Saturday, February 18, 2006

The Tampon Game

Thanks to the Diva Queen for forwarding this game. The rules are simple: Take a movie title and replace one word with the word tampon. The result is supposed to be more or less funny. A selection, based on various e-mail strings collected by Mrs. Fabulous, follows below.

If you'd like to join in the game, post your favorite tampon-related movie title in the comments section. I'll collect the best and post them here.

Full Metal Tampon
The Hunt for Red Tampon
Raiders of the Lost Tampon
Tampon: First Blood
Tampon Harbor
Tampons are Forever

Brokeback Tampon
Tampons and Misdemeanors
Dances with Tampons
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Tampon
Hannah and Her Tampons
Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Tampons
Memoirs of a Tampon
My Own Private Tampon
Remember the Tampons
The Sisterhood of the Traveling Tampon
Tampon and Flow

Four Weddings and a Tampon
How Stella Got Her Tampon Back
How to Lose a Tampon in Ten Days
The Runaway Tampon
Tamponless in Seattle
When Tampon Met Sally

The 40 Year Old Tampon
Dude, Where's My Tampon?
The Longest Tampon
Mean Tampons
A Mighty Tampon
My Big Fat Greek Tampon
Revenge of the Tampons
Tampon Crashers

Attack of the 50 Foot Tampon
E.T. - The Extra Tampon
Invasion of the Tampon Snatchers
Planet of the Tampons
The Tampon After Tomorrow
The Tampon: Reloaded

28 Tampons Later
House of 1,000 Tampons
Night of the Living Tampon
The Silence of the Tampons

Charlie and the Tampon Factory
Edward Tamponhands
How the Grinch Stole Tampons
Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Tampons
The Lord of the Tampons: The Fellowship of the Tampon

Finding Tampon
Lady and the Tampon
Snow White and the Seven Tampons
Tampons, Inc.

Gone With the Tampon
The Sound of Tampons
A Tampon Named Desire

It's hours of fun, no?

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

RIP, Nice Guy Eddie

Man, what a drag.

In honor of the passing of actor Chris Penn, a snippet from Tarantino's brilliant dialogue in Reservoir Dogs:

Nice Guy Eddie: Did you see that daddy? Guy got me on the ground and he tried to fuck me.

Mr. Blonde: You wish.

Nice Guy Eddie: Listen Vic, I don't mind what you do, but don't try to fuck me in my father's office, I don't think of you that way. I like you a lot man, but I don't think of you that way.

Mr. Blonde: Eddie, if I was a butt cowboy, I wouldn't even throw you to the posse.

Nice Guy Eddie: Of course not, you'd keep me for yourself, you sick bastard. Four years of fuckin' punks up the ass you'd appreciate a piece of prime rib when you see one.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Live blogging the Golden Globes

On Monday, January 16, NBC broadcast the annual Golden Globes award ceremony. Having absolutely nothing better to do on a Monday night, Mr. Fabulous and his wife, the lovely and talented Mrs. Fabulous, recorded our thoughts about the Globes in a running broadcast commentary. It’s such fascinating reading, we know you’ll want to hang with us all the way to the end.

I. Mr. Fabulous begins
We’re watching the Golden Globes pre-game show right now. In a nutshell, it’s the pretty and dim being interviewed by the congenitally stupid. Matt Dillon and Johnny Depp seem heavily medicated. Anthony Hopkins has slipped back into Remains-of-the-Day mode. Maria Carrey is surprisingly coherent. Matthew Broderick and Sarah Jessica Parker actually seem happy. Mrs. Fabulous and I are rooting for them to stay together—because if they get divorced, then there’s no hope for any married couple in Hollywood. Hillary Swank without Chad Lowe, for example, looks like the Skipper without Gilligan.

Jamie Foxx is going to hook up with his interviewer after the show. Confirmed.

Scarlett Johansson gives new meaning to the phrase “golden globes.”

II. The Show
What a terrible, wretched takeoff of that wretched Pussycat Dolls song for the opener. Good gravy, shame is dead in this country.

Queen Latifah— remember when she hated whitey?

Adrian Brody— what an ugly fucking tux. Best Supporting Actor coming up… George Clooney, Matt Dillon, Will “Ego Train” Farrell, Paul Giamatti, Bob Hoskins. The GG goes to… Clooney for Syriana. Good choice. Clooney’s had a great year. Plus he pulled a De Niro in that movie, so come on. Great dig on Jack Abramoff at the end.

