Hola all. Massawyrm here.
Really? No fucking way. You didn’t just click on this story, did you? Really? And you’re still reading? You did see that this was the review for Little Man, right? A Wayans Brothers movie? Not just the guys who brought you White Chicks or Scary Movie…but the guys who brought you Homeboys in Space. Wait, you’re still fucking reading?
Oh god, you’re actually expecting me to review this. You want me to spend even more time thinking about it? Did your creepy uncle touch you in the naughty place when you were young? You sick fucks. You sick, sick fucks. Alright, alright. I’ll do it. But you fucking owe me.
Little Man is Keenen Ivory Wayans’ grand thesis, his groundbreaking masterwork epic- redefining film as we know it. They said it couldn’t be done. They said it wasn’t possible. But he did it. He squeezed more guys getting hit in the nuts jokes into an hour and a half than can be found in an entire season of America’s Funniest Home Videos. He did it. He broke all the rules, destroyed all the expectations. And now Little Man stands monument to that effort. Shawn Wayans? Racked repeatedly. Tracey Morgan? Takes it like a man. Lochlyn Monroe? Nutted something fierce. Chazz Palminteri? Yeah that fucking Chazz “Usual Suspects” Palminteri. Gets it in the sack but good. Hell, I’m willing to bet that if the gorgeous Kerry Washington had a sack that folded out from up inside, Keenen would have seen to it that she took a shot or two herself.
It’s not just the sheer volume that denotes the genius of this film…but the artistry. Keenen doesn’t just have guys kicked in the nuts. Oh no. He has them kneed. He has them punched. He has them headbutted in what I refer to as the Reverse Midget teabag. And the implements, oh god the implements. He traverses the classics like a man possessed. The baseball. The football helmet. Classics. Fucking classics. But then he moves up into toy rockets, boomerang planes. Twice with the boomerang plane even. Not content to simply rest on these laurels, he pushes the boundaries even further. No one has ever tried to make a film like this – no one has dared – a film made with such care, such precision, such reverence for the art of the ole nutcracker.
What? You think I’m making this shit up?
Honestly, with a movie like Little Man I’d have to make shit up? Seriously. This movie has more damaged testicles than a Lance Armstrong lookalike contest. But when Little Man isn’t busy racking up the points, it’s hitting you with every tired baby joke John Travolta rode until the wheels came off in the Look Who’s Talking movies. Only this time, get this, the gag is…it’s really a midget instead of a baby. Amazing.
And that’s where the film…oh God. I’m about to do it. I’m about to seriously discuss this thing. I’m gonna talk about it like it was a real movie and not some 90 Minute fever dream I experienced due some kind of mental exhaustion.
Fuck.
Okay, here goes.
The real problem with Little Man is that it, for all intents and purposes, is White Chicks 2. This time, instead of black guys pretending to be rich alien burn victims, it’s a black midget pretending to be a baby. But the effect is the same. The entire film is predicated upon everyone simply accepting something that clearly doesn’t look remotely like what it’s supposed to be. Marlon Wayans doesn’t look like a baby, he never once looks like a baby. He doesn’t move or talk or act like a baby. But everyone reacts to him exactly as if he were a baby. I know, I know. That’s supposed to be the joke. But it’s not a fucking funny one. It’s simply a retarded one.
And if that weren’t bad enough, the effects they use in this film are simply hypnotic. They are so unbelievably choppy and clearly foreign that you can never fully process it. You just stare at the blur effects around Marlon Wayons head and become entranced. Then you begin chanting this odd fucking mantra. I can’t believe this is happening, I can’t believe I’m watching this, I can’t believe this is happening, I can’t believe I’m watching this.
I mean, when the highlight of the movie is a Rob Schneider cameo – you’ve got serious fucking problems that a simple review can’t even begin to cover.
But, to the movies credit, it is one of those rare bad movies that never gets any worse than it looks. It’s fucking awful, but it’s not like they tried to hide that fact very well. It is exactly like it looks. Take that trailer and play it for 90 minutes and you get roughly the same experience.
Oh yeah, and this thing gets so disgustingly sentimental by the end that it makes You, Me and Dupree look like a gritty downer of a film. I mean, I’m a big softy and this thing made me wanna me puke. It’s pretty fucking ridiculous.
And yet…the audience ate it up. Granted, this was an audience I overheard say things before the film like I hope this is as good as White Chicks. Apparently it was. And you know what, that’s a fact that I won’t dispute. This film is exactly as good as White Chicks. Now, how you define the word Good in the previous sentence will tell you whether or not this film is for you.
So there you have it. Little Man. As good as White Chicks. Put that on your fucking poster Keenan.
![[IMAGE]](anibar.gif)
Okay, so I know there’s quite a few of you out there that just plain hate the Massawyrm avatar. You know, my drawing. How do I know this? The letters. I get tons of letters. And I’m not the only one. Harry gets them. Merrick gets them. Even Father Geek gets them. Whether from pissed off Christians angry about the content or simply those not fond of the art, I’ve steadily gotten a couple of letters a month, every month, for my entire tenure here at AICN.
