On Saturday, The Wrap reported that original Fast & Furious director Rob Cohen had been selected to helm a remake of 1989 Patrick Swayze bounce-opera Road House. If you're unfamiliar with the movie, please stand up from the computer right now, head to the smoldering rubble-pile where your local Blockbuster Video used to be, and sort through the wreckage with a sturdy broom handle until you find a playable DVD in the Pre-Owned Classics sinkhole; you may also use Netflix if they've already salted the earth to prevent a haunting by khaki-clad ghosts. But if you're a true Roadhead, you undoubtedly understand our immediate and visceral reaction to the news: the ice-cold perspiration, the violent heaving of an Adam's apple craving the just annihilation of a throat-rip rather than see a flawless cultural object spoiled by greed and a lack of imagination. This is not a dig at Cohen, even though his last feature was Tyler Perry's Check Me Out, I'm a Detective Now!; no director, other than Tommy Wiseau shooting entirely on Vine and given no sustenance other than a garbage bag full of horse tranquilizers, would be an acceptable choice here. The only way to win this game is not to play at all. You don't take the Hope Diamond and bedazzle it with Croc charms because you think a new generation needs its own spin on perfection; that was a pretty good diamond to begin with. We just compared Road House to the Hope Diamond. Turn off the dark.
Every once in a while you see a bad movie and wonder how more of them aren't worse — a film so shitty on so many levels that you can't believe no one involved with the production could see that nothing was working. R.I.P.D. is that kind of bad. It's so bad, it puts other movies' badness in a new light. What was so tiresome about Man of Steel, so careless of World War Z, and so depressing in Grown Ups 2 doesn't matter when you're faced with something that feels more like a willful accident than a film.
Kirstie Alley's Juicy Memoir Is All About Men: She dated Tim 'Otter' Matheson in the early '80s "until one fateful night when his secret fiancée's unexpected visit forced Kirstie to escape out the window." It was then that she learned, "don't trust actors, no matter how many éclairs they offer you." She and Patrick Swayze had an emotional affair during '85 miniseries North and South while they were both married to other people. "Patrick told Kirstie that he was falling in love with her and she, in turn, begged him, unsuccessfully, to have sex." As in she begged him unsuccessfully or the sex was unsuccessful in some way? "This man and I never had sex or did sexual things, but I consider what we did more dangerous and a betrayal to our spouses." Does they mean they played, like, really steamy games of Connect Four?
Alley fantasized about Ted Danson and his "big dick" during her time on Cheers, although she never got to sample the merchandise. The cast once conspired to photograph Danson in the shower, but "things didn't go according to plan." Kirstie says, "George Wendt kicked the door open. I snapped the photo of the naked Ted. I swear to God he was well endowed. I would show you the picture, but my hands were shaky." She calls handsome Dancing With the Stars Maksim Chmerkovskiy pro "mysterious" as well as "capricious, rude, thoughtless, and bossy. He is also gentle, childlike, fragile, and sensitive." Be sure to take Alley's revelations with a lot of salt. She also claims she and John Travolta fell in love during Look Who's Talking, although they never hooked up. It's possible some of these passionate love affairs may have taken place mainly in her imagination. I wanna see the receipts.
The next time you instantly erase 114 minutes of your life by getting sucked, once again, into the vortex that is a cable viewing of Road House, rest assured that Bill Murray and his idiot brothers are out there somewhere, watching with you. At least that’s the story from Road House co-star Kelly Lynch, who, in a frankly awesome interview with The A.V. Club, says that Murray calls her husband, Mitch Glazer (co-writer of Murray’s 1988 Christmas Carol redux Scrooged), whenever the movie is on TV during one scene in particular:
Every week there are five new gossip magazines covering the same mostly imaginary stories. We scan them for you and select the choicest bits. Consider this your primer for the water cooler.
This week's best almost-definitely-fabricated "Exclusive" is in Star magazine and it claims Jennifer Aniston and Justin Theroux eloped in Mexico. Aniston already denied it, so no dice. She even said that her recent minuscule weight gain that the mags have pounced on as evidence of a pregnancy was the result of having recently quit smoking (good 4 u girl!). Looks like Aniston has finally learned how to play the tabloids and win. The other rags focus on Kim Kardashian's "rocky" marriage to Kris Humphries, The Real Housewives of New Jersey, and Dancing With the Stars fan favorite J.R. Martinez. The best picture that gained weird meaning from appearing repeatedly in different magazines was a very staged Vegas photo op of Kim K. and Kris Humphries posing over a cake shaped like the two of them driving a convertible. Strangely revealing, yet empty of real import, a bit like Ms. Kim K. herself.
Patrick Swayze passed away two years ago tomorrow and yet his spectral presence is still felt in Hollywood. The reason? Everyone keeps remaking all of his movies! Perhaps serving as proof that the poor man should be allowed to rest in peace, none of these projects seem to be particularly successful. Finally scheduled for release later this year is Red Dawn, a troubled re do of the classic-ish Soviet-era scare flick — only this time the villains are Chinese. Or at least they were Chinese until Hollywood remembered where most of their emerging overseas income originates and the bad guys were changed to North Korean in post-production. (Thanks, Industrial Light & Racism!) Next on the horizon is a presumably faithful remake of Dirty Dancing, directed by the original’s choreographer, Kenny Ortega. Word of this new attempt at putting Baby in the corner was greeted by, in the words of ABC News, “outrage” (sample reaction tweet: “DIE IN A FIRE, MOVIE INDUSTRY.” Discourse!).
Then, late yesterday, came news that Swayze’s most cultily beloved cult flick, the Zen-bubblegum bank-robbing surfer movie, Point Break, is also due for a reboot. Deadline reports that Alcon Entertainment is developing a fresh take on the as-insane-as-it-was-twenty-years-ago story with screenwriter Kurt Wimmer, who also penned the upcoming remake of Total Recall. The twist? Instead of surfing, the new film’s hopefully stone-faced FBI agent will infiltrate a criminal gang of extreme-sports enthusiasts. (Great idea! What could possibly go wrong?)