Best Supporting Actress. Scarlett Johansson… Shirley MacLaine, Frances McDormand, Rachel Weisz, Michelle Williams. I’m rooting for Williams… but Weisz takes it down. She looks like one of Captain Kirk’s conquests on Star Trek.

Jessica Alba… you just can’t call her anything but smokin’ hot. The TV awards are on now… pardon me while I doze off.

Superman Returns star Brandon Routh is let out in public for the first time. He looks uncannily like the late Christopher Reeve. But it’s more TV stuff, so it’s time to surf But wait! Sandra Oh staves off certain coma with a cool acceptance speech. “I feel like I’ve been set on fire!”

Drew Barrymore needs a Wonderbra— the girls are hanging low. She introduces Good Night, and Good Luck., which oughta win something. David Strathairn is an actor’s actor, a veteran of the trenches, and is enjoying some late recognition for a lifetime of fantastic work.

When did Natalie Portman become Winona Ryder?

More TV stuff. Haven’t seen any of it, so I can’t comment… but Gina Davis’s thank-you speech for Commander in Chief kicked ass. Girlfriend has got it going on. So does Evangeline Lily— but in an entirely different way.

Melanie Griffith looks like she’s about to collapse into a pile of tattooed limbs, fake tits and plastic surgery scars. She’s introducing The Producers… which is the next best thing to paying $200 to see it on Broadway.

More TV… haven’t seen a single one of these made-for-TV movies. I’ll bet some of em are good, but I’ll never see one. Empire Falls wins… too bad Paul Newman isn’t around. Seeing him in his twilight years makes me feel old as shit. Pamela Anderson, meanwhile, may be the greatest drag queen who ever lived.

The Steve Carell winning streak continues. Let’s hope he doesn’t board the Ego Train like Will Farrell. His speech rocks, though. Everybody seems to realize that this idiotic broadcast is supposed to entertain those of us whose lives are so pathetic and sad that we have nothing better to do on a Monday night but watch the Golden Globes.

VI. Mr. Fabulous bows out to take a dump
Mrs. Fabulous here— I’m waiting for the commercial break to be over and just looking over Mr. F’s notes. Always with Evangeline Lily. Ugh! What about the dude who plays Sawyer? Have to keep my eyes peeled for a glimpse of him. See, I don’t even know his name so I think my lusting is less offensive than his…

Tim Robbins. Isn’t he one of those Scientologists? Can’t look at him without seeing him as a puppet in Team America: World Police. He looks better as a puppet. He oughta lay off whatever it is he’s smoking, snorting or huffing, because he looks rough.

Ugh. Jamie Foxx. There’s a guy who’s so in love with himself that he could never find a woman who could love him more. Yes, you can sing, but enough already!!

Time for Best Actress in a musical or comedy. Judi Dentch, Keira Knightley— I’m way jealous of that young, talented, pretty thing— Laura Linney for The Squid and the Whale: want to see it, but I need to forget about her horrible role in Mystic River— Sarah Jessica Parker, Reese Witherspoon. Walk the Line is hardly a comedy or a musical…interesting choice. Reese wins it just seconds after Mr. F says he hopes she gets it. Good for you, dear. She’s cute as a bug and I didn’t even hate those Legally Blonde movies, even though that type of chick-flick ain’t usually my bag, baby. She’s thanking Joaquin Phoenix, who used to be quite a looker but has never fully recovered from Ladder 49.

Chris Rock awards Best Actress in a TV comedy. All the Desperate Housewives, of course. That Chris— so funny. I’m kind of sick of looking at these ladies, and I don’t even watch the show— but I accidentally have a subscription to Star magazine, so I’m sick of seeing them in those pages week after week after week. Can’t wait ‘til that subscription runs out so I can quit reading it cover to cover. I know more about Kevin Federline than I ever wanted to…and I had never even heard of him before.

Rock says Eva Longoria is nominated for Chico and the Man. That Weeds chick needs to RE-LAX! And she wins! Thank God! We won’t have to watch one of the Housewives rub it into the rest of the cast’s faces for the remainder of the year. And we thought she had no shot. Mary Louise Parker— I always get her and Bridgette Fonda mixed up– don’t ask me how. Well, let’s see if Mr. F. likes what I’m doing….we’ll see if I’m fired or not.

