Auteur: McG
Videography: All those bright-colored Barenaked Ladies, Sugar Ray
and Offspring videos that totally look the same.
Signature: Always contain scenes in neighborhoods and on game show
sets. Could this be a statement on suburban dysfunction? (Probably not.)

Hollywood leap: The jiggly, er, jiggy “Charlie’s Angels.”
MTV Moment: I don’t know, I haven’t seen it yet. But I imagine
there’s plenty.
Filmmaker? Scale (out of 10): 4. His videos, which you could tell
were his within two seconds, were ultra-annoying; face it, you’re not
seeing “Angels” for his directorial prowess. Let’s see what he can do
in a movie with lesser attractive Camerons and Drews, say, Kirk Cameron
and Drew Carey.

Auteur: Hype Williams
Videography: Um, every hip-hop video of the last five years? Notably,
Biggie’s “Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems,” Missy’s “The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly),”
and Jay-Z’s “Big Pimpin’.”
Signature: Early on, it was the in-your-face fish-eye lens effect,
which gave Busta Rhymes a career. More recently, it’s been butts. Lots
of them.
Hollywood leap: The cautionary millennial hood-tale “Belly.”
MTV Moment: DMX and Nas cruise through a nightclub with contact
lenses that make their eyes glow in the dark. Serves no purpose, but it
sure looks cool.
Filmmaker?: 8. “Belly,” with its incredible visuals, is one of
the better looking films of the last ten years (I’m serious). But Hype’s
vision was severely compromised in the final edit (Artisan took it from
three hours to 90 minutes), which is why in its present form, it makes
no sense. But if Hype has his way, he might change the way we look at
movies. I’m serious.

Auteur: David Fincher
Videography: Madonna’s Blonde-Ambition-era milestones “Express
Yourself” and “Vogue.”
Signature: Darkness!
Hollywood Leap: The darkest, creepiest, rainiest thriller of the
’90s — the reason you can rattle off the seven deadly sins quicker than
your class schedule — “Se7en,” which he followed with “The Game” and
your guided tour through the modern male psyche, “Fight Club.”
MTV Moment: “Se7en’s” opening credit sequence, which contains more
cuts than Marilyn Manson’s chest.
Filmmaker?: 10. With “Fight Club,” Fincher proved he very well
could be the best director working today, possessing a total grasp on
every facet the film making process. He’s darker than David Lynch and
more meticulous than Terence Malick. The new Kubrick?

Auteur: Scott Kalvert
Videography: Samantha Fox’s “Naughty Girls Need Love Too.”
Signature: Samantha Fox, down on her knees, crooning, “Naughty
Girls Need Love Too,” an image no elementary schooler soon forgot. Which,
incidentally, had nothing to do with Kalvert. But a little Samantha Fox
goes a long way.
Hollywood Leap: The underrated Leo-on-heroin epic “The Basketball
Diaries,” as well as the forthcoming “Deuces Wild,” which stars everyone
from Deborah Harry to Johnny Knoxville.
MTV Moment: Too many to count! Leo shooting hoops in the rain,
heroin in a crackhouse and his fellow students in a classroom (donning
a black trench coat, no less), to name a few.
Filmmaker?: 7. He’s flashy, but maybe too flashy. But with Johnny
Knoxville on his side, he’s headed in the right direction.

Auteur: Michael Bay
Videography: DiVinyls, “I Touch Myself.”
Signature: Here he gave no hint at what was to become his signature
— headaches. Have you tried watching “The Rock” lately?
Hollywood Leap: “Bad Boys,” “Armageddon,” and next summer’s most
expensive gamble, “Pearl Harbor.”
MTV Moment: Jesus. If you thought MTV and its crazy quick cuts
catered to those with short attention spans, take a look at Michael Bay’s
caffeine cinema. There isn’t one shot in any of his films that lasts more
than four seconds. I counted.
Filmmaker?: 5. While he and partner-in-crime Jerry Bruckheimer
make the loudest, fastest theater-rockin-ist action films of all time,
a 1998 Entertainment Weekly essay questioned whether or not he’s
the devil. Their conclusion was yes, he is.

