Well, ordinarily I wouldn’t even bother reviewing a “movie” this pathetic since I would prefer the let the stench of it’s slipshod cheapness just completely fade from memory instead, but this piece of shit really has to go down in history as the worst fucking film made. Of all time. Ever. Bar None.

Never before has the complete idiocy of the filmmakers, the ineptitude of the writers and the absolutely horrific acting ever permeated the screen as in “The Long Weekend”. What these assholes were thinking while they sat around drinking their lite beer and dreaming about how to rip off a group of private sector morons, even more stupid than themselves, is beyond me.

The kicker is, this is one of the first films I have EVER walked out of at the theatre. Thanks to my buddy John (who, like some crazy-man, stayed behind to endure the entire painful experience) I am glad that I went to a bar and got tanked instead of wasting another minute of my life on the dullest, lamest, stinkiest piece of cheese I have ever witnessed.

Christ.

Where do I begin bashing this moronic piece of drek?

It’s such a fucking mess, it’s almost impossible to do it any more damage without making it sound like you might actually want to see it.

I thought it might be something a little different since no body in their right mind would try to make yet another “scary woods film” after Blair Witch and the recent spate of “teens in the woods in a cabin and something terrible happens” movies. (And I will dispense with the foreshadowing) But… No, it was not to be. It WAS another asinine “a bunch of teens we could care less about in the woods and something really, really boring and stupid happens” movie.

Here’s what happens. A group of teenagers go up to their “rich” friends’ cottage for the… ready…? long weekend. I hesitate to call this idiot “rich” is because there is no indication that he is anything of the sort. It feels as if the entire scenario is a fabrication. Well, it IS, but we’re not supposed to think that. It becomes even more apparent that this character is nothing more than a poorly written retard when one of the girls is doing makeup, or some shit, in the bathroom and we see an arm behind her. We cut to something else, then back to this chick in the washroom and we still see this fat arm in the reflection of the mirror. There is indeed a body attached to it – it just so happens it’s the Rich Black Cottage Owner’s Bodyguard!! Whew!

Retarded! Asinine! Ridiculous!

This piece of garbage is some professional student film by some little idiot whose name I can’t, or won’t, remember. If I ever do track down this asshole’s name again, I will find him in the city and make him give John back his money. (He paid for the movie.)

The fucking film, within a film, in “American Movie” would have been ten times more entertaining than this, had I not already seen it.

I walked out at the 35 minute point, because if nothing was happening by then – and considering the first half hour was completely wasted with dumb-bell “getting to know the characters conversation” that only a bad film student writer can conjure for their wacky-ass characters – it was never going to pick up. They should have told the filmmakers that if you’re writing, editing, acting, lighting and camerawork suck donkey cock, you’d better have some splatter to fall back on. No such luck here.

I should have known I was going to be in trouble after two incidents.

The makeup artist:
The makeup artist/boom operator/t-shirt girl was in the lobby and we asked her about the film – as they were “cueing” it up in the theatre and we had time to kill. I asked her, because she worked for free on the film for a credit, if the script was the thing that got her interested in the first place. (Or got her to work for nothing…) Her response was she did it “for the credit” and that you have to work on something to get one.

and…
The fact that they kept pushing the fact that everyone worked for free. When the director/producer/janitor came out to introduce his shiny new turd to the audience, he stressed the fact that everyone worked on the film for free. Even though this bozo managed to cobble together ONE POINT FIVE MILLION from private investors.

Well, let me tell you… either they paid the theatre the million to show off their fat stinky turd of a movie or the director is a major coke head.

Fuck this movie and everyone who was involved and the fucking horse they rode in on. If anyone knows who the creep is that made this complete endurance test in torture, do NOT, I repeat DO NOT ever give this asshole another dime to pick up a camera ever again. Better yet, find the idiots responsible for this aberration of the medium and have them killed, diced into little pieces and killed again.

