Baseball, hot dogs and Ray Charles on the 4th

Happy Fourth of July, everyone. I've been laying low since that paranormal investigation thing I wasn't joking about last post. Met a spirit named Margie still hanging around the storage area of Dave's Aqua Lounge in St. Pete, thanks to a group of ghost hunters I'll be writing about soon.

Margie doesn't agree with me on The Blair Witch Project, either.

Anyway, while I'm waiting to see if Joey Chestnut can hold off Kobayashi two years in a row at the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest at Coney Island -- bless you, ESPN -- I wanted to share something.

Last year, Spears and I had a Fourth of July blog battle about the most patriotic 80's movies (he really IS stuck, isn't he?). I picked The Right Stuff and he chose, ahem, Red Dawn. Needless to say, we didn't discuss any rematch this year.

So, I thought I'd present my favorite patriotic movie scene to honor the occasion. Enjoy.

Dewayne Staats is a very funny guy

Sorry, I confused the Tampa Bay Rays broadcaster with Rainn Wilson, who I had planned to see tonight in The Rocker, which looks like This is Spinal Tap crossed with School of Rock and Dwight Shrute's deadpan dumb.

A few funny things happened on the way to walking out of the theater.

I'm home watching the Rays leading the Dead Sox now, which is where I'd prefer to be. If The Rocker were opening soon, and if the p.r. guy hadn't told me there will be plenty of screenings between now and whenever it does, I'd still be in the theater now instead of hearing Staats' rimshot humor.

(Big thanks to Worth1000.com for the image from Yahoo)

The theater tonight was in a different place that isn't used to hosting advance screenings. I should've known better when the usual studio monitor for such screenings dished it off to someone else.

He and his helpers honestly did a fine job -- and regular readers know that I don't mind complaining when they don't -- but something just told me that watching the Rays would be a better use of my time. Then I told Princess Di and she, of course, agreed. I like that in a wife.

Anyway, we were convinced when latecomers wondering why some seats were reserved for, oh, media types, screening sponsors, you know, the folks who are the reason why anyone is getting a free movie. I've said as much at screenings before but tonight it would've felt like kicking a puppy.

Nice folks, I'm sure. And maybe it's the fact that Di and I were the only two people in a prime section of seats roped off for 40 or so rumps that made me a bit self-conscious.

After listening to people scared of walking into a packed theater, and pronouncing "reserved" phonetically from signs, and loudly announcing after a cell phone call that the folks they're saving seats for are still at Home Depot, and watching people leave because they were only there for the t-shirts they didn't get, and the baby toted to an R-rated comedy, and the eyeballs aimed at those 38 or so vacant seats, plus a few more tips, I figured we'd catch The Rocker another time.

Besides, I have a paranormal investigation at my favorite dive bar tomorrow night until Dunkin Donuts baking time Thursday. I need my rest.

Does this mean no Cop and a Half 2?

You probably heard that a bunch of new laws went into effect today: motorcycle safety courses for license applicants, higher parking ticket fines, the one declaring Fridays as wet t-shirt optional work days.

I made up that last one.

Anyway, one I'm writing about is the cutbacks in Florida's incentive program that helps to entice film, TV and commercial production in the Sunshine State. Last year's kitty of $25-million were divided among such productions as Marley and Me starring Jennifer Aniston, the USA network series Burn Notice, the comedy Misconceptions filmed in Pinellas County, etc.

Now that fund has been slashed to $5-million for the 2008-2009 fiscal calendar. Suddenly Florida won't seem like such an attractive location for productions that can go elsewhere -- Georgia and Louisiana are growing players -- and save more money.

Don't think that the state film office is just handing out free money. Productions earn rebates of up to 22 percent for their in-state spending; hiring local talent before and behind the cameras, taking rooms at hotels, eating at restaurants, etc.  St. Petersburg/Clearwater film commissioner Jennifer Parramore says the paperwork proves that whatever the fund rebates is earned back by Floridians at a 7-to-1 ratio.

So, last year's $25-million incentives fund put $175-million into Floridians' pockets. That's a lot of income to lose in these tough times.

The cut in funding is due to the same reasons why you're probably not spending as much these days. Thanks to Florida's balanced budget requirements, such cuts have been necessary nearly from top to bottom. But that also means that if/when the economy bounces back, the film/TV subsidies program should quickly bounce back with it.

At least that's what the state film commissioner and Gov. Charlie Crist's deputy press secretary told me. I'll let you know when the story's ready for publication online and in the Times.

Fan mail from some flounder

This is how I love starting off Monday morning, reading a long, angry e-mail composed late the previous night, from a reader saying I'm not worth paying attention to. That makes sense.

Anyway, I thought I'd pass it along verbatim. The spelling/capitalization/punctuation mistakes and poor sentence structures may be attributed to the reader's obvious distaste for teachers. The ugly tone may reflect his noted affection for Cloverfield:

"A  few  years  ago  you  wrote  a  piece,  (why  your  editor  lets  you  is  a  mystery)  scolding  the  cinema  goers  that  weekend  of  going  to  see  a  film  to  which  you  had  given  a  bad  review.

I  wrote  to  you  then  explaining  to  you  that  the  people  who  go  to  movies, (mostly  kids)  neither  read  or  care  about  your  negative  prattling.  They  will  go  and  see  whatever  they  want,  and  do. That  is  also  the  same  time  we  found  out  you  used  to  be  a  teacher,  explains  a  lot  that  one.

To  my  amazement  they  let  you do  it  again,  except  this  time  praising  the  theatre  going  public,  of  which  you  seem  to  think  you  have  so  much  power  over,  for  staying  away  from  an  obviously  crappy  movie. (blogger's note: The Love Guru)

'Well  done'  you  congratulated  them,  yeah  it  was  all  you  steve,  not  the  economy,  not  the  war,  not  the fact  that  is  summer  time  and  our  choices  are  many. No  it  was  you  steve,  you  wield  the  power.  So  it  is  that  your  Editor  allows  you  to  languish  in  your  own  arrogance  by  letting  you  write  about  it.

"My  faith  is  restored."

How  to  write  a  review,,I  do/  do  not  like  this  film,  depending  on  whom  I  am  pandering  to  that  week,(Tina  fey),  now  here  is  what  happens  exactly  in  the  film.

You  are  too  ignorant  to  include  spoiler  alerts  for  every  film  you  ruin. Wow,  did  you  go  to  film  school,  or  were  you  just  some  teacher.

