Two nights ago, Mark Wahlberg and I crash-landed together on a planet inhabited by talking apes that ride horses and humans who dress like fashion ended with the Flintstones. He didn't seem to enjoy it as much as I did -- in fact, he wanted to get the hell out of there -- but I wanted to stick around and see what the apes were going to do next. They were very interesting, much more interesting than the humans, one of whom was Kris Kristofferson. He hardly spoke a word, which was too bad... I was thinking he might have written some good songs about living on a planet like this, but alas he kept to himself and they bumped him off pretty early.
Okay, so after we crash-landed, we were captured by the apes and put in pens and sold off to other apes as slave labor. Specifically, we were purchased by Helena Bonham Carter, which was okay with me, but Mark didn't care for it, so he escaped and the rest of us followed him.
We ran through the jungle and across the desert, with the apes (led by the evil Tim Roth) in hot pursuit, eventually making our stand. More and more humans joined us, and the apes gathered on the hilltops so they could look ominous and then charge down at us... I won't give away the whole thing, of course, but it was a nice bit of mindless fun.
Ethan Hawke wakes up and kisses his wife good morning as she's nursing their baby. It's a scene straight out of Norman Rockwell, but Hawke is no doe-eyed innocent, he's a realist; he knows that today, his first day as a narcotics officer f
Guns go off and bullets whiz by. Bombs explode in great Technicolor bursts. Airplanes dive and crash or save themselves at the last second. Ships hit by torpedoes buckle and implode, then turn over and sink with hu
David Spade uses his usual trademark disdain for his subject matter -- in this case his own character, a kind of half-southern white trash, half-California rocker dude named Joe Dirt. He works as a janitor in a radio st