Auteur: Fred Durst
Videography: All of Limp Bizkit’s videos, from “Faith” to “Rollin’,”
as well as a Korn video or two.
Signature: Stupidity?
Hollywood Leap: The forthcoming “Runt,” a high school revenge fantasy
on which he’s collaborating with David Fincher.
MTV Moment: My guess is, should this project actually go down,
it will be chock full o’ self indulgences set to Durst’s own music. And
watch for the cameo… Chocolate Starfish!
Filmmaker: 1. A vanity project so putrid it could make Magic Johnson’s
much-reviled late night talk show look genius.

Limp Bizkit
“Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water”
Flip/ Interscope

A robotic computer-generated voice opens up Limp Bizkit’s enormously anticipated “Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water,” stating, “this is not a test.” Oh, but it is.
The hopelessly overlong (75 minutes?) “Chocolate Starfish,” from its childish title and god-awful cover to its cloned song structures and manufactured rage, is nothing if not an endurance test.
Limp Bizkit’s 1999 “Significant Other,” and especially that album’s incendiary “Break Stuff,” mainlined a certain measure of disaffected rage. It was admittedly stoopid, but it rocked, in that 1999, throw-yourself-through-a-coffee-table kind-of-way.
But anybody looking for a growth from the red-capped wonder and his comrades need look elsewhere, because on “Starfish,” Limp Bizkit relapse into adolescent immaturity.
Agression-wise, the loud, leave-me-alone creed “My Way” (“It’s my way, my way or the highway” goes the chorus) should blast out of grounded teenager’s rooms the nation over, and on the whole, “Chocolate Starfish” has that choppy, grinding nu-metal sound throughout.
But for the life of him, frontman Fred Durst can’t bring himself to say anything that matters on “Starfish.”
He dedicates “Livin’ it Up” to Ben Stiller (who does that?) by saying
the “Meet the Parents” star is his “favorite motherfucker”; on the same
song, he raps, “I’ve seen ‘Fight Club’ about 28 times.” So what?
Throughout, he swears just to swear, an effect which loses all its effect
after the first song, the Trent Reznor-jab “Hot Dog” (“you wanna fuck
me like an animal… but just know that nothing you do will bring you
closer to me”).
As a mouthpiece for Generation Y, which he is, Durst sure is uninteresting.
His ode to them (whom he lamely dubs “generation strange”), “My Generation,”
is a degrading mess of a failed anthem; the “who gets the blame” breakdown
arguably has nothing to do with anything. The Spice Girls’ Pepsi song
was a better generational theme.
Most of all, though, “Chocolate Starfish” is severely lacking an editor.
When they dropped producer Rick Rubin about a day into the “Starfish”
recording sessions, they lost the presence of an outsider who could have
brought the album to a cohesive whole. Plus, coming just 16 months after
“Significant Other,” Durst and co. are simply void of material from which
to draw an album, evidenced by their flushing it out with two versions
of “Rollin’,” their theme from “M:I-2,” seven minutes of Ben Stiller laughing
and a handful of messages from Fred Durst’s answering machine.
But Durst is sharp. “Get retarded,” he urges at the close of the “Rollin’”
remix. At least he knows his audience.

