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Kino Korner March 3, 2003
Chick Flix For Everyone
By Mark Ames Browse author Email
Page 2 of 3
Now, onto 8 Mile. My pirate copy, which I took from Dr. Dolan, was the kind filmed inside the theater. The sound was awful -- you couldn't hear most of the raps and the black actors were usually screaming so loudly it distorted the speakers. Which could be why I liked the movie so much. Sure it was "formulaic" -- again, I don't understand how this is supposed to be a minus, except that Beigeocrats like to use "formulaic" pejoratively in order to imply that they never employ formulae themselves.

8 Mile is a chick flick and a damn good one as chick flix go. Eminem is a tough-yet-sensitive twenty-something down on his luck who loves his little sister, courts his white trash lover with all the slow wholesomeness of Jimmy Stewart, and suffers silently. It's a chick flick mostly because women, especially girls, will see hope in this movie. Most women hook up with men who are total hopeless losers. The women who take these losers want to believe that there's a Superman -- a future executive, a provider, a potential star -- waiting to burst out of the clod on the couch. It's just that no one but said woman can see the loser's potential. 8 Mile is about a girl who chooses the right guy to get her out of the sticks -- and succeeds.

Kim Basinger -- who chooses the wrong loser -- is great as Eminem's white trash mother. She's not nearly as much of a bitch as I'd expected given Eminem's lyrics about his mother. She comes off more as a tragic drunken slut, which is why she's so sympathetic. If only my mother was merely a drunken slut!

Overall, 8 Mile is the best Women's Day choice for a movie date. White guys will fantasize that there's still time to become "down" with the homeez, while their dates will fantasize that even though their man is presently "between jobs," he's not as hopeless as everyone says he is.


Stars & Stripes Stars & Stripes Stars & Stripes

Three Stars 'N Stripes. It is impossible to quantify the amount of cultural power this movie and its elements have over suicide-bombing-aged people the world over. Some will watch this and think they have a chance of making it in America. Others will join the Coalition of the Willing just for the soundtrack. None will watch this movie and want to dirty-bomb Detroit -- that would be like backing over road kill.


Two Weeks Notice

An eXpat I met at Correa's deli suggested that I play both of these chick flix at once on competing TVs because they were so similar and both so expertly designed to make my life a living hell. I took him up on his suggestion and the results were incredible. One film (you guess which) is a romantic comedy starring a bisexual British thespian courting a mannish, aging, not-at-all sexy American sex symbol. The tension in the film centers on whether or not the bisexual Brit will choose the mannish American sex symbol as his cover. It's the perfect Women's Day film.

The other movie stars a bisexual British thespian and a mannish, aging, not-at-all sexy American sex symbol. The tension in this film centers on whether or not they'll have to do a love scene, thereby dispelling rumors that the Brit lead bats for the wrong team.

While watching the two movies simultaneously, the most amazing thing happened. Ralph Fiennes turned around during one of Hugh Grant's monologues, gazed at him longingly, and literally crawled out of one television like the ghost-girl in The Ring, crawled into Grant's Two Weeks Notice movie, pushed Sandra Bullock out of the room, shut and locked the door, and made love to Hugh Grant. For hours.

This doesn't bode well for the Marine expeditionary force in Kuwait, which was recently placed under British command.

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Save The eXile: The War Nerd Calls Mayday
The future of The eXile is in your hands! We're holding a fundraiser to save the paper, and your soul. Tune in to Gary Brecher's urgent request for reinforcements and donate as much as you can. If you don't, we'll be overrun and wiped off the face of the earth, forever.

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We’re happy to introduce a new column in which we publish Moscow’s raw radio communications, courtesy of a Russian amateur radio enthusiast. This issue, eXile readers are given a peek into the secret conversations of Moscow’s traffic police, the notorious "GAIshniki."

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Russia's freedom-loving free market martyr Mikhail Khodorkovsky answers some of this week's letters, and he's got nothing but praise for President Medvedev.

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Jared comes out with yet another roundup of upcoming bardak sessions.

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Richard Gere tackles this week's letters. Now reformed, he fights for gerbil rights all around the world.

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Everybody complains about celebrities, but nobody does anything about them. People, it’s time to stop fretting about whether we’re a celebrity-obsessed culture—we are, we have been, we’re going to be—and instead take practical steps to clean up the celebrity-obsessed culture we’ve got...


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