At two and a half hours, the film was a bit tiring. It was the equivalent of five episodes, a good chunk of a season that I would rather watch at home on my couch while eating bonbons. It pretty much felt like five episodes too: it didn’t flow well for a feature length film and the storylines often felt disconnected. You just sat there and waited for the end credits and the title credits for the next episode, tuned to the jazzy theme by Groove Armada–but they never came. Likewise, the narration by Carrie was sporadic and, at times, you were left wondering “What happened with Miranda?” or “Where did Charlotte go?” only to have those questions answered half an hour later.

It was ultimately nice to see the cast reunited on the big screen, though with some additions that were better left out. The child stars (a toddler-sized Brady and Lily–Charlotte’s adopted Chinese daughter) were occasionally adorable but frequently annoying. Brady fails to pick up on the tension between his parents (how dense) and Lily has a penchant for hiding other people’s cell phones and blurting out “sex” to the women’s roaring laughter. Another ill-thought addition would be Jennifer Hudson. Major casting flaw here, Tricia Wood, as I see a better performance by someone like Gabrielle Union, who–despite her experience–can pull off innocent and naive without coming off as a horrible actress…how Hudson got an Academy Award, I’ll never know…You can practically see the cue cards reflected in her awe-struck-”I’m shamelessly piggybacking on Dreamgirls‘ success”- eyes.

Hudson’s only favorable contribution would be her song (“All Dressed in Love”) on the amazing soundtrack. From the fabulous and revamped theme by the Pfeifer Broz. Orchestra to the return of Al Green accompanied by the soulful siren Joss Stone in “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?” this soundtrack has it all. The songs play on all the turbulent emotions in the film. The moving rendition of “Auld Lang Syne” by Mairi Campbell and Dave Francis touches on the sense of forgiveness and renewal and Jem touches up Carrie’s makeover with her smoky vocals in “It’s Amazing.” The hip “New York Girls” by Morningwood (insert obvious pun here) embodies runway style as the fitting Fergie’s “Labels or Love” follows suit (complete with made-up words and all…)

”

<Spoiler Alert>

Yet despite the unexpected bathroom humour with unwaxed pubes and Charlotte noisily succumbing to Montezuma’s Revenge in Mexico, the Sex and the City movie met my expectations with the same women (one reaching the hump of 50 years) graced by clever writing and talented actresses who effortlessly slip back into their roles as they would a pair of Jimmy Choos. And, of course, Sex and the City wouldn’t be complete without the sex, which at times, was rather graphic as with Samantha’s Los Angeles neighbor (and male counterpart), Dante, who surfs, fucks, and showers in slow motion. It was borderline cheesy as Hudson’s-”I came to New York to find love”-character has a “LOVE” key chain to prove it and also uses “LOVE” as her password (and here I thought passwords had to be at least eight characters and alpha- numeric). Likewise, Steve and Miranda’s reunion on the Brooklyn Bridge was a little TOO Hallmark as Steve wears this idiotic David Archuleta-esque look of enormous gratitude. In the end, I couldn’t help but wonder…is any wedding with a man named Preston (yes, Mr. Big’s name is John Preston) doomed?*

*(In Grey’s Anatomy, Dr. Preston Burke leaves Dr. Cristina Yang at the altar as Big similarly leaves Carrie).

Thursday, the glamorous red-carpet of the Cannes Film Festival was stained with controversy about Sharon Stone’s comment about red-China’s recent earthquake, “”Then all this earthquake and all this stuff happened, and I thought, is that karma? When you’re not nice, that the bad things happen to you?”

Hearing that, I COULDN’T HELP BUT WONDER (in my Carrie Bradshaw state induced by the Sex and the City movie fervor)…what if this crude, 50-year-old, full-frontal bearing, somewhat washed-up celebrity was right?

