Sunday, April 26, 2009

James Franc-oooooooh, shit!

Got dayum, James Franco is so fucking hot.  I just cannot express it any better than that. Barely 30 and blessed with an angel's face and a darling little figure, Franco is currently very popular eye- candy for the younger (and the cougar) set.  

To be honest, I'd seen very little of his work, excepting one of the Spider Man flicks.  It was when I rented Milk that I got to see his acting chops as he dug deep into the role of Harvey Milk's beau, Scott Smith.  He acted beautifully, with a simple and mellow ease that was devoid of histrionics or stereotyping.  It's hard to act against someone as delicious and talented as Sean Penn, but James really pulls it off and the film is just lovely.  I think Harvey would have been proud.

Li'l Jimmy Franco is an exquisite package.  He is of Jewish, Swedish and Portuguese descent and was voted to have the "best smile" by his senior classmates.  He won a Golden Globe award in 2001 for portraying (who else?) the legendary James Dean.  He is reputed to be a nice, friendly and easygoing chap and seems to choose roles that are a bit off of the beaten path (Pineapple Express, anyone?).  

The man can model.  Just type his name into the google bar and you'll see hundreds of photos, some of which are for fashion magazines, like Men's Vogue.  When you scroll through the pics I have attached, you'll most likely notice the one with him dripping wet and climbing out of a pool with his clothes stuck to him like leatha'.  Hot fucking damn, I say.  HOT. Fucking. Damn.

Of course,  you'll also notice that there is yet another pic of a hot man with a gun.  Like most Americans, I am a bit gun obsessed, but I don't own one.  I just dig seeing attractive guys with guns because it's dangerous, a bit scary and down-and-diggity-dawg sexy.  Am I wrong?  Am I wrong?

At any rate, I think that Jimmy Franco has a long career ahead of him and I for one am going to enjoy every minute of it.

I dare you to not look (and look and look) at the photos attached of this young man.

I got a fever.. and the only cure is more Chris Walken!

We all get old.  It's a fact that I bemoan daily, as I enter my "coming of middle age" years.  Very few of us manage to hang onto our former hotness as we coast into the realm of adult diapers and soft foods.  There's nothing we can do about it, but pull out the old pictures and say "Ignore the huge, permed hair and check me out as a size six!  Wasn't I hot twenty years ago?"

These kids today know nothing of Christopher Walken, except for the assorted oddball roles for which he is now famous.  Sadly, they missed the generation of Smokin' Hot Walken as they were too busy not being born until 1988 or so. Isn't it sad?

I try and watch the Deer Hunter as often as my poor heart can take, which is once every two or three years.  Walken is brilliant as Nicky, the doomed boy from a small town who comes to a tragic end in 'nam.  He still has the weird, spacey eyes and the tall, lanky frame, but he plays it straight for this role and proves himself to be a most stellar actor.  Add a young DeNiro to the mix and you've got a real recipe for unrelenting hotness.  Walken is at his most beautiful, even while donning hunting gear and an enormous fur hat of unknown origin.   

When I first watched "Pennies from Heaven", I was astounded that Mr. Walken could DANCE so well and oh, my!  What a physique!  Lean and rippling with sinewy muscle, Chris dances, sings and jumps up onto the bar, where he performs a stip tease at the finale.  Clad only in a white tank and boxer shorts, Christopher is a sight for the sorest of eyes.  

Even as the scumbag father to Sean Penn in "At Close Range" one can still feel touched by Chris in those verboten places.  He is a charismatic demon, able to lure his sons into a life of violent crime without a shred of remorse.  Afterward, you reflect on the film and are amazed by his skill and talent as an actor.  Not once does he falter in his role and you love to hate him to the very end.

Of course, he is also one of the funniest men on the planet and the "more cowbell!" episode of Saturday Night Live is the stuff of comic legend.  It's nice to know that Chris is still relevant after 40-some odd years in the business.  Yes, his hotness was fleeting, but he's still one hell of a man.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Hot Documentary: "Gonzo-The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson"

"The Edge... The only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over." 

"It never got weird enough for me."