'Lost  sense  of  direction.' (Blogger's note: published Sunday) At  least  most  of  those  directors  made  one  or  two  great  movies,  but  the  blair  witch  project,  are  you  kidding,  that  piece  of  kings  new  clothes  bandwagon  bullshit  doesn't  even  deserve  to  be  on  the  same  page  as  the  Deer  Hunter,  cloverfield anyone,  which  you  reviewed,  as  bad,  hmmm.

Rollerball just  another  hokey  violent  seventies  movie,  your  words,  until  Norman  Jewison  comes  to  the  clearwater  film  festival (blogger's note: It was Sarasota),  and  suddenly  you're  all  over  him. When  was  the  last  time  you  actually  watched  the  original  Rollerball? You  are  crap,  and  I  will  be  watching  you.

Oh, and  by  the  way,  GET  OFF  THE  TV,  IS  THAT  A  LIVER  THING  OR  WHAT,  I'M  TRYING  TO  EAT.

JOHN  E.  STERLING.

Thanks for your input, although your name is the only thing I read that's Sterling.

WALL-E: Concession stand enemy No. 1

I can't imagine what parents will think, watching WALL-E with the kids while munching on over-sized, overpriced popcorn and soda pop. They may grab the leftovers and ask for a partial refund.

WALL-E gets into an interesting angle that director Andrew Stanton (Finding Nemo) doesn't mine deeply enough. Seven hundred years from now, humans have polluted Earth so badly that they're exiled on a luxury space cruise. WALL-E, as you must know from Disney's hype, is the last working robot janitor scraping up garbage, and compacting into squares stacked like skyscrapers.

Meanwhile, humans in space are grossly gravity-challenged, the proper nomenclature for fat. Not just fat but lay-like-a-tortoise-after-falling kind of fat, with atrophied toes from lack of walking. Their cruise includes "regenerative food buffets," and hover-loungers that must be operating in overdrive to hover.

Stanton doesn't wallow in fat gags but doesn't do much else with an allegory as right-now as fast food service. I think back to that brilliant montage in Over the Hedge, when R.J. the raccoon explained the suburban food chain and all its waste. WALL-E needs something like that outsider's voice -- about the obesity thing and the pollution factor -- but the robot doesn't talk in traditional terms to ask questions and offer answers for us.

Stanton's movie is gorgeous to behold, as my review Saturday on ETC. page 2B will explain further. WALL-E is an adorable character, and his hesitant romance of the robot Eve is genuinely moving in the film's final minutes. There are more amusing moments here than Ratatouille (which isn't hard to do) but WALL-E approaches the same feeling of being made for grownups and sold to kids.

Hancock: The fat lady loses weight

I met Will Smith when he was still a fresh prince, before July 4th marked Big Willie Weekend at theaters.

New York, 1996, at the New York media days for Independence Day.  Cigars were popular then, and I figured buying a few Ybor stogies would help me fit in with those urbane, urban types. Coincidentally, when I saw ID4 that weekend, Smith had a running joke about smoking victory cigars after kicking alien butt, and that's not over "'til the fat lady sings." Not very original but that's Dean Devlin and Roland Emmerich for you.

Anyway, I ended up in an elevator with Smith after his interview session. Lots of floors.  I complimented Smith on the movie and said something casual about being a movie star now.

"Do you really think so?" he asked, with an expression I'll never forget, or fail to appreciate. It was sincere, quizzical, a little pessimistic, and genuinely seeking confirmation from a stranger about what he hoped was true. This guy already was a music and TV star yet still had a level of insecurity that makes me feel better in insecure times.

"Let me put it this way," I said, reaching into my jacket pocket to hand him one of those cigars. "The fat lady's singing."

Smith took it, laughed loudly and clapped me on the shoulder. The elevator doors opened. I went one way and he became the Fourth of July's movie king.

The fat lady lost a few pounds between now and then, judging from Hancock, a great idea going in too many needless directions for a 90-minute movie to handle. I laughed during the first 30 minutes at what tickled me for weeks in preview trailers, was intrigued/confused for the next 20 with the darker angle director Peter Berg was fashioning, then wondered if someone slipped 21 Grams into the projector when nobody was looking.

This isn't a summer kind of movie, except for starring Smith. The action sequences are standard stuff Berg attempts to make exciting with needless camera motion. There's no nemesis for Hancock except himself, which could and should be extended longer than the screenplay's attention deficit permits.

There is, however, a twist involving Charlize Theron's character that muddles the plot and reminds me of one of last year's worst movies (or at least movie titles). I won't spoil it by saying which one but when a movie trying to be serious reminds you of something ridiculed, there's a distinct problem in tone.

Great character in Hancock, a boozy, antisocial superhero. Nice performances under the circumstances by Theron and Jason Bateman. Smith is as bulletproof as the character he plays, although what made the final reel of I Am Legend disappointing surfaces again here. He'll win a cigar at the box office but the fat lady's kinda hoarse.

Standing up and sitting down for George Carlin

Stand-up comedy always had an important place in my life, from sneaking my parents' Moms Mabley, Redd Foxx and Doug Clark and the Hot Nuts LPs out of their stack from forbidden listenings to marrying Princess Di, a former club comedian, after proposing onstage in my stand-up debut.

I hit every open mic night I could for about a year after that, sharing stages with Jim Breuer, Tommy Chong and too many local funny folks to list. Even got paid once -- $25 for hosting a gig at Sheraton Sand Key -- so, yes, I'm a professional stand-up comedian. Hey, it counts.

Meanwhile, I was freelancing for the Tampa Bay entertainment magazine Players (or Music, at one point). One of my regular features was interviewing incoming comics, during the late 1980's snickers bar boom, before cable TV stole the shows: Jerry Seinfeld, Sam Kinison, anyone who grabbed a microphone to made people laugh, if they were talking.

One who got away was the late George Carlin, and I always knew something was missing in my comedy education. I would've loved to pick his brain droppings, to understand how anyone could parse words and  American culture to such devastating effect. I would've inquired about whether celebrating those seven words you can't say on television started pop culture on a slippery slope to casual obscenity.

Unfortunately, I never got that chance. But I'll cover those subject at the invitation of WTVT Ch. 13's Kathy Fountain on today's Your Turn segment of the noon news broadcast. Hope you'll have a chance to tune in, and maybe call in with a question. If you miss it, the half-hour program ((starting around 12:25 p.m.) will likely be available later on the WTVT Web site.

Maybe I'll show off my lone, treasured Carlin artifact, an autographed model of his "Fillmore" character in the Disney/Pixar animated movie Cars. Carlin provided the voice for the flower-power VW van. Alas, I didn't get the autograph; my great friend Bob Rossi, entertainment director at Ruth Eckerd Hall, had the comedian sign it before a show in December, 2006. Bobby arranged it for me as a 50th birthday present, and Carlin personalized it: "To Steve, Happy 50th!"

