I’m rip roaring and raring to go on ‘0JAY8 like La Lohan on an extended weekend in Capri, so before a Celebritard does something so dissgrossting that I have to break my Lost Girls ban and dip into my bag of fake whore words to describe their actions (”whoreititude” being my current favs), let’s start launching some award bombs (be forwarned, this post is HUGE).

And away we go (Read the 2005 and 2006 YIF Awards post as a refresher to their awesomeness):

MOST OVERRATED MOVIE OF THE YEAR

Knocked Up – Universally loved by both sides of the Relationship Wars, personally loathed by this guy. As funny as it is to see Seth Rogen giggle like an idiot, smoke pot and heffalump all over that girl who used to be hot when she was on Roswell but now is a shrill harpy who’s about to banshee scream the awesome out of James Marsden in that exorable 27 Dresses abomination, I’d rather just watch the much better SSDD Judd Apatow manchild movie, The 40 Year-Old Virgin. Also, I liked it better when it was called Nine Months and it starred a far more charming bumbling idiot and a much better actress who was also slumming it in a lame romcom but still managed to show a modicum of gratitude for hit studio movie that launched her career, unlike some other wretched blonde yenta currently turning Grey’s Anatomy into a double-bloop fest. Yikes, this movie gives me the hatebumps. Apatow should have considered going to the Screenplay Smashmortion clinic and smashmortioning this twenty-minute too long unfunny fest like yesterday’s Spears bastard.

MOST UNDERRATED MOVIE OF THE YEAR

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix – Despite making nearly a gajillion dollars at the box office, I got the sense that most people considered this episode a toss-off. A hurdle they have to jump to get to the infinitely more awesome Half-Blood Prince and the revelatory Deathly Hallows. But let me learn you all an education, this may prove to be the most intelligent, well put-together flick of the bunch. Book Five was nearly unreadable. Two hundred pages too long, full of lame, angsty teen balderdash and an anti-climactic finale that didn’t advance the story enough to warrant the preceding 700 pages (we all knew Harry wasn’t gonna get to keep Sirius, the whole point of the series is that he stands alone). Too my surprise, I found the movie adaptation positively mesmerizing. From the totes sweet over the shoulder shaky dolly when Harry and Dudley are running from the storm, to the dark tunnel Dementor fight where Harry wielded his Patronus like some mighty Jedi. From the crazy evil child torture scenes to the ku-reep-E Brooks Brothers-clad Voldemort on the train platform fever dream. And that’s before I get to the wrenching “LOOK AT ME!” scene. This film was playing to win the game. They didn’t think it was a damn exhibition. I must not tell lies dear readers, The Order of the Phoenix pwned hard.

Hairspray – I genuinely don’t care about musicals and I’m even more indifferent to John Waters, so imagine my surprise when I popped in the DVD and found myself bopping my head like I was the Kattan Roxbury jagoff for two straight hours (him? you? me? me? no? heh?). Full of infectious energy and crazy slick choreography, I had a blast with this movie. I dug Travolta so much I even forgave him for Wild Hogs. But it was a tough decision. I mean he does wear a bandana through that pile of shite. A bandana. Seriously. On his head. For two hours. And it was intentional.

WORST ACTRESS IN AN OTHERWISE CRAPPY MOVIE

Kirsten Dunst, Spider-Man 3 – Tobey Maguire dyed his hair black, grew knock-off Petrelli-bangs and emo-Manero’d down the street in the most regoddamndiculously stupid sequence in blockbuster movie history and it was STILL not the worst musical number in the flick. That goes to Kristen Vampire Teeth McFlatboobs Dunst, who whilst singing in a play where she was the lead managed to sound like monkey shite even though she wasn’t actually doing the singing. Her performance was so terrible that the audience I saw the movie with actually applauded when Tobey decked her in that SECOND so so bad Dunst musical number. It was the one time in the movie where everyone got what they wanted: a scene where Tobey wasn’t weeping like a wee little girl and five fingers saying SLAP to the former Rancho Carne Cheer Captain who would NOT stop singing in the action-packed Comic Book movie.

WORST ACTOR IN AN OTHERWISE CRAPPY MOVIE

Tobey Maguire, Spider-Man 3 - Did I mention he cries through most of the movie and gay dances like Travolta in Staying Alive for the rest of it? Also, that he sucks? Oh I did? Good. I didn’t want to forget mentioning that he sucks.

WORST EXPERIENCE IN A MOVIE THEATER

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End - Not because of the actual movie, which was slightly better than Dead Man’s Chest, owing mainly to the Godzilla on Tokyo levels of kick ass rampage that is Chow Yun Fat, Keira Knightley in Asian Pirate fetish wear and Orlando Bloom getting dead, but because of how unbelievably long the movie was in relation to how much I had to pee. I was in the center row center seat of a sold out 400 seat theater and had to go pretty hard starting in minute 17. It was not pleasant. Here was a brief summary of events.

17:00 - Damn, gotta yazzer. I think can hold it, it doesn’t seem too bad.

24:00 - Maybe loosen the belt loop up one.

32:00 - Might be wrong about this. . .

46:00 - Shifty.

58:00 - Crap all, there’s ninety more minutes left!! How much more “Yargh-ing” can they do?

1:05:00 - Yayayayayayayayayay.

1:17:00 - If I hold my junk any more people are gonna think I’m actually enjoying the movie. Must be strong.

