Who Shat First?

God knows why, but somebody roused Harrison Ford long enough to ask him "who shot first". As though he alone held the secret truth. That somehow all conclusive evidence has been washed from the earth and our last hope is for testimony from the man who held the prop blaster almost four decades ago. His answer, equal parts appropriate and unhelpful, was "I don't care".

Lucas has so thoroughly soiled the franchise for me that I don't care either these days. Cleansing Solo's record of one premeditated murder isn't even a drop in the oceans of blood fans have wept over the past fifteen years. But one thing I still care about is the notion that matters of indisputable fact are treated as "opinions" to be "debated". Climate change is a fact. Evolution is a fact. Dan Aykroyd should have been the first dead Ghostbuster: fact.

Allow me to push my glasses up and suck the excess spit from my retainer.

*AHEM*

Han shot first. In fact, he was the only one who fired at all.

Many years later, a pussy son of a bitch who unironically called himself "George Lucas" forced a CG artist -- at knifepoint -- to add a blast from Greedo to "justify" Han's use of lethal force. "George" then masturbated to the revised footage until he reached a massive, body-rocking climax. His muscles contracted so hard that he sprayed shit all over the floor. The shit was collected into wet, runny piles, then distributed in theaters as "prequels".

And that's the story, motherfucker.

Sex, Lies and Cloud-Based File Sharing of MP4's

Sex Tape
Directed by Jake Kasdan
Starring Cameron Diaz and Jason Segel and a bunch of actors who've come to terms with where their careers are at these days.

Remember that time when you and your spouse, the two of you struggling to rekindle the fire of your early years, recorded yourselves having sex? And remember how your iPad sent that video to the Cloud, seeding that lusty video to the bundle of iPads you got from Costco to give to all your friends and family? What a hilarious time you both had as you scrambled to retrieve those tablets and remove all evidence of your suburban debauchery from the internet!

Yeah, that old chestnut.

Thankfully, writer Kate Angelo has breathed fresh new life into this age-old premise, in this year's best film inspired by an awards show swag-bag. Not since the Palm Pilot-based Brittany Murphy vehicle Little Black Book has a film so daringly embraced a short-lived fad as its core foundation. (I'm speaking of the Palm Pilot, not Brittany Murphy.)

All sarcasm aside, this movie looks to be another artless, heartless, soulless space-filler. The trailer alone is dripping with contempt for the viewing public. The only good thing I can say from what I've seen is that Jason Segel's been eating less, and Cameron Diaz has been eating more, and they're both better off for it.

But that's no reason to sit through this shit. The best moments of the film are in the trailer, and they're not much. Better to watch some legitimate porn. The writing and acting, admittedly, will be (marginally) inferior to Sex Tape, but at least porn is honest. Everyone knows the score. But this, this thing... it's a calculated, cynical dodge to pad studio pockets. A formulaic, paint-by-numbers smirk-fest built from a screenplay seminar algorithm.

This movie doesn't deserve to make money, but chances are it will. Just don't let it take yours. Don't encourage these people. After two decades of Pamela Anderson, Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian, have we not learned by now that nothing good can come of a sex tape?