Following her comment, a major Chinese movie chain, UME Cineplex, banned all her films–which (given her recent films), isn’t much of a loss for the Chinese moviegoing demographic. Stone actually has three new movies coming out, one (The Year of Getting to Know Us) of which has been trashed on IMDB. Damage control from Christian Dior (of which Stone has been featured in their Chinese campaign) included the removal of her image from their ads. Feeling the pain of brutal Chinese boycott, Stone apologized and pledged to support the relief efforts. But clearly, the damage has been done.

China has long been an abuser of basic human rights (with its tanks and Tienenmen Squares and whatnot), so Stone’s “what goes around, comes around” theory isn’t entirely baseless. Sure, as a big Hollywood star, she should have given that comment a second thought before saying it aloud and during such a crucial public relations period for her career…as she should have given Basic Instinct 2 a second thought before signing on. But I’m no Hollywood star, and I completely agree with her. With the arrests, beatings, and killings of Buddhist monks (including the overly aggressive seizures of temples) in mind, maybe they had it coming. As a Buddhist, I’m shocked at this brutality yet am also obligated to forgive; but as a cynical American, I’m going to point the accusatory finger and yell “KARMA!”

Just last week, I was at the Asian supermarket and there were these people asking for earthquake relief donations. For some reason, when I saw them, I just didn’t feel as much sympathy as I thought I would. I mean, with the victims of the tsunami and the recent cyclone in Myanmar, there was the chance that I could’ve reached into my wallet and contributed (even though the aid would never reach the right people in Myanmar). But with these people, there was no chance of that happening…my response was more of an “I’m sorry for your loss, but that’s the way the fortune cookie crumbles” (and yes, I just made an incredibly tasteless pun).

True, it’s a terrible tragedy, especially all those schoolchildren trapped in the rubble. True, we (as humans) should have general compassion…for everyone (including ruthless semi-capitalist but nonetheless communist hosts of 2008 Olympics). But call me a heartless prick for defending Sharon Stone, but maybe the earthquake was a sign from a higher power to the Chinese government to change its ways.

Okay, I’ve talked to you about the thin pioneer plasma, but this is insane.  Among the various other thin flat panels I have mentioned, this Sony OLED is pretty sexy despite its anorexia.  Introducing a prototype by Sony, a .2mm thick… OLED panel, with a screen size of 3.5 inches.

This new prototype beats another thin panel OLED by Samsung with a thickness of .25mm with a 4 inch screen.

To obtain the thinness, glass substrates had to be grounded to produce the thinness:

To achieve the slimness, the company ground the glass substrates on both sides after producing the OLED panel so that each side measures only 0.1mm in thickness.

Although the screen size is small, you could have all the bragging rights with this anorexic piece of screen real estate.

Source: http://techon.nikkeibp.co.jp/english/NEWS_EN/20080417/150598/

On the left is a screencap from V for Vendetta, the futuristic Wachowski Bros film in which Natalie Portman shaved her head. More recently, she can be seen with hair and sporting a sultry green bodice in The Other Boleyn Girl. On the right is Sinéad O’Connor, the hardcore Dublin-born songstress known for such onstage controversy as ripping the Pope’s photo during an SNL performance and condemning pedophilia (in that order).

On the left is formerly plus-sized and former presidential hopeful Mike Huckabee. In the middle is Gregory Itzin, well-known for his role as the morally-corrupt President Charles Logan from Season 5 of 24. Finally, on the right is the Watergate headliner Richard Nixon. It appears that if Nixon and Itzin had a son, their spawn would look like Mike Huckabee.

Beauty
Betrayal
Bad writing
Bana (as in Eric)
Bastard child
Bitch
Beheadings
Boleyn.

On Friday, I had the pleasure of seeing the drastically delayed The Other Boleyn Girl. Even before its release, all the Boleyn buzz was negative, with claims that the studio delayed the release (originally scheduled for last year) due to a lack of confidence for any Academy nods (a claim that is not completely baseless). As a loyal ScarJo fan and fanatic for Natalie Portman, I just HAD to see it: two of my favorite leading ladies together on the big screen and the claws come out (as the trailer misleads, much of the animosity is one-sided). Cynically and lightheartedly walking into the theatre with lowered expectations, I was surprised that it was not as bad as I thought it would be.