1:29:00 - And there goes the belt and top button.

1:46:00 - Starting to get numb.

1:53:00 - Slouchy slouchy, calm the belly.

2:06:00 - JUST FUCKING END ALREADY!!!!! Awesome effects and all, but can we just kill the Bloom already so I can save my kidneys?

2:15:00 - And my pants are officially off.

2:36:00 - Thank Jeebus it’s over. I survived. Eye of the Tiger saved me again!

2:45:00 - I will RAIN FIRE on you Valley bitches if you don’t leave the theater FUCKING FASTER!

2:49:00 - AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

2:53:00 - Wait. Waitwait. Ye… wha… more… AHHHHHHH!

2:56:00 - Jimmy Dugan ain’t got nuthin on me!

THE TAINTED MEMORIES AWARD A.K.A. WORST SEQUEL OF THE YEAR

Live Free or Die Hard - Psych! Trick award, fools. This movie ruled! I was skeptical. I thought it would be a whole bunch of man ass. But it turned out to be a whole bunch of man awesome (yeah, that just happened). I was cool with bald McClane. I was cool with him Supermannig the fighter jet. I was cool with villainous plot. I was SuperCool with Mary Elizabeth Winstead. And I was Super-Sized cool with Maggie Q. Hell, I was even straight with Mac Guy Sidekick (which bodes well for Villa De La Beouf in Indy 4). I missed a Hans-level bad guy and I hated John not dropping F-bombs everywhere, but kids, it could have been A LOT worse.

MOST UNFORTUNATE THIRD ACT FLOP OF THE YEAR

I Am Legend - So how come the Fresh Prince left his interesting character study to walk onto the set of a bad Sci-Fi network zombie flick? Did the producers refuse to let him drop a “Ah, hell no!”? Were they blocking him from getting jiggy with it? These are things we need to know!

MOST DISAPPOINTING MOVIE OF THE YEAR

TMNT - Sarah Michelle Gellar should never be prominently involved with ANYTHING from my childhood ever again. I swear to Xenu I will burn my Buffy box set if she even blinks in the direction of Cheetarah and the Thundercats. Dude, I miss Ninja Rap. (Go ninja! Go ninja! Go!)

EIGHTH SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE A.K.A MOST SURPRISING PERFORMANCE OF THE YEAR

Ben Affleck, Director, Gone Baby Gone - A subtle, powerful, beautifully photographed debut from the man who was the bomb in Phantoms, yo! I never had my doubts that he’d be a good movie director, but I never imagined he’d be that good. Wisely letting Ed Harris chew the scenery like they were yesterday’s egg bagels. Shooting close-ups all over the preternaturally pretty Michelle Monaghan. The brilliant credits sequence that established the reality of the Boston streets better than Mystic River could even dream of. Not to mention pulling an Oscar-worthy performance out of Amy Ryan. And that’s before talking about Morgan Freeman’s nuanced work and Casey Affleck’s surprise work as a commanding leading man. I’d love to have The Fleck in front of camera again, but I just may want him to stay behind it, more.

WEIRDEST MOVIE COUPLE OF THE YEAR

Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts, Charlie Wilson’s War - There’s just something inherently creepy watching the Pretty Woman grab Forrest Gump’s ass. And something totally gross seeing Erin Brockovich and the voice of Woody, post-coital. I usually love seeing mega-stars onscreen together. But in this case I just wanted it to go away so I could see Phillip Seymour Hoffman cuss some more.

THE JOHN TRAVOLTA AWARD FOR ONE TIME BIG NAMED ACTOR WHO IS SOOOO OVER!

Anthony Hopkins - He’s now repeating himself worse than Tommy Lee Jones, and I’m pretty sure Tommy Lee Jones was actually credited as playing “Tommy Lee Jones” in that last Paul Haggis travesty. Ryan Gosling blew him off the screen in Fracture. It wasn’t even close. The Washington Generals put up more of a fight than Hopkins did. And with Anton Chigurh taking Hannibal’s mantle of most awesome screen villain we secretly love, what does Hopkins have to play for? Time to pack it in and start considering begging Aaron Sorkin to do a Welsh version of The West Wing.

THE “YES, YES YOU’RE BOTH HOT, NOW SHUT UP AND GO AWAY” AWARD

Tie - Jessica Alba and Scarlet Johansson - I was thinking about this the other day while I was checking Alba off the list of girls I am attracted to (The Jay does not date girls with baggage. And by “baggage” I mean “intentional career-boosting celeb babies fathered by doofy civilians”), when was the last time either girl gave pop culture anything worthwhile beyond an occasional sex-A magazine photo spread? Match Point belonged to Woody Allen. And The Prestige was about Bale and Jackman. Lost in Translation was nearly five years ago. As for Alba, she was the worst thing about a bad FF sequel. She did a Dane Cook movie this year. Which, hello, pretty much forces me to stricken from the record her bra and panties work in Idle Hands. And she refused to go topless playing a stripper in a graphic novel adaptation. In my boy mind, they are both dead to me until one of them drops an intentional nipple in an indie flick or I get more from them than lame-ass Paul Walker action flicks and sub par Woody Allen movies.

THE “WHO CARES?” AWARD FOR THE MOVIE ABSOLUTELY NO ONE WANTED TO SEE

Rush Hour 3 - Did anyone in the world need more of this nonsense? Did anyone in the world even notice than Chris Tucker dropped off the face of the Earth? Does anyone in the world really care about the words coming out of their mouths?