It’s Tuesday, just before 7 a.m., and everyone in their right mind is asleep.
Outside, it’s cold and dark, and a thin layer of frost coats the windshield of every car.
Even most insomniacs can find within themselves the strength to crash
through this early hour, easily the deadest hour of a college student’s
day. The bars closed five hours ago, the sun won’t come up for another
30 minutes. The Teletubbies don’t even come on until 8.
Yet tucked away in the back of Moore Hall, Matthew Caruana is going through
last minute preparations for his morning radio show, set to go on air
on 91.5-FM (WMHW) any minute now. He’s been there since 6; his partner,
Dave Olshaske, is just now getting to the studio. “You really do need
to get here earlier,” says Caruana, laughing.
They quickly brief themselves and go over the loose format for the day’s
show. A copy of the Mr. Rogers theme song Caruana was able to gank from
the Internet puts a smile on both their faces, as does a goofball story
Olshaske was able to crib off the wire of monkeys pelting motorists on
I-65. “Yes! Monkeys kick ass,” says Caruana.
Their question of the day revolves around “the best way to spend $25″;
their tip of the day from ehow.com is how to make yourself more attractive
to the opposite sex.
And with that, the Big Matt and Dave Show takes the air.
Adorned in a “Greetings from Asbury Park” T-shirt, Caruana opens up the
mic, wishing a good morning to all seven of his potential listeners. Olshaske
goes on to tease a news-of-the-weird story he’ll read later concerning
an Ohio turkey testicle festival. Both make their first plug for phone
calls that will never come.
Traditionally, morning shows are the pinnacle of the radio world. That’s
where the big bucks and advertising revenues lie, as well as the fame
(see Howard Stern, or, a little closer to home, Drew & Mike). Radio stations
build their image around their morning show, reason being they have a
captive audience of people in their car on their way to work.
But in the thankless world of college radio, no one gets less love than
the morning show. Even the graveyard shift, made infamous to a new generation
by David Silver and Donna Martin, has a devoted audience of kids who a)
can’t sleep and b) actually want to hear bad alt-rock bands at 4 a.m.
But the morning show’s core audience is a bunch of sleepyheads who may
or may not be able to comprehend the 8-10 seconds of the show they hear
between hits of the snooze bar.
But that, and the fact that they’re lucky to get two callers over the
span of their two hour show, matters little to Big Matt and Dave, who
were struck with the inspiration to do the show one night at the bar.
“We decided to do it at quarter to two at the Blackstone one night,” says
Caruana, a Livonia senior. “We thought it would be fun because we knew
we could talk a lot.”
The format for morning shows is much looser than afternoons; whereas talk
sets in the afternoon, more often than not, revolve around the bands in
rotation, mornings are free to do whatever. Plus, morning shows offer
4-5 minute talk sets, whereas afternoons allow for only 2 minutes, tops.
Which allows for much more stories about monkeys pelting motorists on
I-65.
Thus, Olshaske says that a lot more preparation is involved for a morning
show than for an afternoon one. “It may not look like it, but it is,”
he assures. Indeed, all week he and Caruana gather assorted material,
and meet on Monday afternoon to lay out a rough sketch of the show.
But during this, their third show, the best bit comes just before it goes
on the air. The segment is regular, (they read a scene from a popular
film), but which film to do is decided just minutes before airtime. Reading
(acting?), Caruana adapts a scarily accurate British accent while Olshaske
fumbles a Baaston drawl to the point where it’s unrecognizable. The goal
is for a caller to correctly identify the film from which they’re reading;
the line about going out and eating a bunch of caramels gives it away
for anyone thrown off by the accents.
The moment of truth comes about a minute later when the phone lights up.
Eureka, a caller!
Both Caruana and Olshaske, Muskegon senior, are veterans at 91.5, with
three and two years notched on their belts, respectively. Both are broadcasting
majors with advertising minors. And neither are morning people.
Olshaske laughingly refers to their show as “a train wreck,” but admits
that after three weeks, it’s getting better.
“No matter what, we laugh, and I guess that’s all that matters,” says
Olshaske.
“It’s OK, it’s improving,” says Caruana. “We just try and have fun with
it, and maybe entertain a few people.”
Due to their early-rise, post-show naps are often required for the two
DJs. A few days later, Caruana and Olshaske listen to the tape of their
show, analyzing what works, what doesn’t, and noting what they can improve
upon. Then Tuesday morning at 7, they do it all again.
But the biggest goal they have for the show is not up to them, but rather,
you. Says Caruana, “We want more people to call.”
The Big Matt and Dave show airs from 7-9 a.m. Tuesdays on Modern Rock
91.5 FM (WMHW).