A bit awkward at first as the brighter lights of the previews revealed the true demographic of this film: middle-aged book club matrons, old couples, and younger chicks with other chicks or whipped boyfriends. I felt as if I was in the re-release of Somethings Gotta Give, an old–aged–chick flick in which most of the audience “no longer bleed” (an in-movie crack at the less than attractive Catherine of Aragon and her dried-up inability to bear the belly-fruit). These were the type that would applause for the TRAILER for the Sex and the City movie . . . Nonetheless, nothing could deter me from watching my two screen sirens amalgamate very convincingly in a veritable Reeses cup of guilty pleasure.

Maybe those well-meaning studio execs had unrealistic aims for the film to get like a Best Picture nod or something and they were severely disappointed. They should’ve reconsidered and released it earlier for a possible Best Cinematography or Art Direction nomination. I just loved the panoramic shots of the castle and the calm-before-the-storm atmosphere. Aside from this, the cast, and period piece wardrobe, the movie had little redeeming qualities. The writing was bad–which is ironic for a movie adapted from a novel–as the cast struggled with the material they were given. The situations were quite implausible with a VERY subtle seduction attempt with an excruciating delivery as the backdrop . . . not to mention the creepy and absorbed uncle of the Boleyn siblings and his obsession over the King’s sexual appetite with lines like “How many times did he take you?” Speaking of the King, they should’ve chosen a more fitting actor than Eric Bana who was bland and not regal in any sense. Maybe he should take some pointers from his Showtime Henry VIII counterpart Jonathan Rhys Meyers from The Tudors.

The female leads, on the other hand, are a different story. Through the rivalry, we see Scarlett Johansson and Natalie Portman take on characters that are beyond their typecasts. Scarlett still has a sexy role, but is less of a temptress as the other Boleyn girl (Mary) . Breaking her trend, she plays the good girl and pulls off sweet and innocent (evocative of her early performance in Girl with a Pearl Earring). Natalie Portman is amazing in her sinfully delightful yet doomed portrayal of the ambitious and seductive Anne Boleyn, who dawns a blatantly symbolic green dress. The women occasionally stumble as they maneuver the weak dialogue and get some laughs and some “oh-no-she-didn’t”s in the catty exchanges between the spurned sisters. I am completely enamored by Natalie Portman as the malicious and power-hungry bitch, giving out the most animosity and looking hot while doing so in low bodices and baring neckline adorned with a tacky “B” necklace. The two complement each other so well that you momentarily forget that they are tossed about and whored out by their own father and uncle as their mother passively disapproves.

Spoiler Alert!
Oddly funny and very upsetting at times, you are led to hate almost all of the characters. Too focused on the numerous antagonists, you forget about the protagonist and she doesn’t return to the spotlight until the bloody end. Aside from Mary, the only other likeable character is poor George Boleyn (played by Jim Sturgess from Across the Universe and 21). But perhaps this arises from pure pity as George is unknowingly dragged into the fold as epitomized in the cringing PG-13 incest scene, signaling Anne’s final desperate attempt to get pregnant and leading to the ending we all know too well.

I love it unconditionally, but I have to give The Other Boleyn Girl a B.

Yesterday, yours truly watched the 2008 Independent Spirit Awards on IFC which celebrated the year’s best in independent film. Though there were some similarities with the Oscar nominees, the Independent Spirit Awards prides itself in honoring those looked over and has a more international flavour. It reacts to “Hollywood” associations with dramatic disdain (as IFC correspondent Matt Singer’s assertions reinforce) and is more gritty than the Oscar ceremony. Known for being uncut, IFC had no qualms about its presenters and their foul mouths, with the ceremony having more F-bombs thrown about than the Source Awards had forks and knives thrown about. Most memorable was Dustin Hoffman jokingly admitting that he has f**ked Oscar nominee Javier Bardem (No Country for Old Men) with the spawn of their unholy union being Philip Seymour Hoffman. Equally hilarious was Rainn Wilson sporting striped teen maternity wear to audition for the role of Juno; a skit in which the awkward “Wizard!”-sex scene (among others) were reenacted with Jason Bateman filling in for Michael Cera. Tonight’s Oscars seem to pale in comparison to the Indie Spirit. Last night’s Indie winners were:

