Hey everyone. Capone in Chicago here. You know, I originally wrote these next two reviews separately, and I was going to post them as such. But with so many wonderful films in theaters now--many of which opened today--that I didn't want to waste the space. So, here are two hunks of shit to avoid this holiday weekend. I'd rather stick my wet balls on a metal pole in subzero temperatures and rip them off then watch either of these films again. Enjoy!

THE SPIRIT
Look, no one feels worse about having to write this than I do. But I didn't get into this racket to make friends. So I'm just going to say it. I think Frank Miller actually believed that co-directing credit that he got for SIN CITY because now he's essentially taken the exact same look of that film (black and white with splashes of color) and applied it liberally to THE SPIRIT, his adaptation of the Will Eisner hero who patrolled "the city" at night and stopped criminals of all shapes and sizes while spouting philosophical ideas about his role in the world and his self-assigned work as the city's protector. "I am her Spirit!" Give me a fucking break.

There's no denying that the film looks pretty great. As a purely technical achievement, I've got no real issues. But I'd rather watch this movie with the volume turned all the way down than suffer through even a minute of the film's inane, wildly over-written dialogue again. Miller has no shortage of interesting actors populating THE SPIRIT. Gabriel Macht plays the crime fighter, who escaped the angel of death (personified by the lovely Jamie King, seen mostly in silhouette) years earlier and returned to life to stop evil. Being a former cop himself, he works hand in hand with the police, which immediately makes me distrust him. His arch enemy is The Octopus (Samuel L. Jackson), who clearly told Miller, "Just let me do what I do. You don't have to direct me." Big mistake, Frank. This might be Jackson's single worst performance of all time.

Miller also allows some beautiful ladies to share the screen with these manly men. Sarah Paulson plays Ellen Dolan, a medical examiner who is often called in to work crimes that THE SPIRIT is investigating. She also loves him, despite his womanizing ways. Scarlett Johannson is utterly wasted at The Octopus' assistant Silken Floss. Paz Vega is devastatingly sexy and almost impossible to understand with her Spanish accent speaking French lines. She plays an assassin named Plaster of Paris. Eva Mendes probably fares best among the female cast members as Sand Saref, a thief with whom THE SPIRIT has a romantic past. Her character at least has some personality to go along with her curves.

The film thinks it is sexy, mysterious, clever, funny and cutting edge, and it fails at every one; and I blame Miller's script for all of the shortcomings. The dialogue isn't just bad; it hurts your ears and offends your sensibilities listening to it. You can dress up a piece of shit to look like a Fabergé Egg, but it's still a piece of shit. There are just far too many quality films in theaters right now to waste either your time or money going to this stale fucking thing or even reading another word about it. I'm done.

BEDTIME STORIES
I resent and reject Adam Sandler's latest "family film" BEDTIME STORIES for the same reason I resented and rejected Ben Stiller's A NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM, which came out at about this time two years ago. Both films mistake spectacle for comedy. You can't buy laughs. You can't throw money at a bit and make it funny, the same way you can't talk a person into loving you or use logic to stop someone from breaking up with you. (I have a lot of pain in my life, clearly.) My point is that having 50,000 gum balls hit Sandler isn't any funnier than having one hit him right between the eyes. Here's another fact, Mr. Sandler (I call you "mister" because you could buy and sell my ass several thousand times over): all of these comic actors who are making this man-child thing into a career are in their 20s or early 30s. You're 42. You playing with little kids who aren't your own is starting to get creepy.

Oh, oh. I have another thing. Russell Brand (of FORGETTING SARAH MARHSALL fame) will never be funny in a PG-rated movie, period! And surrounding yourself with quality actors, doesn't make us think you're any kind of master thespian...unless you're playing your "SNL" character Master Thespian. I'm not exactly sure why Keri Russell, Lucy Lawless, Jonathan Pryce, or Guy Pearce (let me say that again: Guy Pearce is now in an Adam Sandler movie; you can stop searching folks, the corpse of Pearce's dignity is right here) are in Bedtime Stories, but I guess if you write a big enough check, just about anyone will show up.

And here's the kooky thing: I consider myself an Adam Sandler fan. I know most of his movies are dumb, and that his attempts a higher forms of drama are sometimes more embarrassing than his juvenile films, but I dig the guy...except when he tries so damn hard to be liked by adults and kids alike. He doesn't do it often. CLICK was the last time, but before that you'd have to go back to 1999's BIG DADDY to truly spot the pandering. And there is no one looking forward to seeing him opposite Seth Rogen in Judd Apatow's FUNNY PEOPLE next year. But he needs to stop making films his kids can see. Such motivations have killed the careers of many a funny man. Have we learned nothing from Eddie Murphy?

I'm sorry, I haven't spent a second talking about the plot of BEDTIME STORIES. It's about a guy (Sandler) who has to take care of his niece and nephew while their school teacher mother (Courteney Cox) goes on a job interview out of state. Sandler is actually supposed to be running the hotel where he is the chief maintenance guy, but the clueless, easily led manager (Richard Griffiths) has turned over the day-to-day management of the hotel to the cartoonish Guy Pearce and his evil hench-lady (Lawless). At night, Sandler makes up stories to listen to before they go to bed. Although the stories are set during different times and places in history, they all have plots strikingly similar to the power-struggle situation at the hotel. The kids tend to finish the story for Sandler before they doze off, and the next day, the stories seem to come true. Russell plays a co-worker of Cox's who looks after the kids during the day at a school that is on the verge of getting torn down. Will Sandler stop the school from destruction? Will he wrestle control of the hotel from the evil doers? Does anybody care? I'm about to cut and paste the concluding statement from my previous review. Forgive me for plagiarizing myself: "There are just far too many quality films in theaters right now to waste either your time or money going to this stale fucking thing or even reading another word about it. I'm done."

-- Capone
capone@aintitcoolmail.com