when it was revealed that a real owl was used in this scene. However, I doubt the owl was harmed in any way, he in fact looked like he was rather enjoying himself. And as for the gerbil, I doubt that he was anything more than slightly bruised and a bit dehydrated.

I don’t want to talk too much about the controversial finale, except to confirm that yes, persons with heart problems and pregnant women should probably skip it. I have also heard that cuts will be made so that the film can be viewed by all audiences, vs. the death row inmates for whom it has been exclusively approved for viewing thus far. For my money, I believe that only one of the five extended anal rape sequences needs to be cut to get to an NC-17 rating.

Harry Potter and friends have truly grown up, and the franchise is ready to be embraced by tweens everywhere. If you don’t believe me, check out next years’ junior high school fashions – I’ll just bet they’ll include more than a few Satanic genital tattoos and swastika’d strap on dildos. See the movie and you’ll know what I mean!

“World Trade Center”, the new romantic comedy from Paramount Pictures, is easily this years “You’ve Got Mail”. Hollywood has finally recognized that the dramatic events of September 11th provide the perfect backdrop for amusing romantic misunderstandings, flirtatious battles of the sexes, and yes, even a few tastefully rendered fart jokes.

There are so many things about this film to admire that I scarcely know where to begin. Firstly, the chemistry between JAP-py Flight 93 passenger Jackie Goldin (a winsome Kate Hudson) and bumbling hijacker Mohammad Atta (Ben Affleck) is completely enchanting. From the moment they “meet cute” (he holds a knife against her throat while threatening her in Farsi; her Pomeranian pees on his box cutter), we see the spark of attraction, and are rooting for these two kids through the whole movie. Adding to the fun is the performance of Dakota Fanning as the adorable but sassy moppet that brings them together. A clever counterbalance is provided by Rosie O'Donnell, Jackie's bitchy best friend who has reservations about the budding relationship and is not afraid to voice them, in frank and often hilarious fashion. And, the scene where the two lovers join the mile high club is nothing short of hot.


But “World Trade Center” recognizes that drama was also occurring back on the ground on September 11th. The goings on in the Twin Towers are engagingly brought to life by Kathy Griffin and Queen Latifah, two sous chefs at Windows of the World, fighting over sexy firefighter Hugh Grant. If you’re like me, you can never get enough of Grant’s foppish, stammering charm, displayed here in full force. And their threeway in the restaurant’s back kitchen is genuinely hot.


The trilogy of romantic entanglements is completed by none other than Shirley MacLaine, a Pentagon general who must guide America through its greatest crisis, while sparring with ex-husband and National Security chief Jack Nicholson. As the seriousness of the situation dawns on these characters, their sarcastic wit grows to match it. The comic timing of these two pros is impeccable, and MacLane belts out yet another memorable performance that makes you almost forget you’re sitting through the ultimate chick flick. And who says you can’t be sexy even at 90+?

To finish this spicy concoction off, the film contains many authentic and respectful touches. It remains fairly faithful to Nora Ephron's 2001 book upon which it is based. And, members of families killed on September 11th are included as back-up singers in the film's theme song, a bouncy anthem reminiscent of Katrina and the Waves' "Walking on Sunshine".

All I can say is, watch out, “When Harry Met Sally”! “World Trade Center” is the new one to beat, at least until this holiday season, when Kate Hudson, leader of the Knesset, trades barbs with Hezbollah strong man Hugh Grant, in “Take a Left at Gaza”.


Parents guide: This charming romantic caper is rated NC-17, due to graphic and disturbing violence, strong sexual content, full frontal nudity, and an extended genital torture sequence that may disturb children under six.