THE OFFICIAL “JANEANE GAROFALO PLEASE FIRE YOUR AGENT RIGHT NOW, OR AT THE VERY LEAST, PLEASE STOP SAYING YES TO EVERY SINGLE MOVIE OFFER YOU GET” AWARD

Nicolas Cage - I’ve already written at length about the CageMatch this year, so I’ll keep this brief. Nic should only make really absurd indie movies and National Treasure sequels. Any time someone asks him to play anyone with long hair, superpowers, a dysfunctional family not played for laughs, or a guy that has to say the words “Why’d it get burned?”, he should run the other way. Fast. Fast enough to rip his toupee off.

THE BEEN THERE, DONE THAT AWARD FOR BEING THERE AND HAVING DONE THAT

The Heartbreak Kid - Yes yes, we get it Ben Stiller, you are neurotic and awkward with insanely hot, out of your league girls. Stop complaining about having to bang a batshit crazy Malin Akerman before you turn into the Simian-looking older man version of Zach Braff. And as for the Farrelly Brothers, unless Matt Damon has a mortgage payment and agrees to a Stuck On You sequel, ya’ll can STFU and put down the movie camera. Gross out comedies haven’t been popular since Jason Biggs. And Jason Biggs was never popular.

BEST INTERSPECIES EROTICA SCENE

Phillip Seymour Hoffman doggstyling Marissa Tomei, Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead - More on this in a moment…

BEST EXCUSE TO WILLINGLY HAND OVER TEN DOLLARS

Tie - Keri Russell in Waitress and Megan Fox in Transformers - My number one celebrity crush (despite having a half civilian half celebrity baby… a celivibaby?), was beyond reason fantastic playing a small town pie maker. I could watch her whisk chocolate for eight life times. And I could listen to her banter with Nathan Fillion in that wonderfully lyrical cadence until I ruined the spindles on my ears like a ten year old VHS player.

And as for Megan Fox, um, well, look at her:

BEST USE OF GRATUITOUS (BUT COMPLETELY LAUDED BY EVERY GEEK ON THE INTERNET) NUDITY BY A BIG NAME ACTRESS THAT EVERY MALE UNDER FORTY HAS BEEN DYING TO SEE NAKED

Marissa Tomei, Before the Devil Knows Your Dead - She was always a hottie, but never in that “I MUST see her nipples immediately” kind of way. She was more sultry sexy. Jersey sexy. The kind of sexy where we dug seeing her in purple lycra showing how her biological clock is “ticking like this” or sweetly falling for Christian Slater and his untamed pig heart, but never where we would drive twenty miles out of our way on the rumor that she went topless in a Gothic Southern flick directed by Sam Raimi. So how were we to know how utterly delicious she looked without her clothes on? And after all these years, even! Her body was so smokin hot its mere presence negated the retina-searing image PSH throw his freckled ass all over the medium shot. Hell, it might be the only acceptable reason to ever see PSH’s ass. Lemme put it this way… Marissa Tomei in Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead was eight Megan Fox’s hotter than Diane Lane in Unfaithful. True Story.

BEST REASON TO HAVE YOUR OWN POP CULTURE SITE TO MAKE FUN OF STUFF

Getting to drop the post title “Alvin and the Shitmunks” and make my mom laugh at it.

THE 2007 FILM I WILL NEVER EVER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE SEE. EVER.

P.S. I Love You - Which I believe I’ve already covered.

MY FAVORITE MOVIE POSTERS OF THE YEAR

THE JAY’S PICKS FOR THE BEST “B” MOVIES OF 2007

Let’s drop some math to explain these:

1. Shooter - Marky Mark + Smart Action x Kate Mara in a see-thru shirt = The Very Definition of Awesome Sunday Afternoon TNT New Classic.

2. Superbad - “Fellashe” + The Jay = Overused movie quote of the year.

3. Ocean’s Thirteen - George Clooney’s Stache / No Julia Roberts x Matt Damon’s Nose - Don Cheadle in an Evel Knievel costume = Crap in a can, that threequel rocked!

4. Balls of Fury - Maggie Q in booty shorts + Christopher Walken imitating Christopher Walken = A missed opportunity for greatness, but thanks all the same for giving Jason Scott Lee some work.

5. Shoot Em Up - Clive Owen with guns + Monica Bellucci with tits + Paul Giamatti with villainy = Geek Splooge.

THE FIVE WORST PIECES OF CRAP I SAW IN 2007

1. Spider-Man 3.
2. Vacancy
3. The Reaping
4. Ghost Rider
5. License To Wed

And finally…

THE JAY’S TOP TEN MOVIES OF 2007

1. Atonement
2. No Country For Old Men
3. The Bourne Ultimatum
4. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
5. Waitress
6. Juno
7. The Darjeeling Limited
8. Gone Baby Gone
9. Hairspray
10. There Will Be Blood

Bangarang!

I took one for the team on Friday and took a date to see Enchanted. And while I had no real problem with the movie other than the fact that it was for six year-old girls and not twenty-six year-old guys, the one thing I could NOT stomach was the trailer for P.S I Love You that preceded the movie. I was so traumatized by watching King Leonidas pussify it up and woo Steve Sanders’ ex-girlfriend that I couldn’t even concentrate on the royal pompous awesomeness of The Patrick Dempsey Pompous Coiffure of Awesome Pomposity (tm The Jay), the note-perfect tongue in cheek performance of James Marsden or the coming out party for Amy Adams, a.k.a. the New Queen Of The Awesomely Hot Redhead Actresses Club (it’s her, Kate Walsh, Isla Fisher, Christina Hendricks, Marg Helgenberger, Gillian Anderson from Playing By Heart and the long-distant memory of Mean Girls-era Lindsay Lohan).