Emmas Thompson: now there’s half of a couple I had hoped would stay together. She and Kenneth Branagh were one of my first favorite couples to fall apart. She’s slowly turning into Julie Andrews. Introducing Pride and Prejudice… she looks nice. It’s so weird to see how low some women’s tits are, but I guess that’s natural. The ones that stand up, I guess must be fake. I’m too scared to look at my own boobs, thank you very much.

Eric Bana. Oh, yeah. Saw him on the red carpet ,and knew his name sounded familiar but couldn’t place him – Munich. Duh. He’s handsome.

Kenneth Branagh, Warm Springs. Oops. Best actor in a TV movie or mini-series. There’s the other half of the ex-couple. Ed Harris, Empire Falls. I’m sick of this show already and I never even saw it— although I do love me some Ed Harris. Nice face, Ed. Bill Nighy, The Girl in the Café. Never heard of it. We’re not TV folks, per se. I mean, we see our fair share of TV, don’t get me wrong. Between TLC, the Food Network and let’s not forget my personal favorite, The Weather Channel, we watch a lot.

Jonathon Rhys Meyers as Elvis. Man, I read about this in one of my Star mags, I guess too late. We would have liked to have seen that show. Donald Sutherland, Human Trafficking. If you’re Kiefer, you have to be scared for what you’re going to look like in a few years. Speaking of Kiefer, there is no way in hell I could ever get into 24 thanks to that stupid fucking Phone Booth movie. Every time I hear his voice, I hear, “A ringing phone just has to be answered.” And you just have to be destroyed…you should have stuck with The Lost Boys.

Jonathan won. Go, King! Too bad it wasn’t on MTV or something because you know they’d be replaying it a million times. Oh, well. I guess we can rent it from Netflix when the time comes. Is he Irish? What the ham sandwich?? If it’s not Scottish, it’s crap! Skinny tie, though. He looks like he just stepped out of Trainspotting. Now I really want to see him as Elvis.

Best actress in a mini series or TV movie. Halle Berry, Their Eyes Were Watching God. This must be like the first role in which she doesn’t take her clothes off…Kelly MacDonald, The Girl in the Café. Mr. F. says she was in Trainspotting. S. Epatha Merkerson, Lackawanna Blues. You have to wonder what the S. stands for if Epatha seemed like a better choice…Cynthia Nixon, Warm Springs. Seeing her makes me think of lesbians. which reminds me of Sandra Oh, who thanked her rock, Margo. Is she a carpet-muncher? Not that there’s anything wrong with that….You’re getting married on Saturday?!? Mira Sorvino, Human Trafficking. Missed this one as well. Haven’t seen her since that horrible horror flick, the name of which escapes me. That was some compelling acting…hope she doesn’t win. Oh, good. S. Epatha won. Never heard of this picture, but we saw earlier that Terrence Howard was in it, too, and I think he’s fabulous. S. is 53 and she said it’s her first starring role in a movie. And she’s having hot flashes. Though her name remains a mystery, she seems like a nice woman. Oh, she’s from Law & Order. Thought she looked familiar. Has L&O been on for 16 years?

VIII. Mr. Fabulous returns.
Match Point— gotta catch it as soon as it reaches the hinterlands. Wags are calling it the best Woody Allen film since Crimes and Misdemeanors, which is high praise indeed considering that the latter film is Woody’s best ever.

Virginia Madsen continues the Golden Globes tit parade… screenplay award. Match Point, Good Night, and Good Luck., Crash, Munich, Brokeback Mountain. We’ll see if Brokeback starts racking them up…. Yep. Brokeback is now the undisputed front-runner for Best Picture at the Oscars. But Munich and Good Night are both better films. Larry McMurtry looks and sounds like a South Park character.

A couple of no-name TV actors give the award for Best TV comedy. The show about the four suburban drag queens won. Thank god for TV, though, because it keeps 40-something bulimic actresses employed. Lord knows they don’t get to make movies.

Penelope Cruz looks sublimely glamorous as she presents Best Picture, musical or comedy nominee Mrs. Henderson Presents. Her squeeze, Matthew McConaughey, introduces Best Foreign Language film. Kung Fu Hustle should win, but I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that Paradise Now wins it. It does. Yep. I know how the game works. But Kung Fu Hustle was the most brilliantly inventive film to come out of any country in 2005. It showed us that CGI effects now allow live-action filmmakers to be as diabolically inventive as Chuck Jones.