Shoplifting (7) vs. Skipping Class
(10)
ECW Arena in Philadelphia, PA
Jennifer Capriatti and Todd Bridges were among the
juvenile offenders on hand at the world famous ECW Arena to witness
the heated battle between Shoplifting and Skipping Class. It was a dirty
matchup which found two notoriously fun entities going head to head
with each other for the first time.
Shoplifting came out strong and sneaky early, but
the referee was eyeing it close like a security guard at Try-N-Save.
It was forced to clean up its act and slow its pace, which was tough
for the adrenaline heavy Shoplifting to do.
Skipping Class took full advantage of the blow to
Shoplifting by sleeping in and turning off its alarm. It woke up later
to find out that it didn’t miss much anyway, and awoke to sit on the
couch and eat chips.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at class?” asked Shoplifting.
“Yep,” answered Skipping Class as it passed the bowl
of chips. Shoplifting was confused.
“But don’t you get in trouble?” asked Shoplifting,
desperately searching for some sort of foothold.
“Nope. Now shut up, TRL’s coming on,” answered Skipping
Class.
Stunned, Shoplifting threw its hands in the air and
forfeited. It actually started to feel bad for itself, especially for
resulting in phone calls to so many angry parents and for getting its
proponents grounded.
“It’s simple math,” explained Skipping Class, who,
coincidentally, was skipping math at the time.
“What’s the worst that can happen with Skipping Class?
What’s the worst that can happen with Shoplifting? See what I’m saying?
Now kick your feet up and let’s chill.” Enlightened, Shoplifting joined
forces with Skipping Class. Even Capriatti and Bridges saw the light.
Et cetera March Madness fans, meet your Cinderella team.
Winner: New and Improved Skipping Class

(3) Vin Diesel vs. (14) Toys ‘R’
Us
Lakeside Mall, Mt. Clemens, MI
There aren’t enough cliche´s to epitomize the ramifications
of the highly touted Vin Diesel vs. Toys ‘R’ Us matchup. Old vs. New,
Youth vs. Experience, Future vs. Past… any and all were applicable
in this explosive first round meeting.
Many feel that Vin Diesel, star of “Boiler Room,”
“Pitch Black” and writer/director of the independent short film “Multi-Facial”
was not worthy of his Number 3 seed, but those people obviously haven’t
seen his work.
But that still doesn’t explain Toys ‘R Us’ insanely
low Number 14 berth, rationalized only by the fact that they don’t carry
“Matrix” action figures, and that their video games are always out of
stock. But still, we’re talking about Toys ‘R’ Us, the mecca for childhood
bewilderment, a 365 day a year Christmas Morning, Disneyland in disguise
as a ghetto toy store.
Needless to say, Toys ‘R’ Us came out like it had
something to prove. With the power of Pokemon, Teletubbies and Britney
Spears dolls on its side, it went right after Vin, who was in his nice
guy “Boiler Room” mode. It was clear that he had underestimated the
power of the toy behemoth, and quickly sprung into “Pitch Black” mode.
Toys ‘R’ Us took a fall as an angry mother berated her child in the
middle of the store, screaming “keep acting like that, and you’re not
going to get ANYTHING!”
Vin laughed, lowered his goggles, and went in for
the kill. But no one saw the strange turn of events that followed coming,
as Vin wandered down the action figure isle and came face to face with
his likeness in an “Iron Giant” action figure. Melting like a little
boy on his 7th birthday, Vin unwrapped the toy and began to play with
it on the ground. Hearing it talk, he remarked about how good a job
Toy Biz had done in duplicating his voice.
While he was down, Todd McFarlane’s “Spawn” toys
teamed up with the WWF action figures and took full advantage and put
Mr. Diesel away. Afterwards, they partied with the Spice Girls dolls
in the bargain bin.
Winner: Toys ‘R’ Us

Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater (6) vs.
Dragon Express (11)
Madison Square Garden, New York, NY
A couple of college staples went at it in a barn
burner in the world’s most famous arena, as Tony Hawk’s popular Playstation
game took on up-and-comer Dragon Express in a sold-out Madison Square
Garden. “Pro Skater” came out impressive and cocksure, as it went straight
from a 50/50 grind into an Indy Nosebone into a 540 Madonna.
But Dragon Express matched by correctly guessing
that you want a Two Item Steam Table Meal. Pro Skater hit the halfpipe
with something to prove, and pulled a double Christ Air into a Sex Change.
But Dragon Express had just put out a fresh tray of Orange Chicken that’s
taste would linger for the remainder of the day.
Disheveled, Pro Skater rushed to the Downhill Jam
in Phoenix, AZ, in an attempt to do the potential 40,000 point trick
at the end of the race, but was unable to gather up enough speed in
its hurried state and fell flat. Meanwhile, Dragon Express poured the
sweet and sour sauce on top of its chicken and threw in two free egg
rolls to boot.
Tony Hawk desperately tried to put something together
at the end in the mall, but knew in his heart that he was already down
and out. Calm and collected, Dragon Express came out smoothly and punched
its two item punch card. Victory had been claimed for Dragon Express,
but Pro Skater read its fortune cookie and was told it’d make a better
showing in next year’s tournament with it’s new and improved version
on the Playstation 2. Kung Pow!
Winner: Dragon Express

*** out of five

Rated R for Vin Diesel.

