This is so not the Shithouse…You were nowhere near
that DVD machine today.

True, though I did have a Filet o’ Fish and a small
fry for my trouble. This week’s offerings were bad,
but not bad enough to warrant my time. I had to use
others means. Call it the quasi-Shithouse.

Isn’t this the howler that asked us to accept Ashlee
Simpson as an actress?

Indeed. As if her screeching in front of a microphone
weren’t enough to justify her brutal rape before a
board room of masturbating corporate chieftains, she
now believes that she has the chops to pull off the
“trusted friend” role in a film about aspiring
musicians. Oh, and she’s handsomely paid for her
delusion. But as she has the raspy tone of a dedicated
bulimic, perhaps she deserves it. Still, she does
manage to pull off two songs during the movie, one of
which is the standard “flashback” tune, where we can
see all the boring shit that passed for drama one more
ass-splitting time.

Aspiring musicians? Them again? Where do they rank on
a list of the world’s evils?

Right near the top, tucked just below defense
contractors, but still far ahead of brain tumors,
genocide, gulags, censorship, and grade school talent
shows. To be fair, I had to have something labeled as
more vile, but personally, I hate no group of people
more. And while we suffer through musicians, this
could also apply to budding actors, screenwriters,
directors, and hell, just about anyone associated with
an artistic medium. I mean really – anyone who travels
across the country, works shit jobs, sleeps on
friend’s couches, and endures humiliating auditions
and call backs because they think they have something
to offer the world that isn’t already available in at
least ten million other, often more attractive bodies,
cannot be thought of in terms that don’t involve
unspeakable torture.

The main character – some dude named Luke Falcon? Are
you serious?

He’s like, so into his art, and he so doesn’t care
about money or fame or chicks or magazine covers or
interviews, and just wants to pour out his heart for
the world. He’s got vision, man, and he literally
bleeds his craft on stage. Luke leaves New York, hits
the LA scene, plays a few clubs, and within a few
weeks (in his defense, it might have been hours), is
signed to a record deal. He starts cutting an album,
prepares for a tour, and within a few more weeks,
loses everything. How and why this occurs could be
deduced by a resident – shit, the worst resident – of
a care facility for the retarded.

I know damn well he falls in love…..Who’s the chick?
She’s Brier, a model turned actress who also leaves
New York for LA, only to find that you can’t be in a
blockbuster overnight. You’ve got to suffer through
soap commercials first, missy. See, she loves Luke,
but still has a rocker boyfriend, although he’s like,
such a major dick, and cheats on her anyway. She’s
afraid to love, so she blows him off, he gets
depressed, and she decides to fly back to New York.
But Luke’s not about to give up that easily, and
chases her to the airport, where he pays $1017 cash
for a one-way ticket, runs his little legs off, and
corners her mid-flight to, like, say how much she
means to him. After an impassioned speech, the entire
plane applauds. Just like they would in real life.

But the camera is so loose and darting, and there are
dozens of characters milling about. Dare I say that
it’s a tad Altmanesque?

Only if Bob sawed open his skull, liquified his brain,
gouged out his eyeballs with a nail file, and
exchanged talent, wisdom, humanity, and insight for
banality, idiocy, sophomoric humor, and a tornado of
cliches. Not even then.

Any unanswered questions that you just can’t shake?
Why must all aspiring musicians have stubble? And must
their careers be as wannabe as their moustaches?

In a gallery of horror, what is the single worst
conversation you witnessed?

Luke: “Can I call you sometime?”
Brier: “You’re sweet, but……”
Luke: “You have a boyfriend……”
Brier: “Well, kinda……”
Luke: “Kinda?”
Brier: “It’s a difficult situation……”

Other startling truths revealed? Unexpected sights?
LA is a shallow town, Peter Weller’s career is so far
down the toilet that it will never be found, and
Carrie Fisher has aged with all the grace of a rotten
quiche left out in the rain. And Brier’s ex-boyfriend
is Kip Winger’s twin, only with three times as much
chest hair.

I know damn well there were other snippets of dialogue
that left you reeling…..

The shockingly over the top, cartoonish A&R guy stands
before Luke and cries, “I’ve got such a hard-on for
you! And I don’t get a hard-on for just anyone!” And
Ms. Simpson, channeling Socrates, offers this nugget:
“I don’t think you fall out of love until you fall
into someone else.” And some say death is the worst
thing that can happen to a person.

Does anyone escape unscathed? Surely someone had

That skateboarding bulldog was pretty cool.



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