Hunter S. Thompson (1937-2005)

Dr. Hunter S. Thompson's extraordinary and outrageous life ended on February 20, 2005, when he stuck a shotgun to his head and pulled the trigger.  Friends and family were saddened but not surprised- apparently, he'd been talking about committing suicide for years. He felt that his best work was behind him and was plagued with health problems which were undoubtedly brought on by his hedonistic lifestyle.  

Alex Gibney's documentary is narrarated by Johnny Depp (hotness to the highest degree) and paints a loving yet searingly honest depiction of the brilliant and batty writer who created "Gonzo Journalism." 

A rebel of the highest order, Dr. Thompson became an unrepentant miscreant at a young age and spent his high school graduation in the slammer for being an accessory to an armed robbery.  His writing career began shortly thereafter and his big break came when Carey McWilliams, editor of The Nation,  offered Hunter the opportunity to write a short-story about the infamous and much reviled Hell's Angels.  

Hunter took the assignment and after several months with the Angels, suffered a group "stomping" and was ejected from their ranks.  The book was later published and entitled: Hells' Angels-The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs.  Hunter's novel took off with the critics and soon he was able to provide articles to well-known magazines, most notably, Rolling Stone, from which he would create his most beloved novels, Fear and Loating in Las Vegas and Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail.' 72.

From here, the documentary takes us on a riveting journey of Hunter's "Battle of Aspen", his attempt to run for Sheriff of Pitkin County, Colorado under the "Freak Ticket."  He promised to decriminalize drugs and rename Aspen "Fat City" in a effort to keep greedy investors at bay. He did not win the election, but wonderful footage of Hunter, bald, bewigged and wrapped in an American flag remains.  

This film was so enjoyable, I watched it twice.  It is chock-full of fascinating and funny interviews with Tom Wolfe, George McGovern, Jan Wenner and Pat Buchanan (!), to name a few.  Hunter's excessive drug use and love of guns are all covered here, in rare film footage captured from his Owl Farm compound in Colorado.   We also get to hear Hunter talk about his limo-ride interview with Richard Nixon in which they discussed nothing but football.  Hunter later stated that though his interview with Nixon was lively and pleasant, he could feel that this was an "evil man."

Beneath the "Gonzo" exterior loomed the heart of a true, yet twisted humanist who had great faith in the '60's counterculture movement but became a casualty of the free-love lifestyle.  He was a curious juxtaposition of rivaling ideologies- an avid hunter, gun and explosions freak who wept when he saw the devastation of the Chicago race riots and George McGovern's loss of the Presidential race to Richard Nixon. 

Dr. Thompson was such an interesting and dynamic character that this documentary should be entertaining to everyone, even those who know nothing about his life and work.  Hunter was a very, very hot man, indeed.  Dangerous, sexy, smart, rebellious and hilarious, Hunter embodies the forbidden fruit hangin' off the tree that causes you to re-think following the rules of the Garden of Eden.  

Be sure to watch Alex Gibney's wonderful documentary and feel free to drool over the pics of Dr. Thompson.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Diego Luna: Oooh, Dios Mio!

Every time I look at a picture of Diego Luna it makes me think of Blanche DuBois's "young man" monologue from A Streetcar Named Desire.  The one where she utters "oh young man, YOUNG man..." over and over to a handsome lad half her fucking age.  

I always felt so sorry for poor Blanche DuBois.

Anyholla', Diego Luna, 29 year old actor from Mexico City, has apparently been in the business for a while, but I had not noticed him before, mainly because he was appearing in films like "Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights."  That Dirty Dancing franchise really never appealed to me oh so much, so I didn't really take notice until I watched "Milk", which has him donning a wild and wooly 70's 'fro and playing Sean Penn's mentally unbalanced lover.  Afterward, I googled his picture and mi corazon!  He's adorable!

I like everything about him, really.  Everything.  Especially the resemblance to Cortez. (I have a really weird thang about men that resemble Cortez....  Yes, break out the fucking DSM IV if you so feel the need).   He's also a very good actor and appears to have a long and illustrious career ahead of him.  Fan-fucking-tastic!  I will be hollerin' in the cheap seats for Mr. Luna.

