Rising Star Jessica Chastain has already traded in her sweet ginger look to star in the upcoming horror flick, Mama. The movies definitely features an original storyline– a woman takes in two freaky children who are communicating with an evil spirit they call “Mama”; replete with crawling female manifestations with lots of gross hair and other ghosts and shit. Definitely a new type of scary movie.

The last time we really paid attention to Jessica Chastain, she had a major bitch face on in The Help and was nominated for a bunch of awards that I’m pretty sure she didn’t win, but was still all “it’s-an-honor-to-be-recognized-for-my-talent-and-not-too-heinous-red-hair.”

Really, though, girl earned herself some major street cred for her role in this movie, which is why it is unusual that she would move on to the horror sector so quickly..the screams aren’t exactly for an Oscar nom. Most likely, it’s just a way to keep her face (which looks strangely like Angelina’s in this movie) on the big screen as a pit stop between big projects. And honestly, this trailer, considering it’s for a standard horror flick, scared the curl out of my hair. I’m not talking Blair Witch or Paranormal Activity scare, but a good, old-fashioned two-hour session of swamp a*s, after which you swear the movie wasn’t scary at all.

Mama comes out January 2013.

Remember all those times in college you were like “Oh my god I can’t wait to get f*cking wasted tonight and black the eff outtttt,” and then those times after college when you said the same thing except it was slightly less acceptable? The Sundance film Smashed looks like it will make you never want to hit the bottle again, and it also might break your heart. Starring Aaron Paul who plays loveable junkie-turned-pro-meth-dealer in Breaking Bad Jesse Pinkman, and Mary Elizabeth Winstead, the movie takes you on a journey through a beautiful marriage marred by substance abuse and adolescent antics.

Mary Elizabeth’s character opens up the trailer by saying “I have to tell you something…last night…I ended up smoking crack.” …And this big reveal, it’s just like this “Hmmph, okay, honey” moment. I need to see a movie that fosters a relationship like that. How did they reach that point together in their marriage, and more importantly, as humans, that crack-smoking is as insignificant as forgetting to take out the trash? I must know!

In Breaking Bad, Aaron Paul’s Jesse Pinkman is a loveable, relatable, yet almost pitiful character who so many, including myself, are attached to; separating him from this work seems like it might be almost jarring–won’t he always be Jesse? And while the elements of drug abuse and emotional and physical pain that run so rampant in Jesse’s character clearly shine through in Paul’s Smashed persona, I’m eager to see how the two will intersect and diverge to create the similarly complex, yet such distinct world of alcohol abuse.

Smashed seems tragic and deep and raw and like something that would make me never want to drink again. It sounds like something that might make me cry, but isn’t that a dead-ringer for a really good movie? When it can make a skeptic feel something? It might be a concept we’ve seen before–addiction, making a change, coming of age–but Smashed might have a certain level of integrity and authenticity that other attempts do not.

Smashed hits theaters October 12.

What happens when you take The Ring, The Matrix, the Puffy Shirt episode from Seinfeld, and Harry Potter, and allow Jeremy Renner to shit them out in a steaming pile of pseudo-action/thriller/fairy tale poo? You get the movie Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunter, starring Jeremy Renner and Gemma Arterton. We last saw Renner kicking serious government ass in The Bourne Legacy. But not exactly in line with the spawn of Matt Damon’s Bourne franchise, Witch Hunter looks a lot like a campy, gun-wielding interpretation of the rather disturbing childhood classic about mythical sex offenders that no adult really wants to relive, like, ever.

I think the movie might look something like Dog The Bounty Hunter crusading through Hogwarts and taking out all the witches who are on Megan’s Law…while wearing leather chaps.  But as much as I love me some Harry Potter action, the machine gun-laden fairy tale just doesn’t tickle me the way the war between good and evil forces of magic does. Maybe it’s the mutant Siamese twin witch from the trailer. Or the painful “Say ‘hello’ to my millennial crossbow friend” vibe. Or the cheesy dialogue that will roundhouse you in the face with its Wisconsin cheddar stench. But, who knows? Rising star Jeremy Renner might surprise us all and smack us in the face with the new Lord of The Rings series or something. Or maybe not.

 

 

People who like to picture the Kardashian family careening off a cliff in a Rolls Royce like the O’Doyle family from Billy Madison might enjoy this little piece of inconsequential news: the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce basically said Kim Kardashian sucks, which I imagine everyone in the industry already knows, but won’t admit because they are afraid she will eat them.

Kim K. was lobbying to be the first reality “star” to snag a coveted spot on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, but the Chamber of Commerce pretty much shit on her hopes by saying she should try again when she “[gets] a real acting job.“  So, basically never…Kim’s acting cameos, including her upcoming spot on Tyler Perry’s The Marriage Counselor, are about as real as her brain-melting reality show.