It's prominently displayed next to the aluminum pie pan that Soupy Sales shoved in my face -- his handprint is still dented in -- then autographed after the whipped cream was cleaned off. But that's another story.

EW's 100 movie classics of the past 25 years

All morning long, my nose has been buried in Entertainment Weekly's new issue, the magazine's 1,000th in a consistently fine history. Pretty impressive streak, there.

The issue is chiefly dedicated to listing the "new classics" of the past 25 years in music, television, books and, of course, movies.

*** 8 p.m. update ***

I'm still looking for The Big Lebowski, and the numbskull(s) who left it of the list. How can a movie that created a legitimate cult following be neglected while Crumb is Mo. 14 and Rushmore (RUSHMORE!!) is 22, right behind Schindler's List?

On second thought, ignore this list.

Can't argue with Pulp Fiction at No. 1 ("opened a new universe of mainstream storytelling... recast the future of movies by living so thrillingly, in the moment"). But it doesn't take long to reach one that will ruffle some fathers: Titanic at No. 3.

But debate is what such lists are all about. Scan through the photo gallery of Nos. 1 through 100 (South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut) and let's discuss what EW got right, or horribly wrong.

[AP photo]

Moviegoers got smart for a change

Once in a while something happens with the weekend box office results that reaffirms my faith in the moviegoing public. This time, it's the fact that moviegoers said "go away" rather than "namaste" (that's yoga-speak) to The Love Guru.

Mike Myers' shamelessly lazy comedy was only the fourth-highest attended movie of the weekend ($14-million in ticket sales), finishing well behind Get Smart ($39.2-million). Two superior holdovers -- Kung Fu Panda and The Incredible Hulk -- still had more appeal than Myers' smug, smutty Guru Pitka, which is essentially rehashed Wayne Campbell and Austin Powers, warmed to only room temperature and served in a turban. (The funnier Mike Myers is shown at left.)

Congratulations! You didn't get suckered by Myers' scheme that banked on how much you loved him before, so he could get away richer by doing less now. Each of you who decided to do something else besides watch Myers crack up himself did something to make the world a better place. Kind of like screwing in one of those curly-Q light bulbs at home, except it's the idea bulb over Myers' head.

Of course he'll shrug it off as the studios fault, for opening The Love Guru on the same weekend as Get Smart. You rarely see two films of the same genre, with stars appealing to the same demographics, going head-to-head like that, especially in summertime. Steve Carell's commanding 3-to-1 advantage over Myers in ticket sales makes that complaint moot.

The bad news? Selling $14-million in tickets means around 1.7-million people still fell for Myers' scam.

If you know any of these people, reach out to them, apologize for not arranging an intervention at the box office. A mind and eight bucks are terrible things to waste.

What would Tyler Durden do... with Angelina Jolie?

The answer is found in the most exciting shoot 'em up I've seen in I don't know how long.

For those who don't know Tyler Durden, he's the cult antihero from Fight Club who is seen as a golden god by countless guys knuckled under by The Man (or anything commercial, sexual or regulated) and gets destructive complaining about it. "What would Tyler Durden do?" is a question deserving one of those embossed elastic wristbands they'd wear religiously.

And since Brad Pitt played T.D., I guess the Angelina Jolie question is moot.

Anyway, some of that Tyler vibe comes across in Wanted, in the form of James McAvoy, who I never thought I'd respect after he did the faun thing in Narnia I (the titles are too long to type completely but I guess I used more letters explaining that).

McAvoy plays an office schlub yanked from his dull existence by Jolie, playing a super assassin who can bend the trajectory of bullets and thinks this geek inherited the same gift from his father, who was also an ace killer.

The ensuing action is breakneck stuff, with director Timur Bekmambetov -- a hard name to remember but you should from the stylish Russian vampire flicks Night Watch and Day Watch -- creating memorable images when people die. A lot of people die in Wanted, and without cosmically guided bullets colliding in midair many more would.

And you've gotta love any movie with Jolie toting a swiveled gun and video scope, so she can kill around corners.

Wanted has a Matrix thing going with McAvoy raging against a machine he doesn't understand, the Fight Club thing with his masochistic training regimen, a bit of The Empire Strikes Back, a smidgen of Mr. and Mrs.Smith with Jolie's fatal sleekness, and wall-to-wall style that other films have provided only in small doses, like that slo-mo bullet in Three Kings that viewers followed from gun barrel to suddenly toxic intestines.

One more comparison: In 1994 I was in New York for interviews for this film called Pulp Fiction that was creating all kinds of buzz. Matt Lauer was sitting behind me and we were the only two people in a stodgy crowd who were laughing at the mayhem, as intended. After the show, I walked outside to bustling Times Square, dropped a quarter in a pay phone (1994, you know) and called Princess Di, telling her I just saw a movie that made me want to punch somebody, the adrenaline pumped so hard.

I caught a bit of that feeling tonight with Wanted, which isn't as verbally unique -- although it's a kick hearing Morgan Freeman say a word that I can only describe with his initials -- but is visually just as remarkable.

Wanted opens June 27. Right now, it's the best movie-movie I've seen in 2008. 

AFI lists are SOT (same old thing)

The first five or six American Film Institute lists of all-time greatest film whatevers were fun. Now they're just the same clips from the same movies recycled ad nauseum.

I know the TV ad revenue for these specials and public awareness of what the AFI accomplishes with film preservation and education are important. But these specials are creeping closer to a telethon vibe.

I'm hoping that last night's show -- which I TiVo'd because I was stuck watching The Love Guru (a movie contradicting everything the AFI stands for) --  will be an exception when I get a chance to view it. After perusing the list of top-10 movies in various genres, I'm not confident.

Anyway, here's the rundown of AFI's selection, picked by a few hundred film industry professionals including some movie critics. My ballot hasn't been filled out since Dueling Banjos wasn't eligible for the top-100 movie songs list a few years ago, because it didn't have lyrics. Yeah, like the listed Gonna Fly Now from Rocky does.

ANIMATION
1  SNOW WHITE AND THE SEVEN DWARFS  1937
2  PINOCCHIO  1940
3  BAMBI     1942
4  THE LION KING   1994
5  FANTASIA     1940
6  TOY STORY  1995
7  BEAUTY AND THE BEAST  1991
8  SHREK     2001
9  CINDERELLA     1950
10  FINDING NEMO     2003                          

FANTASY
1  THE WIZARD OF OZ            1939
2  THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING      2001
3  IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE      1946
4  KING KONG    1933
5  MIRACLE ON 34th STREET       1947
6  FIELD OF DREAMS      1989
7  HARVEY      1950
8  GROUNDHOG DAY       1993
9  THE THIEF OF BAGDAD    1924
10  BIG    1988

Who are the one-hit movie wonders of all time?

