Tangmonkey Forum

Submit to pulp







May 2001

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In this issue:    Suicide Sandler!     Coping With Satanism!     Doin' it Crankenstyle!     PLUS: Hippie Holocaust!, And a castration-free CULT PICK!.
 
 
NEW ON VIDEO:

Little Nicky ***

Ash

 
More so than my failed relationships, chronic unemployment, and rather unpleasant addiction to Vicodin combined, Adam Sandler movies make me want to kill myself. And none of that pansy, fistful of sleeping pills, scratch up your wrists with a kitchen knife, cry-for-attention kind of kill myself. I mean serious, hardcore, drinking gasoline while listening to Type O Negative kind of kill myself. Yeah, I know, I too was temporarily charmed by the romance and sweetness of Drew Barrymore's breasts in The Wedding Singer, but that warm, fuzzy, vaguely pedophilic feeling didn't last. Every time young Drew was off-screen, I was once again reminded that I was watching a movie starring Pauly Shore's slightly less articulate half-brother (same mother, different demon-father). As funny as sentences that start out as baby-talk and end as profane screaming are, they're much more amusing when they come out of an infant's mouth, rather than an ostensibly grown man with a penchant for falsetto. Nevertheless, I was contractually obliged to see Little Nicky, due to its preoccupation with Satan and the presence of a Danzig patch on a character's jean jacket. For those unfamiliar with the plot, Sandler plays Little Nicky, the son of Satan. For reasons of utter hilarity, Nicky not only has bad hair, but he talks goofy, too. Goofy! Now that's comedy. So anyway, he has to go to Earth for some stupid reason, where he not only meets a really creepy talking dog, but falls in love! Imagine that. The love interest in this case is Patricia Arquette, who I hope will use the money she made whoring herself out to this film to finally fix the giant dent in her teeth. Once on Earth, Sandler walks around for twenty minutes being an ass, and the movie then thankfully ends fairly quickly, sparing us from further embarrassment. But you know what? As much as I despise Sandler's shtick, I hated Little Nicky less than I usually hate things. Maybe it was the presence of Satan, maybe it was Sandler's burgeoning maturity, or maybe it was the plastic fumes from the Tori Amos CD I set on fire after it was left in my stereo on repeat, but I actually stopped fantasizing about my own death long enough to laugh once or twice. But let's not dwell on the positive, shall we? That would be stupid. Instead, let's take a moment to reflect upon why this movie is going straight to hell. No, it has nothing to do with the satanic content, or the fact that the hero is the son of the devil. We have a kind and forgiving God, remember, and he is prone to forgive the odd trespass into the dark side. No, the real flaw of the movie is the same flaw that plagues sophomoric frat-boy comedies time and time again, namely midgetry. For some bizarre reason, people who enjoy drinking beer by the can find midgets funny. As regular readers will no doubt recall, it's been well established in these pages that midget-kind collectively represents the Anti-Christ, and Little Nicky, in an example of the horrid 'gross-out' style humour popularized by There's Something About Semen, features a scene with two midgets kissing. This should never be. Not only is it perverse and unwholesome on its own, but it suggests an even more distressing image: midget sex. I know, I know, I didn't believe it could happen either, but apparently, not only are they allowed to procreate, sometimes such an atrocity is filmed and sold to the general public in the back rooms of video stores. This is what happens when you elect a liberal government, people. Anyway, while Little Nicky doesn't actually contain midget sex, and there are some good points, such as a cameo by Ozzy Osbourn and a scene in which Fonzy from Happy Days gets eaten by bees, all in all the film can't make up for its one tragic misstep. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got my own tragic misstep to make, about 15 stories off a balcony to a place where Adam Sandler can no longer torment me.





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