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apocalypsosTime for Part Two of our three-hour tour of the Love Boat, which will neither feature Captain Stubing or Gilligan. A good thing, I imagine, considering what crossing over two random characters from different fandoms usually means in this LJ. Brillo, anyone?
The Poseidon Adventure
Part Two
And we're back on the ship, which is now setting sail to the delight of everybody who really needed to jog on the decks before this whole trip is over, which includes Mom and Shelby. I hate to admit it, but I'd much rather see Shelby and Mom run the decks in spandex than see Red Buttons powerwalk in a velvet jogging suit. Of course, I'm not sadistic, which explains that.
We then cut to Dylan, who's wandering around the kitchens with his cameras filming the cooks. Well, Jesus, no wonder this ship's going to get blown up by terrorists when nobody seems to notice some brat with a camera filming the pastry chefs at work. Because that's just what the little bastard from the original movie needed -- video equipment. However, just to spoil my ranting fun, some steward finally spots him and says, "Are we lost, young Master Clarke?" Ah, only a day into the voyage and already pissing off the staff to the point where they know your name? Smooth move, jackass.
Dylan babbles some bullshit about dramatic tension, saying "it creeps people out because they know the vampire must be around" -- like, thank you, Real TV Movie director, for so desperately needing a meta voice that you gave the story's requisite snotty spoiled brat all the "injokes." That's more telling than half the crap this kid says. Even more telling is the moment when the dining room supervisor -- a.k.a. the name-knowing steward -- writes the kid a permission slip to film onboard the goddamn ship. It creates a frightening mental image of the director getting permission to remake The Poseidon Adventure from a very nice cashier he talked to at a Taco Bell one night.
Dylan is delighted, and the dining hall supervisor says that at university, he was "a bit of a thespian himself." Dylan smiles like he's trying not to laugh, because apparently that's the level of humor we'll be getting in this movie.
Off about two feet away from a perky blonde's deep and meaningful cleavage, Steve Guttenberg is rather somberly getting a massage. Perky Blonde points out how tense he is and that he must have a really stressful job, and Steve Guttenberg says, "I write novels, actually." Oh, how I hate it when characters I hate have my dream job. Moving on, the masseuse doesn't read much aside from InStyle -- yeah, that's a shocker -- and Steve Guttenberg says he hasn't really written a best-seller, leading Perky Blonde to point out that he must have done something right to afford this cruise. That's funny, I could have sworn that was rude. Steve Guttenberg, however, uses it as an opportunity to point out that he married a woman who turned "a little boutique into 217 stores worldwide." Well, that explains a lot. If I was married to Steve Guttenberg and I had a choice between him and the 217 stores worldwide, I know what I would have chosen, at least after Three Men and a Little Lady came out.
Steve Guttenberg proceeds to tell Perky Blonde the name of the store, and she squeals happily about her fangirl love for "Hip Hop" (Wait, the bitchy woman I don't like named her stores Hip Hop?! Ooo-kay.) before telling him that he should tell his wife to stock more clothes for "busty women" because she can never find anything her size. Yeah, real subtle, Perky Blonde. Why not lean over the back of his head far enough to make him ask why his ears are suddenly warm?
Perky Blonde orders him to flip over onto his back, and as soon as he does, he points out that he could see why she has a problem finding stuff that fits her in his wife's stores. After all, their stuff is "for teen girls" and she's "way beyond that." See, I thought that sounded like an insult, but apparently, Perky Blonde's less interested in what he says than in the barely-restraining-an-erection-no-one-wants-to-think-about way that he says it. She tells him he has worry lines. Jesus, he must worry a LOT. Perky Blonde says he can talk to her about whatever he wants, so he goes ahead and spills the beans about the counselor and complains about his wife making sure they shared a bed with each of their kids. Again, dumbass, which do you think is more stressful -- you both share a bed with one of your children and work on your personal relationship instead of your sexual one (which, in the same room with your kids ... ew) or you share a bed and have to listen to both of your children whine and complain for the rest of the cruise? Because -- and this is just my opinion -- you're a gigantic asshat for not getting two rooms in the first place, so shut it before Kong shuts it for you.