I'm working on an article and really could use your help.

I commented in a recent review of The Happening that writer-director M. Night Shyamalan's breakthrough movie The Sixth Sense is looking more like one of the biggest flukes in modern film history. That got my editors wondering about other filmmakers who opened with a bang then fizzled out. When editors wonder, reporters write.

Anyway, I'm compiling a list of directors who fall into that ignoble category, people who had breakthrough hits and never reached that level of accomplishment again.

First, we need to qualify what is a hit. It could be a box office smash, or an artistically exemplary film that apparently used up the director's potential. It could be both, like The Sixth Sense, that earned money ($293-million in the U.S.) and acclaim (six Oscar nominations including best picture).

Keeping with Shyamalan's example, don't consider The Village ($114-million) or Signs ($227-million) as box office hits. Their ticket sales were markedly lower than The Sixth Sense, and Signs had the Mel Gibson factor going for it, before Gibson went bonkers and became b.o. poison. Good will residue from The Sixth Sense surely helped, as fans kept hoping Shyamalan could pull another rabbit out of his hat.

Remember that the $100-million mark that slow learners still consider as the measure of a hit, isn't anymore. Higher ticket prices -- not to mention production and distribution costs -- pushed that break-off point to somewhere around $150-million. If you're considering a filmmaker from before the 1970's when blockbusters became imperative, box office totals don't count much at all.

One name that immediately comes to mind is Orson Welles, who reinvented American cinema with Citizen Kane -- arguably the greatest movie of all time -- and never matched himself again. certainly there are academics who will advocate The Magnificent Ambersons, and Touch of Evil has its share of brilliant film noir moments. But Citizen Kane set the bar too high for anyone to clear, which Welles often admitted as his career became a joke.

I'm also considering these directors of Academy Award winners for best picture, who never sniffed an Oscar again: Kevin Costner (Dances with Wolves), Bruce Beresford (Driving Miss Daisy), Hugh Hudson (Chariots of Fire), and Michael Cimino (The Deer Hunter).

Those are just off the top of my head. Now tell me what's in yours.

[Getty Images]

Get Smart and get smarter

Princess Di and I had a pleasant sunset cruise on the Gulf with Mr. and Mrs. T-bone Sunday night, along with two friends who were never quite weird enough to have nicknames.

One's name is Steve Miller, who I taught high school alongside, so he therefore needed some kind of pet name so we called him "Miller." Indiana boy, comes from good stock, and couldn't put three sentences together without saying something memorably dense.

Like the intoxicated night long ago when he tried recalling the female judge on The Gong Show who flashed her hoohahs in a frisky moment and almost got the show booted off the air. Miller couldn't get her name immediately but after some hemming and hawing came up with: "Jamie Lee Farr."

The answer, of course, was Jaye P. Morgan. But never before or since have I known anyone to mistake three celebrities -- Morgan, Jaime Lee Curtis and Jamie Farr -- in a single reference. That all three happened to appear on cheesy 1970's game shows makes the accomplishment even more impressive.

Anyway, I thought of Miller during tonight's screening of Get Smart, as I watched Agent 86 Maxwell Smart (Steve Carell) doing everything dumb and still coming out smelling like a rose. Not the best comedy you're likely to see this year but compared to every other TV show adaptation we've seen, it's not bad at all.

In fact, I was thinking that Mel Brooks and Buck Henry would appreciate what's been done with their 1960's sitcom long before their names appeared in the end credits as consultants. The movie has the same carefree, goofy attitude of the series, not caring about plots except they put Max and Agent 99 (Anne Hathaway, who's getting hotter by the minute) in constant scrapes requiring dumb derring-do to escape from.

I think the movie works better if you're familiar with the series (which I am and Di isn't). Not exactly the best case scenario for a comedy opening head-on with another popular comedian's newest (Mike Myers' The Love Guru, which I'll see tomorrow night) and on the heels of blockbusters still selling tickets. Home video is where most viewers will catch up to Get Smart, and it almost seems designed that way.

All the old gags are there -- the Cone of Silence, Max's shoe phone, Hymie the robot agent, etc. -- smartly assigned as museum pieces until they're required or a savvy update is imagined. Alan Arkin ("The Chief") is a pleasure to watch anytime, Carell is Don Adams reincarnated but not annoyingly so, and did I mention that Hathaway is hot?

I'd recommend Get Smart to Miller but he'd think I was insulting him again. This is the guy who thought the theme song for The Flintstones declared "they're the monostoic family."

Missed it by that much.

OMG! Marky Mark just spoiled The Happening on TV!

Right there on the CBS Early Show. And he said more about whatever's forcing people to kill themselves in The Happening than I did on this blog and in my print review. So, all those folks who have groaned on the phone or keyboard about my noting it's a case of nature's revenge can chill.

"It's a little message-y," host Harry Smith said of the eco-terror plot.

"I'm a faith-based guy and that doesn't waver," Mark Wahlberg said. "But (M.Night Shyamalan) gave me so much information about the honey bees and the fact that they're disappearing and there's no chance of them coming back (which is in the preview trailers, too)... and the primordial bacteria off the coast of Australia, and the next thing you know I'm completely convinced this could happen.

"Certainly I haven't jumped on the green wagon but we do our part at home. You look at the climate today and what's going on in the world. It's possible that this could happen."

Thanks, bud. The only thing better would be if you made those statements on a TV show people actually watch. I doubt that the show's ratings made Wahlberg bolder about revealing anything. If it was such a big secret, he'd be teasing it to sell more tickets.

The problem is that Shyamalan is widely known as a filmmaker who depends upon last-minute twists to thrill audiences -- Bruce Willis being dead in The Sixth Sense, or a superhero in Unbreakable, or that The Village is actually set in modern times. He doesn't pull a late switcheroo in The Happening, probably because he thought that would fool viewers expecting him to employ the usual strategy.

Apparently the movie's above-the-title star didn't think it's a big deal to reveal.

But some viewers -- who haven't seen the movie yet -- think I spoiled it.  After 15 years in the job, I'm very careful to avoid doing that to any movie. Heck, even someone at Tampabay.com lost faith, adding "Spoiler alert!" to the entertainment page tease without asking me if it may be necessary. Maybe they should've asked Wahlberg.

As I've conveyed to complainers: I didn't spoil Shyamalan's movie. He did that himself.