Even AWESOM-O couldn’t come up with a shittier idea for a romantic dramedy. Hilary Swank plays a girl (red flag #1) dating kinda dumpy, schmoopy jazz man Gerard Butler (red flag #2 – Butler should only play ripped badasses who have no time for music, only growing beards and killing Persians) – which, by the way, like he’d ever stoop to schtupping her when he could be nailing girls who don’t look like they had Julia Roberts-sized chiclet veneers put in instead of teeth (red flag #3), but when Butler dies she starts receiving beyond-the-grave letters from him that help her to move on with her life (red flag #4). He sets her on a creepy quest to wackily shimmy around singing karaoke, get into fishing hijinks, befriend a cranky Lisa Kudrow and further taint Harry Connick Jr.’s rep by dropping clumsy flirt bombs on him (seriously, tagging Debra Messing wasn’t the low point for him?) (also, red flag’s #5-8). Also, it was written and directed by the guy who brought you Freedom Writers, The Horse Whisperer and The Bridges of Madison County (red flag #infinity). There couldn’t be fewer reasons for men to watch this movie.

Butler could be decked out in full Spartan war gear and kick Swank into a well and I’d still wait for it to come out on video. The movie could be two hours of Swank hitting her neck awkwardly on a stool and getting paralyzed for two hours and I’d probably still skip it until it showed up on TNT. Co-star Gina Gershon could bring back her Bounce character and get down with every hot female extra on set and I STILL would opt to see Alvin and the Chipmunks if given the choice.

What I’m trying to say is I don’t want to see this movie. At all. I’ve seen some pretty shite-y romcom’s in my day (The Wedding Planner comes to mind), and I’ve sat through some weepy love conquers all B.S. in my time (hello, What Dreams May Come), but I’ve never willingly sat through anything this heinous-looking before. And I’m not about to start now.

In fact, here’s a list of all the atrocious things I’d do BEFORE agreeing to see this movie:

• Be the moderator at the “Paul Haggis Fanatics Convention”.

• Sit through Million Dollar Baby every day for a year.

• Run a highly-trafficked Two and a Half Men fansite.

• Stare down the black smoke monster after I’ve just sucker punched a nun and punted a litter of puppies off a bridge like Jack Black in Anchorman.

• Have a kickass superpower and run into Sylar in a dark alley.

• Let Alan Thicke drop a Cleveland Steamer on my chest (his specialty!).

• Walk in on Natalie Portman, Megan Fox, Keri Russell and Rachel McAdams celebrating Emma Watson’s eighteenth birthday by making her a woman, and then getting the nod to enter the game only to find I’m a eunuch.

• Be Horatio Sanz’s official taint cleaner.

• Be a steroid mule for the WWE.

• Bet my life on a coin toss with Anton Chigurth (I’ll even let him call me “Friend-o”).

• Go back in time to when I was nine, watch every Nightmare on Elm Street movie in a row, and then take enough Nyquil to drop a T-Rex in its tracks.

• Have my TiVo changed so that the only thing it will record is reruns of Designing Women and Strong Medicine.

• Stand in for Kyle and suck Cartman’s dry balls.

• Sit next to Reese Witherspoon as she reads every mean thing I’ve ever written about her, than have her turn and give me the devil face from Cruel Intentions until I have a massive stroke like the victims from The Ring.

• Get roofied by Aileen Wurmos, but not the Charlize Theron version.

• Let Brandon Walsh give me a pretentious lecture about being a better man.

• Accidentally knock up Marissa Cooper and get forced by Julie Cooper to make that dipshit psychobag an honest woman.

• Have my face permanently set to Blue Steel.

• Have Steven Spielberg tell me I’m an untalented, worthless writer who will never have the skill to write a movie for him, or even something as low rent as a Baby Geniuses sequel. And mean it.

• Piss off John Lithgow until he swears a blood oath against me (I mean, have you SEEN Ricochet?)

• Be in a horrific car accident where the only chance of survival is a combo-liter transfusion of blood from Tommy Lee and Pete Doherty.

• Attend a Blue Collar Comedy Concert.

• Spend time with Shannon Hamilton in a very uncomfortable place (like the back of a Volkswagon).

• Sit next to Vince Vaughn on an 18-hour flight while he’s hopped up on Speed and in a “talkative mood”.

• Force-feed myself Rachel Green’s Shepherd’s Pie (“It tastes like feet!”)

• Share the same needle with every member of the Celebritard club (and Britney is cooking the drugs).

• Fellashe Kevin Spacey.

• Become a Scientologist.

So yeah, I think I’m gonna go ahead and pass on P.S. I Love You. But call me when Butler gets his balls back from the pawn shop and Hilary Swank goes back to playing ugly people. Until then, you can find me daydreaming about how fantastically NSFW Amy Adams would look in a live-action remake of The Little Mermaid, wondering why James Marsden got such a hard shaft in the X-Men movies when he’s so totally ninja, and attempting to add some awesome pomposity to my humble head of hair.

I mean, really!

Bangarang!