One good thing that could come out of Kim Kardashian having a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame is birds shitting and hoards of tourists trampling on her symbolic likeness, which is the next best medium of beratement from Twitter bombing her every time she tweets a picture of her eyelashes as her contribution to society.  So, I’m sending a big “thank you” to the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce for essentially agreeing that Kim Kardashian is only good for diddling Ray’s J’s peen and being the worst human ever.

 

Meet Park Jae Sang, also known as PSY, an underground South Korean hip hop star. This already sounds promising, in either favor.

He recently released a single “Gangnam Style,” and the music video packs a cornucopia of genius, with everything that makes Asian Pop awesome.

Some delightful treats you can expect include:

A breakdancing child
Some sort of recurring gallop/lasso move
A party bus
Yoga butts
Pelvic thrusting in an elevator
Hott asian chicks
Singing from the toilet
Epic dance breaks

Seriously, the dance breaks, which are awesomely frequent, are something to behold. We lowly Americans only have the Dougie, which makes us looks like hoodrat strippers compared to the refined synchronized humor of Gangam Style. We should learn this dance and perform it to every song at every party. Babies will be conceived at a single glance. The economy would self-rectify. Kim Kardashian’s head would explode. It’s pretty much that good.

I have tragic news for the five of you out there who still watch Grey’s Anatomy: Eric Dane, who plays Mark Sloan/”McSteamy”, will be leaving Grey’s Anatomy this season.

Considering that the story lines at Seattle Grace have become as believable as Kim K’s marriage to that pseudo-famous neanderthal, I’d say Dane’s swift exit was finely timed. The second your hospital drama adopts the story line of Lost, perhaps it’s time to shut things down. I’m talking to you, Shonda Rhimes. For future reference, plot twists such as nuclear bombs, alien invasions, warthog stampedes, and tsunamis are not proper solutions to decreased viewership. Make your show suck less, and stop stabbing people with icicles and sh*t.

Eric Dane’s departure could set a dangerous/awesome example for the rest of the lead characters to GTFO before things get really ugly, like a musical episode or something…Oh wait, that already happened?  Someone stop them. Pitch meetings are probably like a T-ball game, where everyone’s a winner! You have an idea? It’s in!

Hopefully, Meredith will get her whiny ass out next, which would be a win for all. Perhaps, then, Grey’s would improve without Ellen Pompeo’s squinty grasshopper face clogging up the screen and muddling  the social hierarchy by having her dating an Adonis. (It would never happen, it’s science.)

 

 

 

 

 

Even if Carly Rae Jepsen’s eardrum-piercing pop song might make you wish for death every time you hear it, this newest of many covers might just melt your brain…in a sort of good way. Enter YouTuber jamescovenant‘s Star Wars cover of the internet pop sensation. Star Wars fanatics, please control your laserections.

I don’t know if I want to slice off the creator’s hand with my lightsaber for making us endure yet another “Call Me Maybe” cover, or if I just have to applaud him for what must have taken an iVideo Jedi to piece together…Or a virgin who lives in his parents’ basement.

I’m pretty sure George Lucas did not have this in mind when he crafted his galactic masterpiece, but  it’s still preferable to watching the Harvard baseball team exploit their douchebaggery to the sounds of modern poop pop music. Sick of the Carly Rae Jepsen sensation or not, the YouTube master with claims to this vid will, at the very least, be getting a lot of Wookiee-poon calls, definitely.

Looks like Tom Hanks blew his genetic load on his first-born son Colin, and then left little in the gene pool to be desired for his talentless aspiring rapper son Chet.

Below is his music video of him croaking out on offensively poor attempt at rap or R&B or some sort of song about sex and drinking and puffing on something. Also there is a girl in underwear running around.

 

If there is one thing Chet Hanks Haze learned from growing up the offspring of a celebrity, it’s how to talk like you are trying to pretend you didn’t grow up the offspring of a celebrity. Chesta, please, go right ahead and change your name to whatever foshizzles yo fancy. We still know you are the son of Forrest Gump…oh, and also, you go to Northwestern. Let’s just chalk this musical diarrhea up to an identity crisis and serious cry for attention, and all will be forgiven, albeit permanently seared into my brain meat.

The whole charade would be a little easier to swallow if he had a mediocre Northwestern girl in the video in cotton Hanes underwear instead of the hot brunette crawling around, because let’s be real, not even Tom Hanks as a father-in-law is worth that trouble. No one is buying it, Chester.

My favorite part is where he implores his girl to “stretch it out.” What say you? Consider hiring a new lyricist, m’dude, because the first thing that came to my mind is an overworked, loose vajay. Not cute.