Hell, even when I was in the Gulag for almost three years, people searching through old reviews wrote me with their anger or distaste for it.
Some begged me to change it, some said they couldn’t trust my reviews because of it and sometimes, just sometimes, people asked that I be fired for it. But the one thing these letters all shared in common was the absolute certainty that it was all my idea and that I was happy with it just the way it was.And folks, I gotta tell ya – that just ain’t the case.
To make a long story short: Cartuna wasn’t doing avatars anymore, Harry had an idea he found funny and a roommate of mine (an underground comix artist) thought it would be neat to do in an underground comix style. But it was never meant to be permanent. It was supposed to be a placeholder until I could get a Cartuna. Sadly that never happened. And every time I’ve broached the subject with Herr Knowles, he just falls into fits of impish giggling. He likes that I get nasty letters. He finds it funny.
It’s not that I find the content offensive – I mean, I do. Of course it’s offensive, and it’s particularly offensive to me and my beliefs. But what kind of asshole would I be, taking shots at others like I do, if I couldn’t also laugh at myself and the beliefs I hold? Telling, or laughing at, offensive jokes means you should be able to take them as well. And I’m fine with that. No, I’m with the other folks – the one’s that think it’s time to retire the art.
Harry and I have actually been talking about this for almost a year now, but much more so in the last few days. Then yesterday, out of the blue, I got ANOTHER letter. Great, I thought opening it another one of these. But this one was different. For the first time in five years, someone actually put their money where their mouth is. This guy sent art. He was actually so annoyed with my avatar that he sat down and took the time to draw me a new one.
And it made me laugh. So I shared it with Harry and it made him laugh. This guy, alias Goo Boy, managed to take the old concept and make it far more offensive than it ever was. At least with my old one there was plausible deniability. It doesn’t imply that I’m Jesus, just that I look like the Americanized stereotypical image of Jesus. And that I ride a pogo stick that looks an awful lot like a cross. This one? Well, take a look for yourself. This one’s pretty fucking blatant.
Wow. Now there’s an image that will get me letters. That’s just old school, straight from the bottle sacrilege right there.
But it got Harry and I thinking. What if we asked you, the audience, to submit your own version of Massawyrm – and from those pick a new avatar? You guys have been bitching for years. Now it’s time to put the fuck up or shut the fuck up. Here’s your chance to make your mark on Ain’t it Cool News. Make me a Massawyrm.
So here’s the guidelines:
1) Christ Imagery. Not a requirement. That was simply one interpretation. Give me yours. If you’re offended by the idea of satirical Christ imagery, by all means do something very, very different.
2) Evoke the mood of AICN. Odds are this isn’t your first visit to the site. You pretty much know what we’re about and what the art around here is like. Make it feel like it belongs here - even if you think I don’t.
3) Make me laugh. While this isn’t mandatory, odds are the one Harry and I pick will be the one that makes us chuckle every time we look at it. Which directly leads to…
4) Do your best to do your worst. This isn’t about making me look cool. This is about having fun with me. Don’t be afraid to mercilessly rake me over the coals. I’m a big boy. I can take it. This one goes out to those of you who really have a bone to pick with me. Is there a movie I praised that you suffered through because of it? Was there a movie you made that I was a total asshole about? It’s payback time. Don’t think Cool, think Ain’t it Cool.
5) Try to nail how you perceive me. Whether you want to play on the name Massawyrm, or some of my old reviews, some long running talkback jokes or rumors about me, or even the old artwork – try to get that across with your art. Make something that screams This is Massawyrm. The above picture is a perfect example.
6) All submissions must be in by 11:59 P.M. CST, Monday August 7th. The goal is to have one chosen and ready to go by August 9th – the one-year anniversary of my return to AICN. If the screenings fall as they should, I’m hoping to have my brand new avatar appear on the review for, you know, that film with the snakes.
7) Send all submissions here, rather than my normal e-mail account. This will ensure that none of them get lost and I can hold on to any contact information.
Any submissions not sent to this address will simply be ignored.
Please submit them in .jpg format, and try to keep them at a reasonable file size. Make sure to include the name you’d like to be credited as so we can give credit where credit is due.
8) All decisions will be made by Harry and myself. But who are we kidding? Harry’s gonna make the final call.
For those of you curious whether or not I look like my avatar – I do. But here’s one of Harry’s favorite doctored photos of me (from the Domino shotgun event) for those that want authenticity. And yes, the tattoo is Harry having fun with my ass.
[EDITOR'S NOTE: Harry...had fun...with...Massa's...ass?!]
So what do you win? Bragging rights, baby, bragging rights. That and your art will appear on almost every review I post, which is a couple times a week.
Aside from that, nobody ever sends me any of the good shit. Quint gets Sideshow toys. I get T-shirts for The Core and Catwoman posters. Really, you don’t want anything I have to give you. So bragging rights. And lots of people seeing your art.
So have at it friends. Make me a Massawyrm. I can’t wait to see what you guys do with me.
Until next time friends, smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em. I know I will.
Massawyrm
Are you beginning to be curious about what exactly Massawyrm would do? E-mail and ask me here? Goo Boy and I are so going to Hell for that.