Well here’s a nice way to ruin my morning.

People Magazine is reporting that Felicity star (and Top 5 TheJay.com Hottie) Keri Russell is infested with some civilian’s seed (she didn’t even have the decency to get knocked up by a proper celebrity). I’m so upset she’s off the market that I can’t even make up a decent sarcastic comment.

Congratulations to the happy couple. I will now lock my door, watch Eight Days A Week and shake uncontrollably until Heroes comes on tonight (because only Hayden can ease my pain now).

What a bad case of the Mondays.

Bangarang!

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This month brings us The Prestige, a flick about dueling magicians, as well as being yet another in a string of movies released this year to star the dewy blonde fleshpot, Scarlett Johansson. And while many people will be going to see Batman and Wolverine duke it out to see who gets to kill David Blaine’s great-great grandfather, an even greater number of people will be going for one simple reason: to see if Scarlett finally, at long last, gets naked. Well, I’ll save you all some time. She doesn’t. And she won’t in any movie for the foreseeable future. And that sucks. Because as the reigning sex symbol in Hollywood she sells herself as the personification of adolescent male fantasy, yet seemingly refuses to bestow us the honor of showing us the chest pillows we men dream of laying our heads on. What kind of modern sex symbol would be so selfish?

Pam Anderson barely needs a wolf whistle to drop top (not that we want to see it anymore). Heather Graham gave us the duel kindness of showing some skin and promoting proper rollerskate use (she’s quite the humanitarian). Angelina practically has it written into her contract that she gets to unleash her Jolie’s on a grateful nation (as well as kissing girls that now appear on Lost. Which now, come to think about it, Jack really needs to rethink his shitty attitude towards Elizabeth Mitchell. If Gia is any indication, he has a better than average chance of convincing her and Kate to get into a little communal island love. Beat that, fish biscuit-eating Sawyer.). Even Marilyn Monroe, more than forty years ago, gave herself unto us with multiple nude layouts. And she would have done it on-screen if censors hadn’t been such a-holes back then (yet another reason why I don’t watch movies made before 1975. No nudity.). All these confirmed movie hotties were gracious enough to show us the goods, yet Scarlett won’t deign to provide us even a fleeting glimpse of her hugemongous knockers. And I for one am offended.

I think the idea of onscreen nudity has gotten muddled by the existence of the Maxim’s and FHM’s of the world. Aspiring actresses can slut it up in print and still keep their innocence (after all, Allison Hannigan did a 12 page spread in Maxim and she’s the picturesque image of milquetoast dorky Americana). And while we enjoy seeing all the nubile flesh and peek-a-boo hairflips of the third billed lead in the latest lame sport movie, the magazines have robbed us the opportunity to peer pressure hotties into some most excellent gratuitous movie nudity. Girls like Scarlett can say they’ve gotten near nude in various fashion and print layouts, so why do they need to show that extra inch or so of skin, onscreen. What difference would it make? Oh, let me tell you, it makes a difference.

Getting naked doesn’t hold the same stigma it once did. It used to be that if you stripped onscreen you were branded, or typecast, as someone cheap enough to disgrace the acting profession with their evil jumblies. Case in point, Meryl Streep has never been naked in a movie (not that we’d want to see it). But now we don’t think poorly of someone who exposes her blouse bunnies. In fact, we commend them. We applaud their willingness to give their all, to bare their entirety, to us, the little people. That they grace us with their nude presence makes them heroes to a nation of men so overloaded with sexual imagery in advertising and pop culture as a whole, that the only thing that really holds weight anymore is classic movie nudity. Trust me, internet porn is all well and good, but it doesn’t compare to being pleasantly surprised by Katie Holmes’s Cruise-less boobies in the third act of The Gift. That’s Joey from Dawson’s Creek, those are her boobies, and the screen is sixty feet big! Tell me how you top that with a low res jpeg on your Apple iBook? You can’t! Movie Nudity has become the classiest smut on the market. It’s almost high class. And as anyone who’s seen Charlize Theron’s nude work in Two Days in the Valley can attest, it may even be art.

Further, and more to the point, getting naked in a movie can help your career. Look at Halle Berry; she was an above average cutie with female lead potential, but no true star power, until she bribed the producers of Swordfish to give her half a million to introduce her little Bond girls to the world. Six months later she’s crying her eyes out on the Oscar stage. And now she’s an internationally-known movie star with a huge comic book franchise, above the title billing and industry-wide acceptance. Coincidence? I think not.

Or take Alyssa Milano, patron saint of the nude arts, whose hardwork, dedication and unyielding willingness to expose herself in countless low budget Skinemax flicks over the years has turned her into a small screen leading lady, a household name that any show can build an audience on (ditto Jamie Pressly here).

Or follow the example set by Kate Winslet, whose brave decision to get drawn in the buff in Titanic led directly to the film becoming the highest grossing movie of all time (sure, it may have had something to do with emotions, the special effects and grandeur and all that, but for the sake of serving my point, let’s just say it was her ta-ta’s that did it, and call it a day). Think about that. Her British Betties prompted the sale of more than $1.5 billion dollars worth of tickets, worldwide. Those are truly some business booming bazoomers.