Perky Blonde says it's none of her business, but a woman who treats a man that way can't expect to hold onto him forever. Now I really hope she dies, too, but with those personal flotation devices, it's not looking like it's going to happen.
Later on the ship, Faux Shelley Winters emerges from the elevator to the ballroom and happily greets the dining room supervisor, Mr. Acre, meaning it took me ten whole minutes to realize that this is the Roddy McDowell of this version, and he'd even said his name in that last scene. See, now I'm just ignoring shit on purpose. Acre points out that platinum members can use the really nice dining room -- wait, this isn't the nice one? Could have fooled me -- but Faux Shelley Winters claims she wants to meet some new people, so Acre escorts her to table seven.
As they're walking along, Faux Shelley Winters spots Aunt Phyllis and pretty much just drags him along, telling Acre that he's going to Australia to look after the aborigines. Don't get me wrong, but considering what's been going on in Australia lately, I think the aborigines are the only ones who may be just fine all by themselves. Aunt Phyllis yammers something about it being "quite humbling." Did I ever mention that one of my best friends at my first job used to call Gene Hackman in the original movie SuperPriest? I point this out because instead of looking vaguely uncomfortable and much like he'd like to run away right now like Rutger Hauer does in this scene, if SuperPriest were in this scene, he would have punched Faux Shelley Winters in the face and given a speech about how prayer is for losers. I love SuperPriest. He makes me believe in a cooler, much more physically demanding branch of Catholicism with more headlocks.
Off at Steve Guttenberg's table, Mom is bitching that Dylan is late for dinner, which Steve Guttenberg responds to by pointing out that he's a kid and he's not going to get lost. If anybody thinks I'm over here having happy mental images of him falling into a big hole in the floor somewhere ... well, you're right. Steve Guttenberg offers to open some champagne, but if Shelby's green face is any indication, she's not having any.
Elsewhere, Acre snaps his fingers towards table seven, and a waiter -- hey, it's Random Middle Eastern Guy! -- snaps to attention to bring Aunt Phyllis and Faux Shelley Winters more rolls. It seems that Adam Baldwin (YAY!) joined their table sometime and we missed it, and he sits there uncomfortably while Faux Shelley Winters asks Aunt Phyllis if being a bishop makes him a bigshot at the Vatican. Aunt Phyllis burbles some crap about chess and pawns being important and right now, all I want is for Bryan Brown and Adam Baldwin (YAY!) to both rip off their shirts and beat the crap out of him. I don't ask for much, really.
Suddenly, Faux Shelley Winters spots C. Thomas Howell (presumably because all of the flowers on the table have started to tilt towards his blindingly white uniform) and waves him over. C. Thomas Howell comes over and says in a weirdly pronounced way that they like the crew to eat seperately "unless they're giving medical advice. Complaints, anyone?" You don't want to ask me that, Leatherface. Really. Faux Shelley Winters introduces him around the table, then starts taking about how when poor, missing Manny became poor, dead Manny, she decided she had to have a doctor on hand "at all times." Oh, she'd better not mean what I think she means about C. Thomas Howell. My stomach rolls right about the time that C. Thomas Howell looks across the dining room and sees Shelby's stomach doing the same thing ... well, presumably. The image of her disgorging her own stomach only for it to roll down the nearest flight of stairs might actually improve this whole sequence. C. Thomas Howell makes his apologies and tails her. Speaking as someone who can get motion sickness of roller skates if they're going fast enough, Dramamine?
Off at another table, Bryan Brown is giving Trophy Wife a lovely watch. Yes, this has something to do with the plot. Or at least with the recap, because seeing Bryan Brown makes me happy.