Best Feature:
Juno–beating out The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, I’m Not There, A Mighty Heart, and Paranoid Park

Julian Schnabel (left) and Javier Bardem (right)

Best Director:
Julian Schnabel (The Diving Bell and the Butterfly), whose acceptance speech was lost in translation.

Best Male Lead:
the spawn of Dustin Hoffman and Javier Bardem himself, Philip Seymour Hoffman (The Savages)–beating out Don Cheadle (Talk to Me) and Tony Leung (Lust, Caution)

Best Female Lead:
Ellen Page (Juno)–a consolation if she doesn’t win tonight at the Oscars. She beat out Angelina Jolie (A Mighty Heart), Parker Posey (Broken English–No, NOT Julian Schnabel’s acceptance speech), and Tang Wei (Lust, Caution).

Best Supporting Male:
Chiwetel Ejiofor–say that one three times fast–(Talk to Me). He beat out Marcus Carl Franklin (one of the many faces of Bob Dylan in I’m Not There), Irfan Khan (The Namesake),and Steve Zahn (Rescue Dawn).

Best Supporting Female:
Cate Blanchett (for another Bob Dylan portrayal in I’m Not There, which also starred the late Heath Ledger–to whom Blanchett dedicated her award)

Best Screenplay:
Tamara Jenkins (The Savages)

Best Foreign Film:
Once (Ireland)

Best Documentary:
Crazy Love

Best Director:
Paul Thomas Anderson (There Will Be Blood)
Joel and Ethan Coen (No Country for Old Men)
Tony Gilroy (Michael Clayton)
Jason Reitman (Juno)
Julian Schnabel (The Diving Bell and the Butterfly)

Best Actor:
George Clooney (Michael Clayton)
Daniel Day-Lewis (There Will Be Blood)
Johnny Depp (Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street)
Tommy Lee Jones (In the Valley of Elah)
Viggo Mortensen (Eastern Promises)

Best Actress:
Cate Blanchett (Elizabeth: The Golden Age)
Julie Christie (Away from Her)
Marion Cotillard (La Vie en Rose)
Laura Linney (The Savages)
Ellen Page (Juno)

Best Supporting Actor:
Casey Affleck (The Assassination of Jesse James…whatever)
Javier Bardem (No Country for Old Men)
Philip Seymour Hoffman (Charlie Wilson’s War)
Hal Holbrook (Into the Wild)
Tom Wilkinson (Michael Clayton)

Best Supporting Actress:
Cate Blanchett (I’m Not There)
Ruby Dee (American Gangster)
Saoirse Ronan (Atonement)
Amy Ryan (Gone Baby Gone)
Tilda Swinton (Michael Clayton)

Best Original Screenplay:
Juno
Lars and the Real Girl
Michael Clayton
Ratatouille
The Savages

Best Adapted Screenplay:
Atonement
Away from Her
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
No Country for Old Men
There Will Be Blood
Best Animated Feature:
Persepolis
Ratatouille
Surf’s Up

Best Original Score:
Dario Marianelli (Atonement)
Alberto Iglesias (The Kite Runner)
James Newton Howard (Michael Clayton)
Michael Giacchino (Ratatouille)
Marco Beltrami (3:10 to Yuma)

With their catchy feminine-yet-masculine names, Cashmere Mafia and Lipstick Jungle have arrived and revived the dead spirit of guilty pleasure in viewers everywhere. Shockingly similar storylines and characters make for a formula that has proven itself time and time again to be a hit. ABC has even tried the formula but instead of adding a dose of estrogen, it unsuccessfully used testosterone. Big Shots premiered sometime last year starring former big shots Christopher Titus (I forget what he was in), Dylan McDermott (from The Practice), Michael Vartan (who had a good run on JJ Abram’s Alias alongside Jennifer Garner as Sydney Bristow’s spy/lover), and some other forgettable name. But with a pitch like: “Same city, different sex,” it was bound to hit a snag (as it did) with the men finding themselves in rather outrageous situations to compensate for the fact that the troubles of men don’t make good plots–we have little to none.