"This is the Army," and my wife

Princess Di and I have this Name That Tune kind of thing when it comes to movies. She gets mad when I can name a movie in one note of soundtrack music, or the production company credits. Sometimes I cheat by looking ahead on the program guide, just to crank her up. I just typed too much.

Anyway, she's in the kitchen out of sight, rolling chicken tenders in Hooters sauce. I'm channel surfing and see Stripes starting now on a station and figure I'll test her. Nothing said, just flip to the channel.

First sounds after the old-school Columbia Pictures logo: a brief fanfare and the words "This is the Army," from a TV ad Bill Murray's watching.

"Stripes," Princess Di yells while chopping celery. The right side of my brain kicks in again.

Hooters (kind-of) wings and Stripes smarts. Can't get that with a coupon.

Paul Newman is still not dead

And I'm genuinely happy to know that. Paul Newman is one of the all-time great actors and movie stars (yes, there's a difference), a man without scandal for decades, a famously faithful husband and friend, and an incredible philanthropist.

I hope he lives comfortably for many more years. When you're 83, that isn't guaranteed. Apparently living out your time as privately and personally as you wish isn't, either.

Let me get this straight: That bastion of journalistic excellence, National Enquirer, supposedly heard from an unnamed source who may or may not know Newman that the actor was at death's door, a victim any minute now of cancer. That's good enough for reputable news organizations -- and gossip hacks emboldened by their participation in the game -- to spread the hearsay in an escalating schadenfreude race where tragedy is entertainment.

Newman's longtime neighbor and business partner A.E. Hotchner confirmed Wednesday that his friend does, indeed, have an unspecified form of cancer and is receiving treatment. Finally some credible news to report. But did it need to be pried from someone who would prefer to handle facing mortality with the same polite privacy that has defined his life?

I can imagine a gossip monger thinking he's doing the right journalistic thing by calling Newman:

"Mr. Newman? Are you dead yet? No? Well, can you hurry up because we have deadlines to consider? Ha, ha, yes, 'deadline' was a poor choice of words, wasn't it?"

Not even a statement from Newman that he's "doing nicely" is enough to call off the unseemly deathwatch. Does anyone expect Newman to deliver his own eulogy? He has always been a man of few words that meant plenty. "Doing nicely" sounds like he'd like to be left alone to live, as he was doing nicely before.

This isn't some celebrity who lived by the tabloid sword and now deserves to die by it. Newman has more class in his left pinky than every finger now keyboard-dancing on his eventual grave.

I have published several obituaries on Hollywood legends who died old after long ailments: Katharine Hepburn, Bob Hope, Jack Lemmon, Jimmy Stewart, Gregory Peck among them. I prefer that the subject is dead before starting to write. Preparing celebrity obits in advance is a morbid endeavor that gets the timeline data right but doesn't capture the loss when it occurs. I'm grateful each day writing Newman's is delayed, just to prove gossip's folly.

Give Newman some peace now, before he rests in it forever.

Going green with "Hulk" co-writer Mike France

Had a fine time the other night watching The Incredible Hulk with Mike France and his son Tommy, who's growing up with a comic book addiction just like his old man.

France (that's him on the right, next to Marvel mogul Stan Lee) owns Beach Theatre in St. Pete Beach but we met years ago after he co-wrote the screenplay for Ang Lee's Hulk, a lame version of the Marvel Comics superhero that wasn't France's fault. Seems that Lee brought in his favorite writing collaborator, James Schamus, who turned the green-skinned behemoth into a basket case with an Oedipal complex. The action-packed script France and John Turman wrote became one long therapy session.

Disappointed viewers probably caused more wreckage in theaters than Hulk did on screen.

"I never felt that I was getting blamed for it," France told me yesterday. "I was as disappointed, too."

France left Monday night's The Incredible Hulk screening feeling like he had seen the movie he envisioned years ago, combining the drama of Bruce Banner coping with his inner rage and the fun of watching Hulk going postal on anyone in his way. Yet he knows that Universal Pictures has a tougher sell on its hands than a better predecessor would provide.

"There was so much disappointment about having to watch a movie about Banner’s father, and so much joking about that," France said. "It's baggage this film has to overcome.

"That’s why (Universal) came up with the publicity narrative that this is a reboot or a remake, even though it’s very clear to me that it’s a sequel. It’s the same producers, same studio and the characters are in the same places where they were when the first film ended.

“I suspect that because of the baggage from the first film, this movie may not have the same kind of opening weekend. On the other hand, it won’t have the same kind of drop-off, either. People will catch up to it. I think it certainly re-establishes (the franchise) enough to continue with it."

Read more of my conversation with France -- whose credits also include Fantastic Four, The Punisher and Cliffhanger -- on Saturday's Etc. page, 2B.

What's "Happening," hot stuff?

I knew M. Night Shyamalan's latest misfire, The Happening, was going south when Marky Mark Wahlberg --  who has deduced that Mother Nature is taking revenge on humankind -- begins sweet-talking a house plant so it won't do anything rash.

Or maybe it was when Wahlberg is trying to convince a locked-in homeowner that he's sane and therefore unaffected by an airborne toxin created by plants. He does so by singing a few bars of a Doobie Brothers hit to the stranger with a little softshoe tossed in. Yeah, I'd trust him to not be crazy.

Or maybe it's when Betty Buckley -- looking more Grizzelda by the minute -- starts screaming like a banshee because her hermit lifestyle has been disrupted by Wahlberg and his fellow refugees. "I don't like this woman," Zooey Deschanel says. "There's something Exorcist-y about her."

Or maybe it's when a high school student body is sent home after the first toxic outbreak occurs in Central Park and none of them have a cell phone or are logged onto a computer so they would know what happened. Or when Wahlberg starts spewing a torrent of eco-babble to over-explain everything.

Those are the kinds of things Shyamalan does, proving once again that he can have a great idea and absolutely no idea of what to do with it.

The Happening isn't as lousy as Lady in the Water, or pointless as The Village, or silly as the second half of Signs. It's actually an enjoyable bad movie, if you aren't buying a ticket, as I didn't. The first half-hour is a terrific set-up: a series of grisly suicides -- many not shown but suggested with Hitchcockian restraint -- that made my jaw drop and stomach churn. This is new territory for Shyamalan, in his first R-rated movie. He obviously has fun being gross, as do we by being grossed-out.

But The Happening isn't the return to form his dwindling number of fans have sought since The Sixth Sense, which is looking more and more like one of the biggest flukes in modern movie history.

Hulk is green and I'm feelin' blue

The good news is that The Incredible Hulk is more enjoyable than 2003's The (Irrationally Dull) Hulk.