I honestly believe that people should be locked up for this sort of thing.
SHAME on you RYERSON COLLEGE! SHAME on the bo-hunk hicks that put a dime into this hack garbage shitpile.

At the bar afterward, I was so hysterical about how much I hated “The Long Weekend”, so visibly upset, several people went home and I had to be calmed down by three of my other friends.

Thank you.

P.S. I hate this “film” so much, I’m going to give away the ending to it as well. The tag line for the film pretty much gives it away anyway, so who gives a shit. Apparently, or so John tells me, they all head down to the bomb shelter at the cabin, and we realize that it’s all a joke, they’re shooting a movie and the whole movie is not really reality, but a movie within a movie.

Yeah I know… Lame.

Postscript:
I’m out with Kirby for his birthday the other night and we’re standing out front of the Labyrinth Lounge off of Bloor street having a cigarette. These two people approach us and they look mighty familiar for some reason. They proceed to pull out free passes to “The Long Weekend” and I realize that they’re two of the actors from the film! The guy who played Joe – Christopher Elliot and one of the girls, Chani Nicholas.

I say, “No thanks I’ve already seen the film.”
There it sits, waiting for the inevitable “What did you think of it?”

It never came.

I was so relieved that I didn’t have to cause a scene in front of a crowded club, although I must say it was an opportunity too co-incidental to pass up. I was thrown off guard when the actor who played Joe just looked at me a little stunned and said, “Oh!…oh, you’ve seen the film… oh!….”

Could it be that these two know just how awful the film they’ve chosen to be in, is? Whatever the case, another girl came up to us and directly afterward asking us what I had thought of the film, since she’d overheard I said I’d already seen it.

“Well, I can’t really recommend it…” I said, feeling somewhat wary all of sudden, as if this person was some kind of a plant to get some raw feedback. She had two free passes in her hand.

“Well, is it scary?” she prodded.

“Ahhhh, no… I wouldn’t say that.” I finally said, “Listen, honestly, I walked out of it after 35 minutes. I thought it was horrible.”

She said, “Ok, I probably won’t go see it then.”

I said, “Well, don’t take my opinion for it..” feeling pretty bad for actually allowing this poor soul to go see what I’ve already established is rat-dung.

“No, it’s cool. You two look like you know what you’re talking about.” And with that, she turned and walked away.

In these “digitally savvy” times, everyone on the planet thinks they know something about the Internet and computers. Being a web-designer myself (through various poor life decisions and lack of interest in getting a real job), I have dealt with several types of corporate and independent clients, some of whom for one reason or another just can’t seem to get their shit together.

In the interest of not only blowing off a little steam, but so that I may create a solid plan of attack for one day get some poor slob like myself to make web-sites for me, I’ve put together a little checklist on how to become your own big-wig boss-man through managing your very own personal web lackey.

Here are the Ten Rules of Engagement:

1. Bug the stupid fuck every day and ask him if shit’s done – regardless of agreed upon deadlines or lack thereof…

2. Pay him very little, yet hound him at home all hours of the night, call him on his cell whenever the fancy strikes you and completely disregard regular “working stiff” business hours.

3. Criticize his/her spec work as if they work for you full-time. Sayings such as “Your work is shit compared to this site…” [send URL] should be a part of your daily mantras to the web lackey. Make them re-do layouts over and over again (15 is a good number to keep in mind) quibbling about the most minute detail as if the entire site depended on it.

4. Make him ask you several times for his/her pay – or better yet, say it was sent and forget he asked for it. They won’t bother to match the cheque date against the postmark date! They’re Web Lackeys!

5. Send him personal checks, mis-spell his name or issue it with his personal name on it (not the company name) then fedex it to the wrong address, no matter how many times you’ve asked him for the right fucking one.

6. Give him no direction as to what you really want, use catch phrases that make no sense, like “make it more vibrant”, “I want it to be crisp” or use various food phrasings like “sweeten”, “spicy” or the ultimate vague commentary on all things creative; “sexy”. Really, anything that starts with an “S” should mean you’re on the right track.