Shelby races into her state room to puke -- what, there weren't any bathrooms near the ballroom? -- and leaves the door to the rooms open, allowing C. Thomas Howell to knock and enter after calling out her name. Shelby is bent over the toilet vomiting, and speaking as someone who was reminded last night just how much fun puking can be, go away, C. Thomas Howell. C. Thomas Howell walks into the bathroom and spots her throwing up, then says that some people are very sensitive when the ship first sails. Shelby, looking like a freaking Miss America compared to how I looked yesterday after my trip to the bathroom, looks up and moans, "Oh, it's you." C. Thomas Howell puts a motion sickness patch behind her ear, to which she tells him that she's a student nurse and she knows how to use them. Oh, so she's not jailbait, then? And she's a nursing student? Oh, then they can totally hook up! Let me be the first to congratulate them by saying, "EWWWWWW!"
C. Thomas Howell makes a crack about how smart of her it was to, you know, not put one on, and she tells him to keep it up, as she's not above throwing up on him. I manage to refrain from saying anything about it being an improvement, or about how I didn't get to puke on anyone yesterday and now I feel cheated. C. Thomas Howell asks her if she feels like going to bed. Shelby makes this coy little smile and says, "But we just met." Then she sinks to her knees to puke again. Heh.
In the kitchen, Random Middle Eastern Guy and another guy who's absolutely not a terrorist pretend to arrange meals while talking about setting up their blowing-up-the-ship plan.
And it's off to the ship's Censor-Appropriate Nightclub, in which Trophy Wife sings a sad pop song. I can't say I miss "The Morning After" at this point, but I can definitely say that the thought of Carol Lynley ferociously gripping a baseball bat is giving me a happy fuzzy. Adam Baldwin (YAY!) sits at the bar lighting a cigarette, and the officer standing next to him says, "With a voice like that, she should have won." She's nailing Bryan Brown! What more do you want? Adam Baldwin (YAY!) asks what I was wondering, which is, "How can someone with such a thick accent sing without one?" Well, to be fair, it's not her thick accent, it's the maid's from Clue, but close enough. The officer says, "They want to sell CDs in America," then introduces himself as James Martin. Wait, this is the Red Buttons? Bitch, please. If he has to escort Trophy Wife around after the ship overturns, I'm out of here.
Adam Baldwin (YAY!) politely shakes his hand, but his attitude abruptly changes when Faux Red casually asks if he's working the Department of Homeland Security. Adam Baldwin (YAY!) goes all Jayne on his ass (although without shooting which ... bummer) asking where he heard that from.
Cut to Adam Baldwin (YAY!) stalking down a hallway, glaring down at Dylan as he rounds a corner. Dylan, by the way, is just randomly filming the hallway when Steve Guttenberg (who, I should mention, knows damn well who his kid is and what he looks like by now) walks around him and down to a door Adam Baldwin (YAY!) passed by. He knocks, and Perky Blonde lets him in. Oh, Guttenberg. Dylan looks appropriately disappointed.
And it's off to the cabin of Hi, I'm the Purser!, that short self-important twerp from the lifeboat station. He answers the door to find Adam Baldwin (YAY!), who enters looking about as menacing as you can imagine. Once again, I'm reminded that Jesus Christ, that man is huge. That's enough man for, what, two or three zip codes right there? He asks Hi, I'm the Purser! who else he told about Adam Baldwin (YAY!) being Homeland Security. Hi, I'm the Purser! (who's wearing a red dressing gown, the Official Costume of the Slimy and Self-Important) says that Adam Baldwin (YAY!) cannot come in here and push him around, just as Adam Baldwin (YAY!) proceeds to do just that. And dude, I don't know if you've read the latest additions to the Patriot Act, but my guess is that not only can he come in and push you around like that all he wants, but he can put in a little pink dress and force you to recite the Pledge of Allegiance backwards if he wants. However, instead of some quality violence, he holds up a tape recorder and demands Hi, I'm the Purser! name everybody he told about Adam Baldwin (YAY!).
Cut to Adam Baldwin (YAY!) making a progress report, which basically includes the following:
-- Hi, I'm the Purser! told three people that Adam Baldwin (YAY!) was Homeland Security and all of them have been fed to dinosaurs.