The bad news is that for the first time in my life, I missed my all-time favorite band in concert to find out.

I have flown to California, driven across the South and hit every concert Steely Dan ever played around Tampa Bay. Ten shows by my count. Tonight they're playing about a half-mile from my home. Probably doing their encores right now. When I think about missing the show, my pulse races toward 200, my skin turns emerald green with unsightly veins popping out and I want to smash something.

Which brings us to The Incredible Hulk.

Honestly, it is a better take on the Marvel Comics superhero than Ang Lee inflicted upon moviegoers, as if we actually demanded a Hulk with Freudian subtext and not many opportunities to rage, played by a monotonous actor (Eric Bana) with the bloodless blankness of someone who apparently never read a comic book.

It certainly couldn't be any worse.

The new, improved Hulk ditches the psychobabble, hires more interesting actors -- especially Edward Norton as Bruce Banner, and with the glaring exception of Liv Tyler --  and more importantly allows the green guy to go off on somebody every 20 minutes or so. Director Louis Letterier (Transporter 2) and screenwriter Zak Penn (plus Norton, but the Writers Guild of America didn't allow him screen credit) still take the Marvel myth a bit too seriously yet know when to lighten up a little.

The Incredible Hulk still falls short of being as exhilarating as Iron Man, which may remain the movie superhero standard for years to come. At least until the project that has Marvel fans panting since Iron Man's end credits -- the very end that many viewers, myself included, needed to catch on YouTube because we left fast to beat traffic.

Marvel is smarter this time, adding the cool coda after Hulk/Banner's predicament is settled, and before hundreds of names meaningful only to their family and friends scroll by.

I won't spoil it for you, but with Marvel now controlling its movie destiny rather than being led by the nose by meddling studios (i.e. the first Hulk), that Avengers adaptation is looking more possible by the minute.

[AP Photo/Universal Studios]

Kit Kittredge: Recession-proof girl?

Just got back from a screening of Kit Kittredge: An American Girl, and found it to be a pleasant, G-rated experience with good performances, fine 1930's production design and a wholesome vibe that's actually refreshing.

When the movie opens July 2, it''ll probably get buried by the summer movie crush.

Too bad, since this Depression-era dramedy has uncanny parallels to today's economic crunch times. Themes like housing and business foreclosures, unemployment and the homeless (referred to in the movie by that era's term "hoboes") are core elements of the plot. Nothing political, but the trials of families broken or otherwise devastated by hard times are timeless. Funny that a movie set 74 years ago should be so topical.

It helps that young Kit, played by Abigail Breslin, keeps mostly on the sunny side of life despite the loss of friends forced to move away to better opportunities, and a father (welcome back, Chris O'Donnell) who hid the family's distress for her sake, until he must do the same. Breslin still isn't an especially subtle actor but in these surroundings, a little old-fashioned Shirley Templism isn't out of place.

The movie is corny in a good way, and simplistic about economic factors then (and by extension now) so that modern kids watching  will be able to connect the dots. There are worthwhile messages about honesty, dignity and respect for less-fortunate others. It's the kind of movie that used to be made all the time, that was forgotten when movies got louder, bolder and hectic.

That's why I'm not confident in its success. Will Smith's Hancock is opening the same day, while WALL*E and Kung Fu Panda will still be going strong for the same audience, and they're fun, rather than reminiscent of what parents may be worried about at home. Unless I'm underestimating the appeal for the American Girl doll and book series -- and admittedly I know nothing about it yet -- Kit Kittredge: An American Girl will end up bruised by not one but two economic downturns.

I really hope I'm wrong.

Big Lebowski documentary achieves

In the parlance of the Dude, new s--- has come to light about the long-awaited documentary on the most devout disciples of The Big Lebowski, the 1998 comedy written and directed by Joel and Ethan Coen. These fans call themselves "Achievers," taking the nomenclature from the big, rich Jeffrey Lebowski's charity program for underprivileged children.

I'm an Achiever and darn proud of it. Got the t-shirt and everything, as you've seen in outtakes from my photo shoot for a new Times ad. Princess Di and I pose wearing them each time we go to Telluride or somewhere otherwise cool, adding the photo to Lebowskifest.com's collection of Achievers' world travels. I'm proud to say that my 2005 feature on visiting Lebowskifest in Los Angeles is part of the site's media collection, too.

As such, I get irregular e-updates from organizers Will Russell and Scott Shuffitt on the comings and goings of Achievers worldwide, and plans for the next Lebowskifest.  They've been held in New York, Las Vegas and, of course, L.A. but originated in (and returns July 11 and 12 to) Louisville, Ky. This year's lineup includes musician Mike Doughty (whose Bustin' Up a Starbucks and 27 Jennifers are two of my favorite ear worms).

The schedule also includes the world premiere of The Achievers: The Story of Lebowski Fans that documentary filmmaker Eddie Chung was shooting in 2005 at Lebowskifest in L.A. I'm gonna contact Chung and see if I can get a screener for review, and maybe suggest it to local film festivals for inclusion. Take a look at the preview trailer, and note that the title has changed from Over the Line (a line from the movie) to The Achievers. Enjoy!

Sex and the City, microphones in the frame

Woke up to this e-mail from a reader, conveying a problem I have written about numerous times over the years. Had to explain it again during a TV interview the other day:

"What's the story? Hundreds of folks saw Sex and the City at Tri-City AMC and there were many scenes where the microphone and/or boom mic was visible. How could a major studio release such a badly edited film to the public? There is some word about this on the Internet. You're the expert -- what's the story?

MJ Gruskin
Clearwater, FL"

My reply:

I guarantee you that's a problem with the teenager assigned to run the projector. He/she didn't have the film properly framed (in this case, too high so too much at the top was showing). It's the same as going to see a foreign movie and the subtitles might be cut off because the film is framed too low.

The fact that some folks are complaining online about this with regard to that movie says two things: Sex and the City is bringing out people who don't go to theaters enough to know how sloppily many are operated, and the problem of poorly trained employees who don't care what happens as long as they get paid is everywhere.

What ticket-buying customers need to do is get off their butts, complain immediately to management and have them make that very simple adjustment. Nothing gets done if you just sit there and complain to yourself.

Kung Fu Panda and General Tao Chicken

Nothing I like better than a Pan Asian buffet. There's a nice one on U.S. 19 in Palm Harbor with a name I can't remember but the spread includes extremely exotic items such as chicken feet, squid innards, soup made of what I'd use for shark chum and a gelatinous dessert that nobody has ever completely identified for me. Not that I eat that stuff -- I'm a General Tao chicken kind of guy -- but I usually see what appear to be Vietnam War veterans eating it, which is as reliable a sign of quality as police cars at a donut shop.