When an actress comes on to the scene, and is even remotely attractive, men across the world start an unofficial clock in their heads, that counts down to the moment they get naked onscreen. It’s why we buy those magazines like Stuff and FHM; we’re hoping to catch a preview of future naked goods to come. And when they finally do get naked, we rejoice and thank the girl for her generosity. And we become lifelong fans. Do you think the Cruise-Holmes ship would be so frenetic if she was merely the lead female in a crappy, now-canceled WB teen drama? I think not. But when you give like she gave, we give back. So you see nudity can help build a loyal fanbase. Nudity can help make you seem vulnerable in the eyes of critics and Academy voters. Nudity can buy you a house in Malibu (assuming you are as shrewd an extortionist as Halle). From where I, and rest of the male population stand, nudity has no downside.

Which is why I’m going to give some career advice to a handful of female actors out there, who I think could improve their careers with a little “T” (we’ll save “A” for another column). Hopefully these fine ladies will heed my words and do what they can find an opportunity to display their breasasists in such a manner that it improves the quality of life for them and for us, be it professionally or awesomely, respectively. Ladies, listen close…

KIRSTEN DUNST

Reason To Get Naked: Anything to get me to stop staring in horror at her ugly vampire teeth.

THE OLSEN TWINS

Reason To Get Naked: To prove they’re not really aliens disguised as humans (and if they are, man alive those aliens have bad human disguise making machines. I’ve seen better trickery in Amanda Bynes tranny comedies.).

HILARY DUFF

Reason To Get Naked: To prove she wants more than just a career of Lizzie McGuire movies and vapid TRL appearances. And seriously, with all the work she’s had done, she’s gotten mere minutes until the nation of men collectively start to shudder at her appearance (something Tara Reid knows all about). She needs a reason for us to like her, and that reason is boobies.

WINONA RYDER

Reason To Get Naked: Because we’ve stood by her for all these years, from her still funny performances in Heathers and Beetlejuice to the insufferable Little Women, from the craptacular Autumn in New York to her inglorious shoplifting trial. We’ve watched her bounce from one low-life musician to the next and never judged her choices (Adam Duritz, really?). I think we men have earned the right to get a little unobstructed areola action. So I say “Free Winona (‘s boobies)”!

JENNIFER CONNELLY

Reason To Get Naked: Unless she’s planning on ever cracking a smile on film again, I’m gonna need another reason to drop $14 bucks on her depressing ass movies.

SARAH MICHELLE GELLAR

Reason To Get Naked: Showing her little slayer girls may have a Halle Berry effect of finally getting her out of genre movie hell, and onto the A-list (not to mention making my friend Galvez very happy).

SANDRA BULLOCK

Reason To Get Naked: To finally, at long last, replace all those crappy post-Speed, fake nude pics that every guy under 25 downloaded on AOL back in the mid-90’s, with something real.

DENISE RICHARDS

Reason To Get Naked: To remind us all why we began paying attention to her in the first place (because it certainly wasn’t her non-bravura Bond girl performance as a nuclear scientist in The World Is Not Enough).

JESSICA BIEL

Reason To Get Naked: If she ever wants to stop the talk of her looking more and more like a dude with every passing day, she’s gonna have to show us her female naughty bits (note to Biel: please stop working out. No guy wants to look at a girl and think she could kick their ass. It’s not sexy. Just ask Demi Moore.)

WILLA FORD

Reason To Get Naked: It would give America another reason to sit up and go “Who’s Willa Ford?”

ASHLEE SIMPSON

Reason To Get Naked: There’s really only one way to atone for lip-synching her way to a pop career and deceiving millions of people who were forced to listen to her “Pieces Of Me” song, and not be able to get the damn thing out of their head for like two weeks. And that way is boobies.

DAKOTA FANNING

Reason To Get Naked: Just Kidding! (Now Emma Watson on the other hand…)

ELISHA CUTHBERT

Reason To Get Naked: As penance to all the men who paid to see her play a pornstar in The Girl Next Door, only for it not to be worth it because she never got nude. How can you play a pornstar and not put your mammoth mammory glands on grand display? That’s like playing a lasso-wielding stripper in a graphic R-rated movie who doesn’t get gloriously topless even though we paid good money to support her career, to the point where we watched Idle Hands and all we got was two hours of Devon Sawa mugging for the camera. Just pure insanity!

KATE BOSWORTH

Reason To Get Naked: To show the world that her nipples are not multi-colored like her eyes (Though wouldn’t it be cool if they were? Like one pink one, one blue one? Now that would be a Blue Crush I’d be interested in seeing.).

TARA REID

Reason To Get Naked: Because horror shows are in right now.

BRITTANY MURPHY

Reason To Get Naked: There’s nothing hotter than B-list, anorexic, bat shit crazy cokehead boobies (I think I just threw up in my mouth a little).

PENELOPE CRUZ

Reason To Get Naked: There’s only one real way to cure her Box Office Poison disease: (say it with me now) boobies.

ALICIA SILVERSTONE

Reason To Get Naked: Anything to help us forget the one-two shit punch of Excess Baggage and Batman & Robin, and help us remember why she was the ultimate fantasy of millions of guys who religiously watched Mtv ten years ago in the vein hopes they’d replay the Aerosmith “Crazy” video (where she strips down with Liv Tyler and throws money at her), before the next episode of The Real World: San Francisco.

BEA ARTHUR

Reason To Get Naked: Dude, it’s Bea Arthur!

NICOLE RITCHIE

Reason To Get Naked: Little boys take their shirts off all the time.

ORLANDO BLOOM

Reason To Get Naked: Wait, he’s not a chick?