Imagine “Starship Troopers” with the
lights off.
That’s the pitch for “Pitch Black,” the moodily cool
sci-fi thriller from director David Twohy that pits a crew of space
refugees against a race of flesh eating crazy monster bugs that only
come out at night. The crew figure it’s a good thing they won’t have
to deal with these monsters a lot since they’re on a planet with three
suns. But then along comes a big ol’ solar eclipse and they’re all screwed.
The crew, which includes the lawman (Cole Hauser,
best known as the hate-crazed Remy from “Higher Learning”), the guy
with the accent, the prisoner (bad as hell Vin Diesel), the religious
guy (Keith David) and the chick (Radha Mitchell), is a colorful assortment
of B-movie cliches, that sounds not unlike the set up for a “…walks
into a bar” joke.
In fact, all of “Pitch Black” is a knowing and truehearted
B-movie, but spares the audience of any “Scream”-like irreverence or
stupid asides. Thankfully, there’s not one comic quip or one liner the
entire movie.
Instead, we’re treated to the actors, a relative
cast of unknowns who bring on board with them zero star baggage. And
we’re treated to the work of a director who knows the palate from which
he’s drawing from, who by twirking and tweaking this and/or that makes
the damn coolest movie he can.
For example, to create the visual effect of being
on a planet that is home to three (count ‘em!) suns, Twohy uses film
stock that looks as if it were bleached out and left in the Arizona
desert for a week or two, which gives the film an awash-orange tinge.
And when the film goes dark, he keeps the visual style alive by draping
his cast in fluorescent tubes, which not only makes them look damn cool,
but keeps the aliens away from them, too (they’re allergic to light
– see, it serves the plot!).
And as in most sci-fi thrillers were humans are up
against non-humans, there are a handful of rad alien P.O.V. shots, which
are here done in what looks like warp speed silver 3-D casings.
And the alien things themselves, which also have
the ability to fly, look like evil hybrids of pterodactyls, velociraptors
and hammerhead sharks. They have short tempers and sharp teeth, and
they hate humans.
So “Pitch Black,” while not necessarily breaking
any new ground, creates a cool world and makes for a decent and knowing
“Alien” tribute. In the end, it has the slight feel of a film unfinished
or unsure how to wrap everything up, but by that point it’s already
broken a few major rules of engagement (letting the bad guy win, etc.),
so you give it the benefit of the doubt.
But Vin Diesel steals the show, much like George
Clooney did in “From Dusk Till Dawn.” As Riddick, the psychopath loose
cannon who’s chained up Hannibal Lecter-style when we first meet him
and whose animalistic narration opens “Pitch Black,” Vin Diesel gives
an ultra-convincing performance as a megacool badass whom you want to
root for and are rewarded for doing so.
In his tank top and black goggles, it’s not hard
to imagine Vin being the future of action movies. But Vin’s one step
ahead of you; he also steals the show in the testosterone fueled stock
market prick flick “Boiler Room” (which also opened this weekend), where
he does a 180 as a friendly, somewhat compassionate badass playa millionaire.
All of which is to say that if he sustains the buzz he built for himself
this past weekend, he not only has a few Grahammys in his future, but
will too reap the rewards of Hollywood stardom (big bucks, lotsa roles)
and all that comes with it (like Winona Ryder as a girlfriend). Vin
rocks.
As Fry (“Futurama,” anyone?), Radha Mitchell also
makes a good impression, and lives to see another day in “Pitch Black.”
When it comes to serious straight to video sci-fi
horror, “Pitch Black” is the best straight-to-video sci-fi horror flick
that wasn’t straight-to-video since the Canadian math thriller “Cube.”
Leave a light on for it.