Oooo mannn you guys, only three dudes left this week in Curaçao, and Emily’s getting all introspective and shit, rattling off long soliloquies and writing Emily + ? = <3 in the sand.  So spontaneous and symbolic of her! The wave crashing over her sand art had to be a pure act of God…or a twenty-seventh take miracle.

Emily says she can’t wrap her giant forehead around the fact that three of the greatest guys she’s ever met are on their way to Curaçao to go on dates with her. Emily, if it meant I got to go to Curaçao, I would go on a date with you. I might even babysit your snaggle-toothed spawn.

Let’s break this yawn of an ep down into the three remaining contenders:

Sean

The first date is with Sean, whose usual good looks and smooth Southern charm have seemed to deteriorate under the final-three pressure, leaving him with just a really deep V-neck tee to lock things up. But seriously, am I the only one who thinks Sean looks like a bridge goat these days?

In a final attempt to win Emily’s heart, Sean writes Ricki a letter, because you aren’t allowed to be on The Bachelorette without transcribing your thoughts into a sackless mission statement.

At the end of the night, Emily invites Sean to the fantasy suite and then kicks him out before you could even say “dry hump.”  She claims the overnight date thing isn’t in line with the example she wants to set for her daughter….even though she put out during Brad’s season. But how else are you going to win things if  not with your body? Duhhh.  Sean’s balls are probably the size of grapefruits when he leaves, and he looks like his puppy ran away.

Jef

Emily so obviously likes Jef better than anyone else–she breaks out the sequins and her giant fake honkers. Plus, Jef spews out metaphors about suns setting and new beginnings. I mean, how could you not like a guy like that? I’d let my honkers flop around at dinner too.

Then Jef awkwardly asks Emily why none of her relationships have worked out. “Soooo Emily, why are you still single? Got something goin’ on…down there?” She’s somehow not extremely offended by their conversation about her man-repellant nature. Also, Jef tells Emily she passed the screening test with his siblings, so now his parents are interested in meeting her. Ohh, cool.

Sadly but not all that surprisingly, Jef really p*ssies out by pretty much turning down the fantasy suite card before Emily can turn him down. I believe he is the first bachelor in history to do this, and I’m hoping he just didn’t want to deal with the disappointment of Emily telling him no herself. He is still losing a lot of street cred tonight. They go hang out for a little and make out awkwardly in a twelve-inch-buffered tangle of limbs.

Arie

Emily just loves kissing Arie. Arie just loves eating Emily’s face zombiepocalypse style…and also looking like Linus from Charlie Brown. And also having a pumpkin-sized head.

Even though Arie seems to be wearing a pajama top to dinner, Emily still cries because she can’t bring herself to use the fantasy suite and have sex with Arie. Girl is seriously in heat.  Guess she hasn’t gotten a poke in a while, which makes it all the more absurd that she doesn’t just try to get it in with one of her ready and willing (with the exception of Jef) suitors.

So at the big rose ceremony Emily shows up with that horse tail again looking like a total bobblehead. She is in serious need of a blowout to hide that giant dome piece. We get the pleasure of watching video diaries that each guy recorded for Emily. Sean is the ultimate string cheese, Jef sounded like he was reading a script from a beginner’s poetry workshop, and Arie was just being a sloshing, vinegary douche bag.

Emily looks like a constipated princess as she watches, and then cries like a constipated infant after.

And here we go. Emily picks Jef first, and then dammit if she picks f*cking Arie. I can’t believe it’s the skateboarder and Indy driver in the final two for dad duty, and the Southern gentleman is out. Not that Jef’s hair and skateboard don’t make him the ultimate hipster hubby bad*ss…who wouldn’t want to lock that up in holy matrimony? Arie is a useless sack of wax Halloween lips your old neighbor used to hand out instead of candy…like, oh really, ABC? This is what you’re dishing out to me as the poor excuse of a hot guy? No, thank you. I guess I’ll take the Butterfinger with one ‘t’.

In the limo, Sean looks like he ages ten years in ten minutes as he launches into a heartbreaking monologue that will surely play in the trailer for his season of The Bachelor. But seriously, what happened to Sean’s pretty face? He looks like a foosball. Emily goes and sits on a bench to hyperventilate, although I can’t tell if it’s because she’s crying or her mermaid fin is too tight.

Previews for next week make it look like Emily b*tches out and doesn’t pick any one, probably because she realizes one plays with marionettes and requires a lie detector test to meet his parents, and the other one looks like a sock monkey.

Holy jock straps — Kenny Powers is f*cking back. You heard right, people, everyone’s favorite foul-mouthed, fastball-slinging, mullet-rocking low-life bad-a** is returning for a fourth season of  Eastbound and Down. Hold on to your d*cks!