-- The wait staff is full of suspiciously brown people, therefore making his job difficult. ("International," "brown" -- you say "O'Reilly Factor," I say "George Carlin")
-- The ship's not exactly secure (flashing to a giggle-worthy shot of Dylan filming a chef slicing a carrot, which ... heh.)
By the way, during that last shot, Adam Baldwin (YAY!) passes through the kitchen and spots Dylan, glaring at him in such a way that if something were going to kill him during this movie, that would do it.
Adam Baldwin (YAY!) continues his progress report as he walks the decks, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and the unfortunate baseball cap (BOO!) instead of what we've all been waiting for, which is of course the nude sunbathing.
A title card tells us it's New Year's Eve. Well, it's about fucking time.
Acre walks into the casino to find Steve Guttenberg, who's playing a slot machine and asks Acre if a machine can be unlucky or if it's just the person. You know what? I'm pretty sure I can assure you that if anybody in this movie is unlucky, not to mention stupid, selfish, and no fun to watch, it's you, Steve Guttenberg. Steve Guttenberg thanks him for coming, then asks Acre how Dylan's doing. You asshat, you're his father. Shouldn't you know this already? Apparently not, since in the course of the ensuing conversation, Acre reluctantly tells Steve Guttenberg that Dylan thinks Steve Guttenberg and his wife are getting a divorce. Huh. I wonder where he got that idea from? The script, perhaps? Acre even goes so far as to shoot down Steve Guttenberg's smooth assurances against divorce by saying that Dylan's got video of Steve Guttenberg and Perky Blonde heading off for what polite society would refer to as a "booty call." Steve Guttenberg and his jowls are properly flustered.
Off in a store room, Random Middle Eastern Guy is prepping his team of terrorists with the plans for the attack. I'm sorry, is this the best place to hold your terror meeting? Sure, it's quicker to get snacks this way, but still. A mechanic suddenly barges into the room, and the terrorists stare at him ominously before one shuts the door. Uh-oh.
Next up in Part Three: We're all going to get wasted and hang from the ceiling! No, really!
Part Two
And we're back on the ship, which is now setting sail to the delight of everybody who really needed to jog on the decks before this whole trip is over, which includes Mom and Shelby. I hate to admit it, but I'd much rather see Shelby and Mom run the decks in spandex than see Red Buttons powerwalk in a velvet jogging suit. Of course, I'm not sadistic, which explains that.
We then cut to Dylan, who's wandering around the kitchens with his cameras filming the cooks. Well, Jesus, no wonder this ship's going to get blown up by terrorists when nobody seems to notice some brat with a camera filming the pastry chefs at work. Because that's just what the little bastard from the original movie needed -- video equipment. However, just to spoil my ranting fun, some steward finally spots him and says, "Are we lost, young Master Clarke?" Ah, only a day into the voyage and already pissing off the staff to the point where they know your name? Smooth move, jackass.
Dylan babbles some bullshit about dramatic tension, saying "it creeps people out because they know the vampire must be around" -- like, thank you, Real TV Movie director, for so desperately needing a meta voice that you gave the story's requisite snotty spoiled brat all the "injokes." That's more telling than half the crap this kid says. Even more telling is the moment when the dining room supervisor -- a.k.a. the name-knowing steward -- writes the kid a permission slip to film onboard the goddamn ship. It creates a frightening mental image of the director getting permission to remake The Poseidon Adventure from a very nice cashier he talked to at a Taco Bell one night.
Dylan is delighted, and the dining hall supervisor says that at university, he was "a bit of a thespian himself." Dylan smiles like he's trying not to laugh, because apparently that's the level of humor we'll be getting in this movie.