**** out of five

Rated R for really making you want to go out there
and sell your soul, and for Vin Diesel

The white collar gangstas of “Boiler
Room” quote the Notorious B.I.G. like he’s the gospel. They’re testosterone
fueled maniac jerks, who knock player haters out for looking at them
cockeyed. They’re coke heads, they’re dropouts. They’re immoral. They
steal. And they’re all Ferrari driving millionaires. Welcome to the
new American Dream.
“Boiler Room,” which rings so shockingly true (a
similar chop-shop stock house was just brought down last week) that
a disclaimer greets the onset of it to let you know that it is indeed
a work of fiction, is a yiggy yes-y’allin’ hip-hop (don’t let that cast
of white kids fool you) showcase of young talent and macho bravado that
makes “Top Gun” look like “The First Wives Club.” It’s a savvy homage
to the workaday epic “Glengarry Glen Ross” and the ’80s mirror “Wall
Street” that is knowing enough to include direct references to both.
It’s both fast-paced and engrossing, and leaves audiences pumped to
go out there and grab the world by the balls, much like “Rounders” left
you wanting to go on a 64-hour Texas No Limit Hold’em grind.
“Within three years with this firm, you will make
your first million,” says Jim Young (Ben Affleck, essentially playing
the Alec Baldwin “Glengarry” role) to a cast of new recruits at JT Marlin,
a stockbroking firm of young go-getters that walks and talks like a
Wall Street bigwig. He informs them that at 28 years old, he’s a dinosaur
in the firm. The big-eyed recruits are eager, and include Seth (Giovanni
Ribisi), a son of a judge who’s successfully run a casino out of his
apartment for the last couple of years. But a chance meeting with Greg
(Nicky Katt), along with his father’s growing distention towards his
business practices, brings Seth to JT Marlin looking to go straight
and earn an honest dollar. But boy, has he come to the wrong place.
JT Marlin is a front that sells fake stock and false
hopes to faceless investors on the other end of the phone. Essentially,
they’re glorified telemarketers. But as long as you’re willing to act
completely selfish and soullessly, as long as you’re able to close,
the sky’s the limit to what you can make and your life becomes a series
of purchases of toys and endless screenings of “Wall Street” (which
leads to the film’s best moment, as seven or so guys sit around a TV
quoting “Wall Street” word by word).
“Boiler Room’s” stellar cast includes Scott Caan
(“Varsity Blues”), Jamie Kennedy (“Scream”), Tom Everett Scott (“Dead
Man on Campus”), and Vin Diesel (“Pitch Black”), all of whom make memorable
impressions as deal closing hotshots who could sell a big screen TV
to Stevie Wonder.
The rap-infused soundtrack is not unlike that of
“Office Space,” and makes for a remarkably Now picture (it’s hard to
imagine Gordon Gekko rapping along to A Tribe Called Quest or speaking
in hip-hop catchphrases, youknowhatimsayin?).
And it’s a quotable and easily watchable enough picture
that it’s a worthy entry into the “Wall Street” and “Glengarry” genre,
and it’s not hard to imagine a similar film some years down the road
referencing “Boiler Room” the way “Boiler Room” does those pictures.
Of course, moralization must occur in the film’s
closing quarter, and we’re left with the sad moral of everything that
glitters, yada yada yada.
This occurs in the giving of a face to an investor
on the other end of the phone, who trusts Seth and ends up losing his
entire savings and his family. But when Seth learns that the FBI is
about to take down JT Marlin, he goes out of his way to make retributions
for the man, which is highly unlikely, if not over-idealized.
Which is understandable, because hey, this is Hollywood.
But it would have been refreshing to see “Boiler Room” go out kicking
and screaming, middle finger raised, rather than with a studio-imposed
test screening suggested whimper.
“Boiler Room” is the feature film debut of Ben Younger,
who both wrote and directed this opus of our times. He has created an
expert snapshot of young Hollywood at its best, and gives not only Nicky
Katt (“Dazed and Confused”), Vin Diesel and Ben Affleck room to shine,
but also a chance for Ribisi to redeem himself after his last couple
of pitiful roles (“The Mod Squad,” I’m staring at you), and to get back
to show the talent that he is. He succeeds, as does everyone around
him, and the proof is in the pudding when you get home and sign up for
an E*Trade account.
As Biggie himself might have said, it’s hypnotizing.
But if there’s a lesson to be learned, B.I.G. might embody that as well,
in that nothing lasts forever, and it can all be over in the blink of
an eye.
Biggie as a prophet of virtue and a metaphor for
lost dreams. Who knew?