Catherine Deneuve introduces A History of Violence, which should be nominated in the Comedy category. Why am I the only critic in America who understands that this picture is a comedy?

Best Original Score, which is a bathroom break category. I’m guessing Brokeback takes this one too— but John Williams gets his 10,000th award. Then it’s Mariah Carrey, who takes the Golden Globe award for Biggest Beefsteak Tomatoes. Hope Mel Brooks wins for best song. Nope, it’s Brokeback. The gay-shepherd juggernaut continues. It does give one hope that Brokeback is playing well in the red states. Maybe the Falwell crowd doesn’t have us licked yet.

Time for the Anthony Hopkins celebrity butt-kiss-a-thon. I remember a few years ago, Kirk Douglas was honored with the Thalberg award at the Oscars. The poor man had just suffered a terrible stroke. There he was on stage, a shell of his former self, forced to watch film clips of himself as a vibrant young man, and I thought, could anything be more depressing? As Kurt Vonnegut’s Kilgore Trout said when he finally met his creator in Breakfast of Champions: “Make me young!”

What the fuck is going on with Gwyneth Paltrow’s gown? Little Bo Peep called, she wants her dress back… Anthony Hopkins has had a fantastic career— although he edged painfully close to De Niro-style career suicide with that Chris Rock picture. And Silence of the Lambs really was the best picture of 1991. Speech time… he should launch into a Hitler-esque tirade. Instead, he’s putting us to sleep. Man, I remember when the Golden Globes used to poor stiff drinks and get everyone fucked up. Now it seems like they’re serving iced tea in those glasses.

Mandy Moore tees up The Squid and the Whale… who woulda thought that she’d be the one to escape the teen idol ghetto?

Clint! Best director: Woody Allen, George Clooney, Peter Jackson, Ang Lee, Fernando Meirelles, Spielberg. Ang Lee will win… yep. Lee is a class act, though, and he deserves the recognition. My favorite Lee picture is one that no one ever mentions— Ride with the Devil, the Civil War opus with Toby Maguire. It’s an awesome recreation of the guerrilla war that raged in Kansas and Missouri while Lee and McLellan were duking it out in Virginia. Also features the acting debut of former alterna-queen Jewel, who if memory serves flashes a breast. Put it in your Netflix queue if you haven’t had the pleasure.

Oh crap, here comes Big-Head Travolta. Best actor in a comedy: Pierce Bronson, Jeff Daniels, Johnny Depp, Nathan Lane, Cillian Murphy, Joaquin Phoenix. Phoenix takes it— let’s hope for a freak-out! He doesn’t appear to be drunk or stoned; that’s too bad. What a depressingly average speech. Sigh… somebody needs to spike the Evian with LSD.

Tim McGraw needs cue-card help; he may in fact be drunk. Now here comes Squinty Girl to hand out best musical or comedy… Mrs. Henderson Presents, Pride and Prejudice, The Producers, The Squid and the Whale, Walk the Line. Gotta be WTL… woo-hoo! Johnny and June are dancing a jig in Heaven. It’s not a classic, you understand, but it’s still a pretty damn good love story and it deserves a nod here—after all, it’s gonna be a Brokeback hoedown at the Oscars. Everything else will be forgotten.

Time for the TV awards… ho hum. Let’s hope Lost takes best drama. Woo-hoo! It’s the only TV show I watch, so of course I’m happy to have my tastes confirmed.

Quaid on Brokeback… I gotta say, I’m glad Ledger hooked up with Williams on that film. She’s a cutie. Leo on best actress: Huffman, Bello, Theron, Ziang, Paltrow. Goes to… the chick with the dick. Looks like one of the Housewives isn’t so desperate anymore.

Hillary Swank on best actor: Crowe, Hoffman, Howard, Ledger, Strathairn. Rooting for Hoffman, but I bet Ledger gets it. No! Hoffman! Sweet. The Pudgy One gets his due. The guy has been brilliant for so long and in so many different ways that he’s spent a lifetime getting overlooked. Hope this puts him in position to upset Ledger for the Oscar. Ledger is great, don’t get me wrong… but this is Hoffman’s time. Of course, I thought last year was Giamatti’s time, and Foxx snatched his statue away. Still too short and tame a speech… the Globes are becoming as dull as the Oscars ever were. More liquor!