Anyway, I was thinking about that place while my stomach growled through a morning screening of Kung Fu Panda. They could add a big hunk of ham to the menu in honor of Jack Black, who offers one of the best vocal performances I've heard in an animated feature. Black voices Po, a roly-poly panda who accidentally gets chosen as the new Dragon Warrior to battle a white leopard named Tai Lung (Ian McShane, almost as evil as he was on Deadwood).

Po doesn't know much about kung fu except from daydreaming about his heroes, the Furious Five -- Tigress (Angelina Jolie), Mantis (Seth Rogen), Monkey (Jackie Chan), Viper (Lucy Liu) and Crane (David Cross). Tigress is the only one who matters much in the scheme of things, but I wouldn't be surprised if a sequel or two follows to give the other critters a fighting chance.

Po gets martial arts training -- grudgingly -- from Master Shifu, hilariously voiced by Dustin Hoffman.

What I love about Kung Fu Panda (besides Black) is the reverence shown for the chopsocky movie genre, evoking classic fights, effects, settings and spirituality from Bruce Lee to Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. This is a movie that's gorgeous to behold, meaningful to kids and adults, and never forgets that 'toons should either be comedies or tragedies, not just a smattering of both (take that, Ratatouille).

You'll find my review on the Web site anytime now, and in Thursday's weekend. But get ready for a bloodbath at the box office this weekend with Sex and the City still pulling females, Indiana Jones lassoing males and kids screaming to see Kung Fu Panda. My money's on the bear, who won't be "Po" for long.

Adam Carolla nails The Hammer

If you're like me, you only know Adam Carolla from his overtly sexist humor alongside Jimmy Kimmel on The Man Show, or his irreverent approach to Terpsicorian (is that a word?) talent on Dancing with the Stars.

If so, you'd be a surprised as I was by his performance in The Hammer, an independently produced romantic comedy/boxing movie that somehow doesn't have any distributor with enough faith in a wider release. Carolla came up with the story idea based on his experiences as boxer, and for an old dude he still has skillz. Carolla was also a carpenter, which makes his character Jerry Ferro a dual-pronged example of role intimacy paying off.

Jerry gets fired from a job he didn't like anyway, working off his aggressions at a boxing gym. He gets taunted by a title contender (St. Petersburg's former IBF champ Jeff Lacy) and responds with a knockout left hook. A trainer putting together the U.S. Olympic Team sees it and convinces Jerry that at age 40 he can finally be a contender, if he'll work hard enough.

"You're just one of those 95-percenters who never gives everything he's got," the trainer tells Jerry.

"No, I'm a 75-percenter but I'm giving you and extra 20 percent," Jerry replies, with Carolla's knack for dribbling sarcasm from the corner of his mouth like beer foam.

Jerry falls in love, faces his challenges and becomes one of the most endearing lugs I've seen on screen in a while.  The Hammer should be in every megaplex but without a distribution deal (it got some play in L.A. and other western states where Carolla has a radio following) it looks like home video will be your best chance.

That is, unless you visit Muvico Centro Ybor 20 this Friday, June 6. The Hammer will be shown twice at 8 and 10 p.m. Tickets are $10 with all proceeds going to the Tampa Bay chapter of the American Red Cross. Lacy will be there hosting the shows.

Why are we so fortunate? because the executive producer of The Hammer is Carrollwood resident and clinical psychologist Gregory Firestone, who I'll profile in a column Friday on the Etc. page 2B.

Good movie, great cause.

Heard you missed me. Well, I'm back.

Let's see, where did we leave off?

Well, after a period of mourning for Harvey Korman (thanks for all the commiserating posts), a backyard landscaping surprise for Princess Di (who safely returned Sunday from Italy), a Saturday morning delight watching Kung Fu Panda (more on that later), a Rays win and Trace Adkins concert at the Trop that night with a bunch of good friends including Hope (whom you recall from the Rolling Stones Shine a Light posting), a hangover Sunday morning followed by emceeing a charity concert at Skipper's Smokehouse benefiting Children's Home Society of Florida (thanks to all who attended), a final clean-up before Di and the monster-in-law showed up at midnight, then catching up on work stuff Monday...

Sorry I haven't had time to write.

"That's 'Deadly'"... RIP Harvey Korman

Sorry for the title but I'm sure Harvey Korman would approve.

I'm often asked what's my favorite movie and I always have to go back to the two I've seen the most.

Blazing Saddles is at least tied with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid because of the times I threaded up the projector at my dad's Tampa theater and watched them when it wasn't open... oh, mid 50's before I lost count.

When Harvey Korman said -- as Hedley (not Hedy) Lamarr -- that he was sacrificing an almost certain Academy Award nomination for best supporting actor when he ordered his minions to "go do that voodoo that you do so wellllllllllll!" on the town of Rock Ridge -- I believed him.

I loved Korman on TV with Carol Burnett, and on screen with Mel Brooks:

"Meeting's adjourned."

"It is???"

"No, you say that, governor."

"What?"

"Meeting's adjourned."

"It is???"

"Here, sir, play with this."

Bless one of the funniest straight-men ever. Ask Tim Conway.

You don't pay for the "Zohan"

Adam Sandler strikes again -- which means he strikes out -- in You Don't Mess with the Zohan, a movie opening June 6, making its budget back in a week and hitting your local video store shelves shortly thereafter. I'll provide the unbecoming details closer to opening day.

But for now...

Zohan is another excuse for Sandler to have a party and make you pay for it. He invites a bunch of friends (John Turturro should be ashamed, if only for the hoary Rocky spoof scene) or people he'd like to meet (Mariah Carey was better in Glitter) for dumb, obvious and often offensive jokes. Of course Rob Schneider is here; he must be washing Sandler's fleet of cars weekly.

The gags in this movie fall mainly in three categories: buttocks sight gags, erection sight gags and horny old -- I mean old -- ladies being sexually gratified. One of the few highlights occurs when Lainie Kazan (who was hot when I watched her on the Mike Douglas Show in sixth grade) pulls off the trifecta, although it may not count because Kim Kardashian may have been hired as a butt double.

The only thing dumber than Zohan was the security force hired for the occasion, which supposedly confiscated every cell phone to prevent anyone from... um, whatever you can do with a cell phone that you need to hire a handful of guys to prevent. (Memo to future flashlight cops: It's video cameras able to record more than 60 seconds at a clip that you seek.) If it's disturbing viewers with a phone ringing, that rule was violated by -- you guessed it -- one of the security guards with a creepily dainty ring tone.