7. Give him the hope that you’ve got another great project in the hopper then don’t call him for months and forget you even mentioned the project. (Once you do finally call him, make sure that what you need done must be done that day.)

8. Make sure all projects commence and end on a Friday by or on 5PM. The more pressure you apply to this “deadline” the better. Who needs to organize anything on Monday when there’s a full weekend in front of you on Friday? As well, regarding work week calls, only call your web designer after you’ve done all your work for the day. The optimum time to get your lackey to start a job is around 3:52PM, after he’s been well rested from a day of doing nothing but waiting for your call.

9. Rarely, if ever commend him for his hard work. If you really must compliment the web lackey, make sure you stomp all over that praise the following day, once your chiropractor or your mechanic’s cousin has had a look at your web site and given their informed opinion.

10. Never betray the fact that you could care less about the toil and/or helpfulness of your Web Lackey and never admit to yourself how selfish, stupid and greedy you are in your quest to squeeze every dime out of this chaotic machine called the Internet.

!http://www.paranoidcomix.com/blog/media/hh_cartoon.gif!

The search for a Canadian Legend…part two…

Back when I first arrived in Toronto over 14 years ago, I was employed at Magnetic North, a very successful post house, in the lowly position of data-input / courier. Had I known that when Riff Markowitz poked his head into my office, on one of his many inspections from Los Angeles, was one of the creators of “Hilarious House”, I would have hit him up with a resurgence for the cult show then… alas, it was not to be.

Flash forward years later while I sit, sipping a beer in the company of Billy Van, “The Count”, “Grizelda”, “The Wolfman” and many others, himself. I told him I once met Riff Markowitz and a slight scowl came over his face. When I told him my idea for a resurrection of sorts for “Hilarious House”, his reception of the idea was somewhat tainted by the fact that he could really do nothing to help me achieve my goal. He reiterated the story of how he felt slighted by his former business associate and that he had no access to the rights of a show that, in my opinion, could not have been, without his creative input.

He was still receptive to being involved in some way as he was very proud of his contribution to the show. Being relatively new to darkened business deals and poorly conceived contractual obligations, or lack thereof, I was somewhat, naively, disheartened by the news that these two could not have just mended fences for a reunion of sorts…

Regardless, it was good to talk with a man, who was one of the people that made a great contribution to the world of Canadian comedy in his endeavors. We made plans to talk again regarding the project and we did speak a couple of more times on the phone, but it really didn’t get very far. Billy Van passed away in 2003. There is a tribute to his work on the show here.

A year after Mr.Van passed on, I was at the bar with a friend of mine, who works at a local television station, and we got on the topic of “Hilarious House”… he casually mentioned that he had access to all 130 masters of the show! I grabbed him by the shirt collar and begged him to get me these elusive masters!

From this article link: “Frightenstein’s producer and creator, Rafael Markowitz, recently ordered the master tapes destroyed after its run on Showcase.”

He said he’d see what he could do, but it would be tricky. Now, the mystery at this point would be why on earth would one of the show’s creators want the masters of a great Canadian classic destroyed?? Are there any other copies? Does he have the only copies? Does he hate the show and in some Kafkaesque moment of self-loathing want his work obliterated? My friends and I have speculated on a less dramatic theory. When re-runs of a show are not airing, the master tapes are stored in a videotape warehouse somewhere. To house these tapes it costs money. (A monthly charge I imagine…) So, if no one is airing “Hilarious House of Frightenstein” at the moment, then why pay for the cost of housing the master tapes? Insane? Well, it depends I suppose. It’s like internet hosting in a way. People think that just because your site isn’t “live” that you shouldn’t have to pay for the space that “hosts” your site.

Yes folks, the erasure and subsequent eradication of this Canadian legend could quite possibly be simply because someone was too cheap to pay for storage.