Denzel with the Big Prize: Brokeback, Constant Gardener, Good Night, History, Match Point. Brokeback it is— yawn. Every time I hear those laconic guitar chords, I want to nod off.

There it is… the first attempt by Mr. and Mrs. Fabulous to blog our way though an entire awards ceremony. If you made it this far, then you have our sympathies. Of course, reading about the Golden Globes takes a hell of a lot less time than actually watching them… so maybe we’re the ones who need the sympathy.

Movie Review: Tristan & Isolde

Way back in 1991, when there was a Bush in the White House and we were at war with Iraq, two competing Robin Hood movies made their respective debuts. In this corner we had Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, starring Kevin Costner as the guy in tights, Morgan Freeman as his anachronistic Moorish sidekick and Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio as Maid Marion. In that corner we had a little-noticed British film called simply Robin Hood, which was shown theatrically in the U.K. but only on television in the U.S., and which starred career B-movie actor Patrick Bergin and a young Uma Thurman. Reynolds’s version was a ridiculously overwrought star vehicle, one of the most laugh-out-loud clunkers of the 1990’s, with a script written by a couple of hack producers that can charitably be described as awful, and copious scenes of Costner swaggering around like John Wayne in The Conqueror. That Costner’s film was a box office hit tells us that today’s movie audiences haven’t gotten any dumber.

Read the full review.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Movie Review: Brokeback Mountain

Mrs. Fabulous and I went to see Coldplay last summer. Now I wouldn’t call myself a Coldplay fan, actually. I find them too precious by half. They’re the musical equivalent of one of those massage chairs you pay to sit in at your local shopping mall— vaguely soothing, but mechanical and lacking soul. Still, given the woeful state of pop music today, they’re fucking Pink Floyd compared to what else is out there. So what are you gonna do? Besides, they’re one of the few bands my wife and I can agree to spend money on.

Read the full review.

Saturday, December 31, 2005

Movie Review: King Kong

Hollywood needs Peter Jackson. In an era in which box office revenues are drying up faster than the world’s oil supplies, in which one after another of 2005’s supposed studio tent poles collapsed in a splintering sawdust cloud of dashed hopes, this rumpled, barefoot, recently-svelte Kiwi seems to be the only director working today— with the possible exception of Spiderman’s Sam Raimi and the still-kicking Steven Spielberg— who knows how to leverage big studio money and digital special effects to create idiosyncratic, personality-driven films that connect with today’s increasingly jaded and distracted audiences. If Peter Jackson can’t save Hollywood, no one can.

Read the full review.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Atlanta after dark

Was in Atlanta for work last week, which means it took me a hell of a long time to get a new review up. But far be it from me to keep you from another dose of my sparkling prose, so I hope you didn't miss me too much.

But first a word about Atlanta. Mrs. Fabulous went with me on the trip, and because she has family and friends there, I've gotten to know the place better over the past few years. As much as it pains this Yankee Blue-stater to admit it, I've grown kinda fond of it. I've learned the difference between downtown, Midtown and Buckhead; I've had Tapas at Fuego and dinner at the City Grill; and although I haven't been to the Fox Theater yet, I've seen it and will get their soon-- I just missed a show by the String Cheese Incident earlier this month. Every time we head down, Mrs. Fabulous tries to show me another piece of the city.

This time we saw the world-famous Cyclorama that depicts the Battle of Atlanta in the Civil War in the form of a 360-degree, 30-foot tall painting with accompanying diorama. I'm a Civil War buff, and let me tell you that it was pretty spectacular. The after-party for the world premiere of Gone With the Wind was held at the Cyclorama in 1939, and Clark Gable himself is immortalized in the form of a dead Confederate soldier in the diorama. There are movie connections everywhere.

But the best part of the trip was the Clairmont Lounge. If you're an Atlantan, then you know whereof I speak. Mrs. Fabulous had partied here on many an evening, and was determined to get me there on this trip. Billed as the strip club for people who hate strip clubs, the Clairmont is located in the basement of the Clairmont Hotel on Ponce de Leon. It's no bigger than a breadbox. The featured beer is Pabst Blue Ribbon. Its main attraction is Blondie, the obese stripper who crushes beer cans between her size 36-FF tits. The rumor is that she once sent a man to the hospital with a neck injury after whacking him upside the head with one these giant beefsteak tomatoes. The place is supposed to be fun and kitzchy rather than depressing and skanky, like most strip clubs. College kids go to drink and hook up and couples go to take a walk on the wild side.

