Larry is not the King of MY Media

Boy, oh boy. Don't fuck with my movies, people. Fuck with other countries, the environment, the military, education, whatever. But DO NOT toy with celluloid. Do not debase it into a putrid, steaming pile of dung by associating it with people who have absolutely no relevance in the film world.

Now, don't get me wrong. I went to film school. At first glance, I'm one of "those people." Although I consider myself to be a filmmaker and not a film student (there's a big difference), I do have that sense of privilege that allows me to make judgements on who should/shouldn't be listened to or EVEN ALLOWED TO SPEAK regarding movies. Rex Reed? He can say a little something. Even that tool Peter Travers from Rolling Stone is allowed a comment here and there. But LARRY KING? I ask you, my darlings, the question to end all questions:

What in the world qualifies this man, the "King Of All Media," to utter even a syllable of film criticism?

I am sure it's safe to assume that he sees some flicks between taking care of his 80 children and 5 ex wives. I know that he can string together a coherent sentence, and has in fact published many a book on politics and wars and stuff. He can interview someone like nobody's business. And King can steal the shoes right off your feet without you noticing (no, seriously, he was arrested for larceny in '71). But none of this has anything to do with knowing movies.

The thing that has me all riled up are some national radio commericals for Phantom of the Opera. On a personal note, I am fighting my desire to see this, because I was fascinated with the musical as a youngster but I KNOW that Joel Schumaker has fucked it up somehow. It would just be too hurtful to be sitting in those Cinerama Dome seats while wisps of memories from the '91 stage show at the Buell theater in CO came lilting back to me...

Anyway. Apparently their only good pull quote from any person of note whatsoever is that "Larry King says this movie is PHENOMENAL." That was, of course, a paraphrase. The first time I heard the ad I was vaguely suspicious. Then I continued my drive to work singing along with Neil Diamond. The second time I heard it I said, "Wait one goddamn minute you JERK OFF," and the child in the open-windowed car next to me started to cry. See what you did, Larry King?!

I was stewing over this when watching an ad for the old-news National Treasure. All of a sudden, among the poorly hidden pleas of "Seriously guys, PLEASE see this again? We swear you'll like it better this time," was the quote "Best Movie of The Year!" with my favorite name underneath.

I'm going to wrap this up now by painting a picture of me sitting on a comfy leather couch at my dad's house. This commericial, thankfully, has ended. My mouth is open, my hands pressed to my cheeks. I am having trouble breathing normally. I certainly can't speak. My stepsister Lauren casually says, "Isn't he that old grasshopper-looking guy that wears those ugly suspenders?"

From the mouths of babes.
Wrigley.g