KERI RUSSELL

Reason To Get Naked: Because The Jay has been a very, very good boy this year.

Bangarang!

And now for a humiliating confession: I have watched every episode of Dawson’s Creek.

Yes, yes, I know this means I suck, and that my opinion is now a bit devalued in the minds of my readers. What’s worse, I can only defend my viewing decision up to a point. You see, I’ve wanted to make movies since I was thirteen, when I watched Pulp Fiction at the (now defunct) Peppertree Cinemas in The Valley. From the moment my eyes saw sunlight again, I aggressively pursued a non-formal filmic education. I read the books, I watched the important movies, I trolled the IMDB, and on and on. And for the most part, people supported my decision, even if they at times did not understand it.

The WB launched in 1995, just over a year after my life decision. One of the shows they premiered with was a slight teen angst drama about a couple of kids in a North Carolina port town. This wouldn’t have necessarily caused much of a stir with me, though I was on the lookout for a new soap to watch as 90210 had been steadily declining in quality ever since David Silver started working at a car wash and Steve Saunders started dating what we later found out was two-time Oscar winner and next Karate Kid herself, Hilary Swank. What did make waves, however, was the news that the main character of the show, (soon to be douchebag) Dawson Leery, was an aspiring filmmaker, and that at least part of the show would be devoted to his (crappy) attempts at filmmaking. I initially liked the idea of having a TV character mirror my own life (albeit only in a small part, seeing as how my forehead is less than an 1/8th as big as James Van Der Beek’s Helen Hunt-normous size forehead). And then I watched the show.

While I kinda dug the pseudo-intellectual dialogue and completely loved Michelle Williams (You must remember she had just come off playing the young- Natasha Henstridge in Species, a seminal nudity movie of the mid-90’s, and was easily the hottest young actress this side of Natalie Portman.), I started to hate how lame he made it look to be a young filmmaker. The way JVDB played it, we we’re all pretentious, pathetic movie-obsessed dweboids who talk way too much about camera angles, Spielberg movies and the art of the mis en scene, without any understanding of what it really means (Though in the interest of full disclosure, I went to film school for four years and I still have no idea what it means. I think it might be French, but who knows, I slept through most of my classes. What? You know I fall asleep during any movie made before 1975.). And what’s worse, since this was the first time a lot people had seen a young filmmaker portrayed on screen, I immediately had to endure daily comparisons to “Dawson”. Thus my hatred for the Beek began.

I continued to watch the show for a number of reasons. One, it was the watercooler show of my high school, which meant if you were anybody at all, you had to watch it. Two, knowing what was happening and being able to shut people up made dealing with the comparisons to Dawson a lot easier. Three, I support any actor that appeared in The Mighty Ducks (And let me take this opportunity to plug the inevitably forthcoming Emilio Estevez piece. One I’m sure will be absurdly littered with Young Guns II and Men At Work quotes.). And four, people forget this now, but pre-Cruiser Katie Holmes was unbelievably hot. Like crazy hot. Like Jean Reno can have Natalie Portman, cause we have Joey Potter, hot. But as the show dragged on, it became readily apparent that the show wasn’t nearly as good as the hype it was getting. And worst of all, the main character was so unbelievably obnoxious that it actually physically pained people to set their eyes on him (Unfortunately, an offshoot of this was that it started a trend in television where the lead character of an ensemble show was completely hateful, which made the A-plot of any episode extremely difficult to sit through. For a prime example, see: “Vampire Slayer. Buffy the”). I should have stopped watching, but either because I was fifteen and impressionable, or that the girls were just too hot to turn away, I continued to follow the show until its welcome demise five years later.

That experience is very similar to a lot of the ones I had with the programming on The WB network. Insanely hot girls on crappy shows packed with just enough cool dialogue and/or interesting stories to keep me watching, despite hateable lead characters, and my better judgment. Thankfully, as I grew older, wiser and out of the demographic, I got better at cutting their crappy shows out of my life. No longer did The WB’s potent combination of “Good Looking Actors + Teen Angst = Drah-MA!” hold any sway over me. By the time I was nineteen the network had lost me for good. And not a moment too soon. If I had to sit through another episode of Felicity just to ogle Keri Russell, I don’t know what I would have done, but it wouldn’t have been good (And besides, she was hotter, more near-nude, and available on home video in the never seen classic “Eight Days A Week”. Buy it now. Seriously. If not for the funny script, then for the unbelievable scene where Keri walks through a set of sprinklers wearing cutoffs and a flimsy white tank top. To all my male readers: you’re welcome.).

I’ll always appreciate The WB, as it was the first network to openly embrace teens, and cater their primetime programming to what we really wanted to see (i.e. Alyssa Milano in many, many, MANY cleavage-baring tops). As they signed off the air for good this weekend, I found myself getting a bit misty-eyed that the network of my adolescence was disappearing. So many hours in high school spent discussing the shows. So many recaps read on TWoP. So much bile brought up by the inane and often times reprehensibly bad dialogue (and thank you for that, Kevin Williamson). So many jpegs of Jessica Biel and Katherine Heigl illegally downloaded on AOL. I will always remember The WB, despite its poor quality, and tonight I will honor its memory by simultaneously ogling a Smallville season one promo shot of Kristin Kreuk and rolling my eyes at the thought of everything Dawson Leery ever said or did.

And now, as a further tribute to my love/hate relationship to the now-defunct The WB Network, I present “The Ten Things I Learned From The WB”.