Unfortunately, we went on a Monday night, which is apparently regulars night. When we got there, we saw about five middle-aged men hunched around the bar and about the same number of scantily-dressed redneck chicks. On the stage behind the bar was a Cher lookalike (scary-old-Botox Cher, mind you, not hot-young-"Cherokee Woman"-Gene-Simmons-plaything Cher) grinding to some shitty song on the jukebox. We got our PBRs from the bartender, a friendly enough 50-something woman who had sniffed enough glue to build a scale model of an aircraft carrier. Before we could pop the tops on our beers, Cher had popped both her top and bottom, and stood revealed in all her glory. The collected barflies were less than thrilled, though one guy gave her a dollar to stuff into her garter.

"Come on, I made two dollars all night!" Cher said. "I gotta buy groceries. I can't even buy a gallon of milk."

I looked at Mrs. Fabulous. What the hell? I pulled out two bucks and handed them to Cher.

"Great, now I can buy a stick of butter!" said Cher.

Mrs. Fabulous was ready to bolt then and there. But dammit, we had made a special trip. We were duty bound to see this moment of Zen through to enlightenment. So we stayed for a few hours. We saw hairy lesbians, pudgy Goth chicks and tatooed biker girls all bump and grind. It was the first time my wife and I had been in the same room together with other naked women, and it was odd, to say the least. They must have thought we were there to pick up one of the strippers to take home with us. Not that there's anything wrong with it-- it just ain't our bag, man.

At one point we befriended a buxom young woman, pretty but with man-shoulders. Her dillema: she had two men on the hook, and couldn't choose between the tatoo artist or the "executive at a major international corporation" who met her at the Clairmont.

"Which one wants you to quit working here?" asked Mrs. Fabulous.

"The tatoo guy," Man-Shoulders answered. "He's sweet. He likes to cook for me."

My wife and I both agreed that she should dump the executive and go for the sweet tatoo artist who wanted her to quit stripping. A few moments later, Man-Shoulders was up on the stage twirling her panties in the air. She actually had the best moves up there. Let's just say she seemed to enjoy her work.

We tipped two bucks per stripper and got kisses on the cheek from each of the girls after their set. It was touching, in a way. Given that we were the big spenders that night, I took their gratitude as sincere.

So Mrs. Fabulous and I bonded in a new way that night; while we aren't planning a trip to Scores any time soon, it's nice to know we can have a good time together looking at naked chicks.

Friday, October 14, 2005

Quickie: Wallace & Gromit in the Curse of the Were-Rabbit

In Schindler's List, Ben Kingsley's Itzhak Stern introduces the concept of "absolute good. "This list... is an absolute good," Stern says. "The list is life. All around its margins lies the gulf."

Now I'm not about to insult or demean Schindler's Jews by comparing their plight to an animated film about giant were-bunnies. But I do mean to suggest that Wallance & Gromit, in their inimitable plasticine ways, are an absolute good. In three short films and now their first feature, the cheese-loving inventor Wallace and his owner, the Chaplinesque mouthless dog Gromit, posit a universe in which no idea is too outlandish to be tried, vegetables and cheese are prized above gold and rubies and no problem is too great to be surmounted with a combination of ingenuity, tenacity and elbow grease. I'd like to live in Wallace & Gromit's world. It's a far gentler, nobler and loving world than this one-- that's for sure.

Wallace & Gromit in the Curse of the Were-Rabbit is everything you could possibly hope for in a Wallace & Gromit adventure. What makes Nick Park's creations so enjoyable to watch on the big screen is how cinematic they are. They're lit, blocked and shot with all the care of the best live-action directors. Loving attention is paid to the characters. The plot is worked over with all the pizzaz of the best Pixar releases. I loved every ever-lovin' minute of this picture. Its theme and utter brilliance can be summed up in the closing credits sequence, in which a series of perplexed bunnies twirls, rotates and pirouettes in glorious free-fall. The charm and giddy adventurousness of this sequence, not to mention the utter delight it demonstrates in God's creation, sums up everything that Aardman Animation wants to say about life on Earth. If you don't get it, then I feel sorry for you.