Off about two feet away from a perky blonde's deep and meaningful cleavage, Steve Guttenberg is rather somberly getting a massage. Perky Blonde points out how tense he is and that he must have a really stressful job, and Steve Guttenberg says, "I write novels, actually." Oh, how I hate it when characters I hate have my dream job. Moving on, the masseuse doesn't read much aside from InStyle -- yeah, that's a shocker -- and Steve Guttenberg says he hasn't really written a best-seller, leading Perky Blonde to point out that he must have done something right to afford this cruise. That's funny, I could have sworn that was rude. Steve Guttenberg, however, uses it as an opportunity to point out that he married a woman who turned "a little boutique into 217 stores worldwide." Well, that explains a lot. If I was married to Steve Guttenberg and I had a choice between him and the 217 stores worldwide, I know what I would have chosen, at least after Three Men and a Little Lady came out.
Steve Guttenberg proceeds to tell Perky Blonde the name of the store, and she squeals happily about her fangirl love for "Hip Hop" (Wait, the bitchy woman I don't like named her stores Hip Hop?! Ooo-kay.) before telling him that he should tell his wife to stock more clothes for "busty women" because she can never find anything her size. Yeah, real subtle, Perky Blonde. Why not lean over the back of his head far enough to make him ask why his ears are suddenly warm?
Perky Blonde orders him to flip over onto his back, and as soon as he does, he points out that he could see why she has a problem finding stuff that fits her in his wife's stores. After all, their stuff is "for teen girls" and she's "way beyond that." See, I thought that sounded like an insult, but apparently, Perky Blonde's less interested in what he says than in the barely-restraining-an-erection-no-one-wants-to-think-about way that he says it. She tells him he has worry lines. Jesus, he must worry a LOT. Perky Blonde says he can talk to her about whatever he wants, so he goes ahead and spills the beans about the counselor and complains about his wife making sure they shared a bed with each of their kids. Again, dumbass, which do you think is more stressful -- you both share a bed with one of your children and work on your personal relationship instead of your sexual one (which, in the same room with your kids ... ew) or you share a bed and have to listen to both of your children whine and complain for the rest of the cruise? Because -- and this is just my opinion -- you're a gigantic asshat for not getting two rooms in the first place, so shut it before Kong shuts it for you.
Perky Blonde says it's none of her business, but a woman who treats a man that way can't expect to hold onto him forever. Now I really hope she dies, too, but with those personal flotation devices, it's not looking like it's going to happen.
Later on the ship, Faux Shelley Winters emerges from the elevator to the ballroom and happily greets the dining room supervisor, Mr. Acre, meaning it took me ten whole minutes to realize that this is the Roddy McDowell of this version, and he'd even said his name in that last scene. See, now I'm just ignoring shit on purpose. Acre points out that platinum members can use the really nice dining room -- wait, this isn't the nice one? Could have fooled me -- but Faux Shelley Winters claims she wants to meet some new people, so Acre escorts her to table seven.
As they're walking along, Faux Shelley Winters spots Aunt Phyllis and pretty much just drags him along, telling Acre that he's going to Australia to look after the aborigines. Don't get me wrong, but considering what's been going on in Australia lately, I think the aborigines are the only ones who may be just fine all by themselves. Aunt Phyllis yammers something about it being "quite humbling." Did I ever mention that one of my best friends at my first job used to call Gene Hackman in the original movie SuperPriest? I point this out because instead of looking vaguely uncomfortable and much like he'd like to run away right now like Rutger Hauer does in this scene, if SuperPriest were in this scene, he would have punched Faux Shelley Winters in the face and given a speech about how prayer is for losers. I love SuperPriest. He makes me believe in a cooler, much more physically demanding branch of Catholicism with more headlocks.
Off at Steve Guttenberg's table, Mom is bitching that Dylan is late for dinner, which Steve Guttenberg responds to by pointing out that he's a kid and he's not going to get lost. If anybody thinks I'm over here having happy mental images of him falling into a big hole in the floor somewhere ... well, you're right. Steve Guttenberg offers to open some champagne, but if Shelby's green face is any indication, she's not having any.