1. Treat Williams + Beard = Kick Ass TV Dad. I wasn’t a regular watcher of this show, but I can tell you this: don’t screw with the “Trick Or” Treat. He’s be-bearded, he’s no-nonsense, and he was the bad guy in The Phantom. The man deserves your respect.

2. If you cut your hair, nobody will like you anymore. This relates to the funniest excuse for a show’s decline in both ratings and quality in the history of television, when Keri Russell cut off her wall of hair between the first and second seasons of Felicity, and half the show’s audience promptly disappeared. Granted, she was like 27% less smoking hot than before, but still, c’mon, it was Keri Russell! You were in good hands. Couldn’t this have had more to do with the fact that the scripts started to suck? No? Anybody? Bueller? This is akin to saying 90210’s ratings went into the toilet after Tori Spelling’s third boob job made her look like she was carrying around a slab of ground beef with a big thumbprint pressed into the center. Sure it was unattractive, but c’mon, no one was watching that show for Tori disgrossting rack. They were watching to see who Valerie was going to bang that week.

3. If 2.2 million people agree to casually watch you once a week at the same time, The WB will agree to televise it (see: Every WB sitcom, ever).

4. Christian television cannot be stopped (Not even by be-bearded kick ass TV Dads). Also, while not bad people per se, they’re really boring to watch (except if your name happens to rhyme with Yessica Schmiel).

5. If you’re really, really, REALLY pretty, you will always have a home on The WB, despite how bad you are at your job (see: Kreuk, Kristin). For further proof, see the following pretty/crappy (or “pretty crappy”) actors: Alexis Bledel, Sophia Bush, Kaley Cuoco, Jason Behr, Brendan Fehr, Tom Welling (in seasons 1-3), Ashley Scott, Shiri Appleby, Carly Pope, Lindsay Price, Kate Bosworth, Travis Fimmel, and the incomparably bad Chad Michael Murray.

6. Not only can vampires have sex (despite not having working organs) and get pregnant (despite not having proper reproduction systems), but if you want to save time during labor, all you have to do is slay the Mommy-to-be and the vampire baby will magically appear on the bed (albeit lying in a pool of their dead mother’s ashes). This was easily the coolest and most disturbing scene in the entire run of Angel.

7. You can still be a beloved TV icon despite being a heinous bitch, a terrible friend, a poor role model for young girls, an awful dresser and an all around unfriendly person, so long as you occasionally throw around a few well-timed female empowerment metaphors. One guess as to who I’m talking about. OK, I’ll just tell you. Everyone that ever starred in a WB show who wasn’t a complete banshee to the cast, crew, production company and anyone else even tangentially related to their show, take one step forward. Not so fast, Sarah Michelle.

8. Alyssa Milano is still very, VERY hot (warrants mentioning).

9. In case I didn’t make my point clear enough before, James Van Der Beek is an asshat. If you need any more proof, please see the following linked evidence: HERE, HERE, HERE, and HERE.

10. If you talk really fast, people will find you endearing (even if you happen to be either a space cadet or a raging bitch in real life). This is a total smackdown on Gilmore Girls, a show that has been using rapid fire dialogue as a substitute for good writing and real storytelling since day one. And since I have nothing else to say about the show, and this may be the most apropos time for it, I will now tell you the infamous story of the time Lauren Graham yelled at me.

• Back when I was working as an extra, I got booked for Gilmore Girls as a Yale student / townsperson (shows tend to double up your role so they can use you in multiple scenes). So we were shooting a scene in Sars Hollow, where Luke and Lorelai are having a discussion in the street. Before I go on, it should be pointed out that Lauren stayed on her cell phone the entire time they rehearsed the scene. You could see the hatred dripping off the other cast members. The extras were gobsmacked at her rudeness, but the AD’s didn’t look surprised at all. Which is telling.

• So… the shot they did first was a close-up on Lauren. My job was to cross the camera at a specific moment, so as to make it seem like this is a functional town with real people living their lives and yada yada yada. This was made somewhat difficult by the elaborate light rig they had surrounding Lauren and the camera. So as a crosser, I had to step over the rig, cross the camera, and then step over the other side of the rig. Not the toughest thing I had to do as an extra (hello, shitty American Dreams set), but not the easiest thing either. I could trip and ruin the shot, I could go to slow and cause an extras traffic jam, or I could speed through too fast and ruin the camera focus. But I was a kick ass extra so I didn’t worry.

• The director called action, the AD waved me over and I crossed the camera. And it went fine. But the moment I had cleared the camera Lauren yells “CUT”, turns right to me and says “You extras need to do your fucking crosses faster when it’s my close up!” and storms away. I was not only humiliated from being yelled at, but worried that I was gonna get kicked off the set (which happens quite a bit if you manage to bug the star). So there I am, red faced and embarrassed, when the AD walks over to me and says “Don’t worry about it. You did nothing wrong. She does that all the time. Go back to your mark and ignore her.” It was a really nice to thing to say, and it put me completely at ease. Except for the part where I now think she’s a raging egotistical bitch (Who thanks to the wonders of karma, will never be nominated for an Emmy. In your face, Lauren! That’s what you get for fucking with The Jay). Thus endeth the story.

Vaya con dios, The WB. May you forever hold your place in television history as the best network for showcasing talentless, yet hot actors and for airing aesthetically pleasing, yet soul-suckingly bad television shows. You will be missed.

Bangarang!