Christopher Titus’s character has a psychotically controlling wife, “shockingly” revealed to be a less-than-charismatic Charisma Carpenter (from Buffy) in an awkward role play scenario. McDermott’s character is the ladies’ man (the not-so-subtle male version of SATC’s Samantha) who–in a move George Michael would be proud of–receives a “knobber” from a tranny at a truck stop; the consequent scandal leaving him without the same high ranking job and wife-less. And then there’s Vartan’s uninspired character–he is better as a spy–who constantly struggles with his affection for his coworker after his wife cheats on him with his boss. So yeah, bad idea ABC.

But on the other hand, the recipe with all the estrogen intact was more than a delectable little morsel. Where the women are more cutthroat and the guys are bigger douches than Mr. Big himself, Cashmere Mafia and Lipstick Jungle break the glass ceiling, giving their leads executive to corporate jobs. These women are the true big shots–at the top of their game (well, some anyways) and bringing to mind Samantha’s “You see us New York–we have it all!” comment from SATC. Higher up on the career food chain, most of the women have two major deterrents: children and emasculated boyfriends and husbands.

In the premiere of Cashmere, Lucy Liu (representing the Asians) has her engagement called off by her sore loser fianceé when she got the promotion they were both vying for. She then goes on to date an Asian brain surgeon and has a brief makeout session with a cougar-bait photographer/manny played by musician Val Emmich (who lately, seems to be a little typecasted–also playing an underage boy toy for 30 Rock‘s Liz Lemon (Tina Fey)). In this week’s episode, Liu’s character (Mia) has a nasty run-in with her former flame’s television anchor girlfriend, who spitefully wears Mia’s scarf on air. Miranda Otto (War of the Worlds) plays the red head (as Cynthia Nixon does in SATC) who is in an equally nasty divorce unaided by her husband’s mistress. Frances O’Connor is Zoe, who this week quit her corporate job after being snubbed a promotion (which went to a MAN no less) that she sacrificed precious family time for (boo-hoo). Finally, Bonnie Somerville is the adventurous and sexually confused bi/les/straight blonde who finds out that her girlfriend is pregnant and the girlfriend’s snipey ex returns and doesn’t want the baby to have three mothers. Somewhat provocative, Cashmere stays on the mild side showing minimal skin and only has the lesbians occasionally kiss (which probably won’t be happening anymore).

Lipstick Jungle, though, pulled out all the shameless hits, especially in the promos where they constantly showed clothing-challenged Robert Buckley (from MyNetwork‘s Fashion House and their failed attempts at telenovela serials) dropping trough for a married Nico (played by Kim Raver from 24 and The Nine). Like his Cashmere counterpart, Buckley (who plays Kirby, also a photographer something) serves as cougar bait for the sexually starved Nico. Surprisingly enough, I believe this is Kim Raver’s first “sexy” role with her stint on the now defunct The Nine being sexually uneventful and everyone knowing that the only one getting action on 24 is Jack Bauer. Brooke Shields is Wendy, the head-honcha of a film production company who, this week, discovers that a tell-all book by her nanny is being published by a vindictive rival that might reveal her subpar mothering habits. Finally, Lindsay Price (who kinda looks Asian) is the designer who, running out of steam, is betrayed by her assistant who steals her designs claiming them as her own. You can’t get anymore cutthroat than that.