Elsewhere, Acre snaps his fingers towards table seven, and a waiter -- hey, it's Random Middle Eastern Guy! -- snaps to attention to bring Aunt Phyllis and Faux Shelley Winters more rolls. It seems that Adam Baldwin (YAY!) joined their table sometime and we missed it, and he sits there uncomfortably while Faux Shelley Winters asks Aunt Phyllis if being a bishop makes him a bigshot at the Vatican. Aunt Phyllis burbles some crap about chess and pawns being important and right now, all I want is for Bryan Brown and Adam Baldwin (YAY!) to both rip off their shirts and beat the crap out of him. I don't ask for much, really.
Suddenly, Faux Shelley Winters spots C. Thomas Howell (presumably because all of the flowers on the table have started to tilt towards his blindingly white uniform) and waves him over. C. Thomas Howell comes over and says in a weirdly pronounced way that they like the crew to eat seperately "unless they're giving medical advice. Complaints, anyone?" You don't want to ask me that, Leatherface. Really. Faux Shelley Winters introduces him around the table, then starts taking about how when poor, missing Manny became poor, dead Manny, she decided she had to have a doctor on hand "at all times." Oh, she'd better not mean what I think she means about C. Thomas Howell. My stomach rolls right about the time that C. Thomas Howell looks across the dining room and sees Shelby's stomach doing the same thing ... well, presumably. The image of her disgorging her own stomach only for it to roll down the nearest flight of stairs might actually improve this whole sequence. C. Thomas Howell makes his apologies and tails her. Speaking as someone who can get motion sickness of roller skates if they're going fast enough, Dramamine?
Off at another table, Bryan Brown is giving Trophy Wife a lovely watch. Yes, this has something to do with the plot. Or at least with the recap, because seeing Bryan Brown makes me happy.
Shelby races into her state room to puke -- what, there weren't any bathrooms near the ballroom? -- and leaves the door to the rooms open, allowing C. Thomas Howell to knock and enter after calling out her name. Shelby is bent over the toilet vomiting, and speaking as someone who was reminded last night just how much fun puking can be, go away, C. Thomas Howell. C. Thomas Howell walks into the bathroom and spots her throwing up, then says that some people are very sensitive when the ship first sails. Shelby, looking like a freaking Miss America compared to how I looked yesterday after my trip to the bathroom, looks up and moans, "Oh, it's you." C. Thomas Howell puts a motion sickness patch behind her ear, to which she tells him that she's a student nurse and she knows how to use them. Oh, so she's not jailbait, then? And she's a nursing student? Oh, then they can totally hook up! Let me be the first to congratulate them by saying, "EWWWWWW!"
C. Thomas Howell makes a crack about how smart of her it was to, you know, not put one on, and she tells him to keep it up, as she's not above throwing up on him. I manage to refrain from saying anything about it being an improvement, or about how I didn't get to puke on anyone yesterday and now I feel cheated. C. Thomas Howell asks her if she feels like going to bed. Shelby makes this coy little smile and says, "But we just met." Then she sinks to her knees to puke again. Heh.
In the kitchen, Random Middle Eastern Guy and another guy who's absolutely not a terrorist pretend to arrange meals while talking about setting up their blowing-up-the-ship plan.
And it's off to the ship's Censor-Appropriate Nightclub, in which Trophy Wife sings a sad pop song. I can't say I miss "The Morning After" at this point, but I can definitely say that the thought of Carol Lynley ferociously gripping a baseball bat is giving me a happy fuzzy. Adam Baldwin (YAY!) sits at the bar lighting a cigarette, and the officer standing next to him says, "With a voice like that, she should have won." She's nailing Bryan Brown! What more do you want? Adam Baldwin (YAY!) asks what I was wondering, which is, "How can someone with such a thick accent sing without one?" Well, to be fair, it's not her thick accent, it's the maid's from Clue, but close enough. The officer says, "They want to sell CDs in America," then introduces himself as James Martin. Wait, this is the Red Buttons? Bitch, please. If he has to escort Trophy Wife around after the ship overturns, I'm out of here.