God, for the chance to sit across from him in a Havana-like 50's bar on a hot and sultry night, sucking down thick, fruity alcoholic beverages, one right after the other.  God, and then he'd help you stumble back to your cabana and the next morning, you wake up feeling like there's an anvil on your head.  You look around your cabana and the blinds are destroyed, as are all of the fixtures. Furniture has been flattened and clothes are draped everywhere. Lamps have been shattered and the bed is broken.  

And on the bed, sleeping soundly like an angel straight from heaven, is Diego Luna.

The Worst, Part One: (Very) Guilty, Shameful Pleasures.

So this is the deal with Spencer Pratt...

He's attractive when he doesn't smile or say anything and is shirtless.  A muzzle may be used if necessary to ensure that he does not speak!  He should wear sunglasses.

I would like to have one encounter with him, exorcising me of my demon crush forever.  He'd come over, smack it for a while and then I'd insult him, force him at gunpoint to do my dishes and vacuum the floors and then I'd throw him out and holler insults down from my window as he ran away, fast, fast, faster....

I hope the attached photos of he and his filly-faced gal pal make you laugh.  I sure did.

Mick Jagger: Hot Little Monkey Man

*Just to let y'all know, the mugshot of Mick causes me to go into violent, wheezing fits of laughter whenever I look at at it.  Scroll down and take a peek-- damn, I gotta' git it together*

Once upon a wishbone, I moved from Orange County to yonder Chico, a tiny college town out in the middle of fucking nowhere.  It's charm lay in the lovely bucolic setting of lush parks and trees and swimmin' holes and the stinky, skunky, stony weed that the locals always seemed to have on hand and in giant bags full.  I had moved to such an out of the way place for   (what else?) a man... A very nasty, snippy, angry and controlling little man who, at first glance, resembled the Emo Philips of yore.

The way this guy dressed would literally stop traffic as he and I walked through the town.  Frat boys in giant, raised trucks would shout "Pants!" or "Saturday Niiight Fever!" when they got a load of my ex's ensemble.  Head to toe (no. shit.) purple corduroy- in varying shades, coupled with that hair and a pair of black and super shiny cuban-heeled boots.

Our mutual attraction was based upon seeing one another, up and down the state, at Mother Hips shows.  Soon, we began emailing filthy missives to one another from our work computers (I think my I.T. guy was saving them and printing them out)  and then we hooked up and I quickly moved in with him, eleven hours north of my previous home.

We would smoke out and drink wine and stay up all night, listening to the 'stones or the Hips or Neil Young.  You get the idea.  At any rate, this is how we connected.  And, one night, after a little too much hash, he got up and began to jerk about and lip synch to "Monkey Man".  In my altered state, I thought I was watching Mick Jagger.  I made him pause the song and I picked out clothes for him to wear that I thought would be more convincing.  When he was done up properly and resumed his little show, I yelled out for him to "strut more" or "get down low and then jump! up!"  He did all of this, at my command.  I was enrapt.

Alas, I wanted him to do the Mick routine more and more and this made him cantankerous and snippety and he refused.  When he asked me "would you leave me for Mick Jagger?" I suppose I should have said "Absolutely not!!" Instead, I asked him "from which era- not the modern day Mick, but from the '60's and 70's?  Damn right."

Thus marked the first of many incidents that led to the early demise of our relationship.

You see, only MICK can do Mick.  He's fey, campy, saucy, cockney, raunchy, mouthy, skinny and femme.  On Mick, it works.  He's the midnight fucking rambler, for chrissakes.  He had the talent and the showmanship to carry it off and he was CONFIDENT.  When an insecure little American guy tries to cop Mick's attitude, it ends in a big FAIL.   I assure you, there was nothing sexy about my ex strutting thru' the Farmer's Market dressed like a poor man's Brian Jones.  In the summer of the 2000's, his swingin' threads were nothing short of ridiculous.

Shortly thereafter I met a nicer, more masculine and less dramatic man, with whom I had a very lovely time.  And he loved the Rolling Stones as much as me.