Anyway, the guards kept the confiscated cell phones in paper bags with claim tickets attached -- right in front of the exit doors. They only had, maybe, 50 stashed with around 200 people in the theater. That's either a lot of missed phones or a lot of Sandler's fans can't afford them. When someone stopped to look for their claim number, the exit was effectively blocked, leading to a jam-up like that high school band Stork led into an alley in Animal House.

Now that's funny.

Sex and the City, Suburb, Beach, Borough and Mexico

My best friend T-bone and I go back a long way, through thick, thin and downright skimpy. We know each other's past and present, and plan on taking care of each other in the future as long as it doesn't cost too much.

I honestly thought I knew T-bone. Tonight I learned something I never suspected, something that truly stunned me.

T-bone has watched every episode of Sex and the City. Some (*sob*) twice.

I didn't know when I invited T-bone to a screening of Sex and the City: The Movie (that is composed and performed exactly like the TV show, only bigger). He broke it to me during the ride to Tampa.

After taking a sip of Monster and mixing it with bile, I listened as a friend should. I felt like Carrie Bradshaw in the movie when someone she trusts confesses a hurtful, long-held secret. Then something happened. The more he explained, the more it all made sense.

Sydney Pollack: Known by the company he kept

The late director Sydney Pollack didn't have a signature style. Look again at his three truly great films -- Tootsie, They Shoot Horses, Don't They? and The Way We Were (note that 26 years passed since the most recent one) and you'd be hard-pressed to identify any master's touch common among them.

He did, however, provide palettes for a few actors to paint their own signature roles upon: Dustin Hoffman's Dorothy Michaels/Michael Dorsey, Barbra Streisand's Katie Morosky, Gig Young's marathon dance huckster, Willie Nelson's sidekick to The Electric Horseman. The director's hands-off approach to actors -- he was one himself, so he understood the frustration of intrusion -- likely made those memorable roles due to the actors' instincts, not Pollack's.   

Pollack was a fine storyteller -- when a script presented a story worth telling, and around half of his 21 works didn't. But I can't imagine anyone viewing a Pollack film not knowing who directed, yet able to identify it as such, as can easily be done with the Fords, Kubricks, Hitchcocks and Spielbergs of cinema history, even some non-household names with distinctive oeuvres.

If Pollack hadn't been compensated with a best director Oscar for 1985's undeserving Out of Africa -- perhaps the dullest best picture winner ever -- his death Monday at age 73 wouldn't be page one news. Making up for oversights by voting for an artist's later, lesser works were common in Academy Awards voting in those days. Pollack and his movies Tootsie (1982) and They Shoot Horses, Don't They? (1969) could've, and maybe should have won those Oscars in their respective years.

If they had, I'm not sure Pollack's career would be any more exemplary.

Flex and the City: The Movies

I never watched a complete episode of Sex and the City, so I can't imagine what sitting through a 2 hour and 25-minute version of a femme banal sitcom I dodged for six years will do to my sperm count.

But I did spend a few minutes watching Flex and the City, an amusing trilogy of spoofs produced by Heavy.com starring Jamie Kovac ("Fury" on American Gladiators) as a musclebound Carrie Bradshaw surrounding by other bodybuilders playing Samantha, Charlotte, Miranda, Sneezy, Dopey... oh, wrong cartoons. Sorry.

I can't vouch for whether the scenes they act out are directly from the TV show but it sounds like it. I know they get the opening credits right because that's how much I'd see of the show before finding the remote control. 

Arrivederci, baby

Got a little less bounce to my step today, and for 10 days to follow. Princess Di is leaving on a jet plane and although I know when she'll come back again that doesn't make being apart from my baby any easier.

She's traveling with her Mom to Italy for a tour of Rome, Venice and Florence, one of those If It's Tuesday This Must Be Belgium kind of bus things where Di will bring down the median age considerably. I'm jealous, even if it would mean road tripping with my mother-in-law.

Actually, we get along very well, especially after a Thanksgiving story I always love telling: Mom-in-law is a stickler for propriety at the dinner table on such occasions. She kept reminding the large group to pass everything to the left, to the left, to the left. She sounded like Kevin Costner going over the Zapruder footage in JFK.

Anyway, during the second round of helpings, the giblet gravy must've caught up to Mom, who let slip a dainty little fart. Everyone froze because nobody mocks Mom.

Except me. I broke the silence by asking her: "So, Mom, should we all pass gas to the left now?"

We've been closer ever since.

Anyway, Princess Di has been doing her research of touring Italy, in typically weird Princess Di fashion. Sure, she checks out Fodors and Zagat and all those conventional sources. But I've been coming home to her watching movies like Hannibal and The Omen just to note where grisly scenes took place. I love that side of my sweetie. Or at least I love knowing she has it, just for self-defense.

Have a great time, baby, come back safe, and stay downwind of your mother.

O Sole Mio!

Summer movie trailer clubhouse is open!

We were sitting around a table somewhere in Ybor during Super Bowl XXXXOOOO (that's our kind of Roman numerals) when I told Princess Di that every football team looks like a champion in the highlight reels. I'm sure I wasn't the first to notice but Di -- bless her no-R-rated-movies-before-21 heart -- thought I was a genius.

I hope everyone else notices that movies are the same kind of promotional beast. Watch the Miami Dolphins' 2007 highlights, hear that NFL Films announcer's (probably a Sabol) booming promise of title-challenging days, probably now, despite a 1-15 season. Tell me if that doesn't look and sound like the preview trailer for Space Chimps.

Every movie is an Oscar contender in the highlight reel.

Which brings us to the topic of movie previews, specifically summer flicks, that coincidentally are the subject of today's Weekend cover story.

Check out my picks for the 10 best and 10 worst movie summer movie preview trailers. Then post your own choices in either or both categories.

Let's remember that anything released before this weekend doesn't count. The online posting date, finally, of my Indy 4 review was the deadline. I don't think Helen Hunt's Then She Found Me preview would get many votes, anyway.

Have fun while I tidy up for the Mom-in-law's visit.

Bunny Chow served at Studio@620

The Gasparilla Film Festival doesn't fold its tents when the wrap party ends. These folks are carving out an identity as a 365-day supporter of independent film arts, both here in Tampa Bay and now around the world.

The festival's ambitious Global Lens Film Series begins this Friday at Studio@620, 620 1st Ave. S in St Petersburg. The venue, WMNF-FM and the University of Tampa are sponsoring this mostly fortnightly (Bob Jenkins just gave me that word) event. The Gasparilla fest hooked up with the Los Angeles San Francisco-based Global</