Adam Baldwin (YAY!) politely shakes his hand, but his attitude abruptly changes when Faux Red casually asks if he's working the Department of Homeland Security. Adam Baldwin (YAY!) goes all Jayne on his ass (although without shooting which ... bummer) asking where he heard that from.
Cut to Adam Baldwin (YAY!) stalking down a hallway, glaring down at Dylan as he rounds a corner. Dylan, by the way, is just randomly filming the hallway when Steve Guttenberg (who, I should mention, knows damn well who his kid is and what he looks like by now) walks around him and down to a door Adam Baldwin (YAY!) passed by. He knocks, and Perky Blonde lets him in. Oh, Guttenberg. Dylan looks appropriately disappointed.
And it's off to the cabin of Hi, I'm the Purser!, that short self-important twerp from the lifeboat station. He answers the door to find Adam Baldwin (YAY!), who enters looking about as menacing as you can imagine. Once again, I'm reminded that Jesus Christ, that man is huge. That's enough man for, what, two or three zip codes right there? He asks Hi, I'm the Purser! who else he told about Adam Baldwin (YAY!) being Homeland Security. Hi, I'm the Purser! (who's wearing a red dressing gown, the Official Costume of the Slimy and Self-Important) says that Adam Baldwin (YAY!) cannot come in here and push him around, just as Adam Baldwin (YAY!) proceeds to do just that. And dude, I don't know if you've read the latest additions to the Patriot Act, but my guess is that not only can he come in and push you around like that all he wants, but he can put in a little pink dress and force you to recite the Pledge of Allegiance backwards if he wants. However, instead of some quality violence, he holds up a tape recorder and demands Hi, I'm the Purser! name everybody he told about Adam Baldwin (YAY!).
Cut to Adam Baldwin (YAY!) making a progress report, which basically includes the following:
-- Hi, I'm the Purser! told three people that Adam Baldwin (YAY!) was Homeland Security and all of them have been fed to dinosaurs.
-- The wait staff is full of suspiciously brown people, therefore making his job difficult. ("International," "brown" -- you say "O'Reilly Factor," I say "George Carlin")
-- The ship's not exactly secure (flashing to a giggle-worthy shot of Dylan filming a chef slicing a carrot, which ... heh.)
By the way, during that last shot, Adam Baldwin (YAY!) passes through the kitchen and spots Dylan, glaring at him in such a way that if something were going to kill him during this movie, that would do it.
Adam Baldwin (YAY!) continues his progress report as he walks the decks, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and the unfortunate baseball cap (BOO!) instead of what we've all been waiting for, which is of course the nude sunbathing.
A title card tells us it's New Year's Eve. Well, it's about fucking time.
Acre walks into the casino to find Steve Guttenberg, who's playing a slot machine and asks Acre if a machine can be unlucky or if it's just the person. You know what? I'm pretty sure I can assure you that if anybody in this movie is unlucky, not to mention stupid, selfish, and no fun to watch, it's you, Steve Guttenberg. Steve Guttenberg thanks him for coming, then asks Acre how Dylan's doing. You asshat, you're his father. Shouldn't you know this already? Apparently not, since in the course of the ensuing conversation, Acre reluctantly tells Steve Guttenberg that Dylan thinks Steve Guttenberg and his wife are getting a divorce. Huh. I wonder where he got that idea from? The script, perhaps? Acre even goes so far as to shoot down Steve Guttenberg's smooth assurances against divorce by saying that Dylan's got video of Steve Guttenberg and Perky Blonde heading off for what polite society would refer to as a "booty call." Steve Guttenberg and his jowls are properly flustered.
Off in a store room, Random Middle Eastern Guy is prepping his team of terrorists with the plans for the attack. I'm sorry, is this the best place to hold your terror meeting? Sure, it's quicker to get snacks this way, but still. A mechanic suddenly barges into the room, and the terrorists stare at him ominously before one shuts the door. Uh-oh.
Next up in Part Three: We're all going to get wasted and hang from the ceiling! No, really!
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Date: 2005-12-14 10:16 pm (UTC)