Stylish, racy, and very sexy, Cashmere and Lipstick fill the void of Sex and the City, adding to the mix stonger women (no offense to Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, or Samantha) and believably outrageous soap-like stories. From the studio that brought us SATC (Darren Star), Cashmere Mafia can be seen Wednesdays at 10pm on ABC. Based on Candace Bushnell’s other novel (besides SATC), Lipstick Jungle can be seen Thursdays also at 10pm on NBC–fitting in nicely after the LOST timeslot.

Alright, so first of all, buy yourself a pack of chicken wings, preferably with the wing and drum still attached, as I do enjoy the chopping and desecrating of the wings themselves.

Next, carefully chop the wings into their pieces. In detail, the location where I cut the wings slices through easily as it cuts through a tendon or cartilege of some sort.

Place the wings in a bowl and wash them when they are done.

Add seasoning, flour, and starch. The seasoning consists of salt, pepper, cayenne pepper, garlic powder, and some celery salt. Measurements are at your own discretion.

Mix the wings and mixture with hands. Make sure the consistency of the flour coating is sticky but not too watery. (Now doesn’t this photo resemble something I did a long time ago?)

Now, before all this has been completed, you should have already started heating up the oil in a quart size pot or deep dish pan. We are deep frying these chicken wings, not frying.

Take out a bowl and grab the following sauces out of your refridgerator: Maggi Tomato Sauce, Ketchup, Teriyaki Sauce, Honey BBQ Sauce, Oyster Soy Sauce. Mix these ingredients to your own discretion. I will not reveal the secret ratio in which these ingredients are used. (Insert evil laugh here).

Start frying the wings. Give the wings about 5 minutes on high heat until they are golden brown. If it takes less, then good job.

With a big bowl, pour a tiny bit of sauce, and place the fried chicken in the bowl on the sauce. Now coat the chicken by tossing the chicken in the bowl. (I assume you guys know how to toss a salad). Add more sauce to fully coat chicken.

If you have successfully completed the last step, you have just made chicken wings in my special sauce. Of course you can make your own, but I chose to reveal a part of my recipe. The final pictures were taken at the Super Bowl party. Enjoy.

Remember, I am not responsible for any oil flying into your eyes, popping on you, your hands getting fried, fingers being cut off or anything else that can result from stupidity.

Hillary to Barack: “I HAVE JUNGLE FEVER.”

Yeah, I know I’m about half a week late on this news but whatever. Last Friday, I woke up to find headlines and footage of Hillary and Barack making nice in public. You know what’s worse than PDA? . . . fake PDA. Then again, it wasn’t as if they were frenching or anything–just a hug here, a whisper of sweet nothings there. I mean, just because last Thursday’s live CNN debate was in the Kodak Theatre, I don’t think the two should be vying for best actor/actress anytime soon–even though the debate was as star-studded as the actual Oscars themselves (which will be held February 23rd with Jon Stewart hosting). Leave it to the Oscars to prevail in the face of such adversity as the Writers’ Strike, which killed the Golden Globes and, from what I hear, is nearing an end.

So while we’re already mixing business with pleasure or politics with Hollywood, here’s a rundown of who’s supporting who.

In the Obama camp, we have Oprah (duh), George Clooney (that so-called ONE person who can make a difference in Darfur), Matt Damon (who took time out of his busy schedule, which comprises of making marginally funny Sarah Silverman rap skits about being f**ked by her, to show up), and Kate Walsh (former Grey’s Anatomy firecrotch turned Private Practice frontliner).

On Hillary’s side, we have Barbra Streisand (who probably reminisces about the misty, water-colored memories of the Clinton administration), Steven Spielberg (surprisingly enough), The Nanny (Fran Drescher), and Michael Douglas (who clearly perpetuates his track record for liking disturbingly powerful and unsettling women: Demi Moore as the manipulative corporate woman in Disclosure and Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct). Not that I’m directly likening Hillary to these big-screen persona, since they obviously one-up her in sex appeal. But who needs sex appeal when you have America–Ferrera–on your side? On Friday, the Ugly Betty star joined Chelsea at a Hillary Rally in California.