Sylvester Stallone

Things that Scare the Bejeezus Out of Me

I hate me some scary movies. This is unfortunate, because The Lady and the best friend can’t get enough of them. I just never saw the point in watching a movie just so you can scream, or jump in your seat. I’d much rather watch a phenomenally cheesy flick like Two For the Money, then sit through any of the intolerable horror remakes we are inundated with each week (House of Wax, The Fog, Amityville Horror, Guess Who?, et al). I don’t like to be scared. I can understand why some people enjoy it, but for me, the movies are supposed to be a land of cool dialogue, happy dreams, and Heather Graham nude scenes. Given the choice, I will always pick against a scary movie every day of the week, twice on Sundays, and three times at any time in late October.

Such was the case the other day when The Lady and I were Blockbuster Nighting it and I chose the abortion that was Bewitched over the Paris Hilton insta-classic House of Wax. Did I really think that I would get wigged out over some lame killer slaughtering a second-rate cast of WB plastic people? No, but damned if I was ever gonna find out.

While bored out of my mind during the second unwatchable hour of that Nicole Kidman fiasco I got to thinking that it’s possible my distaste for scary movies may keep me from conquering my fear of being scared. Then I thought, do I ever really wanna conquer my fears, what with all the getting up and doing stuff and effort it may require? Absolutely not. So instead of trying to conquer my fears, I’ve decided to embrace them in written form. After all, I have my very own website; I can write about whatever I want. Maybe, just maybe, on this All Hallow’s Eve, it will make me feel so much better that now I won’t scream like a little girl every time I watch The Grudge.

So henceforth is a summation of mostly all the things that scare the bejeezus out of me. I’m not giving you all of them, because frankly, I’m freaked out just thinking about most of this stuff. Heck, you’re lucky I’m telling this much. And no, I don’t doubt for a second that I’m gonna get phone calls and e-mails making fun of me for being scared by a Kiefer Sutherland movie that isn’t Lost Boys.

So enjoy my list of fears and scares, and Happy Halloween to all my pretty peoples.

Snakes

Any size or shape. I don’t know if this stems from the three days I worked in a reptile pet shop while recovering from mono back in 1997, or from watching Raiders of the Lost Ark one too many times. Either way, I hate those slithering bitches. Any creature whose sole purpose is to bite other living things (Angelina Jolie excluded) becomes automatically freaky deaky. Furthermore, any animal that can open their mouth the size of Alanis Morissette ginormous maw just screams scary. Snakes are nasty little beasts, Indy is right to hate ‘em.

The end basement scene in Silence of the Lambs.

Wait, was she a great big fat person? Dude, you know what, come to think of it, that whole character of Buffalo Bill creeps me out. I can’t ever play Lambs without shivering now. It puts the lotion in the basket…

The theme from the movie Halloween, but in a good way.

This is also tied into my fear of people wearing masks of Bill Shatner. I am an unstable person.

That Sylvester Stallone Will Never Make Another Good Movie

And announcing another Rambo movie isn’t helping matters.

Getting A Texas Burial a.k.a. Being Buried Alive

I’m claustrophobic. I can barely handle being in a crowded elevator. I have to sit facing the door of a restaurant just to feel comfortable. So I can barely fathom the thought of waking up in my own coffin. I mean good god! My stomach is doing triple sachows just typing this paragraph. I don’t normally squirm during movies or TV shows, but anytime I see a character digging themselves out of a grave (like Buffy) or getting trapped in a confined space (like the elevator scene in Speed) I slink in my seat like Brodie hiding from a third nipple.

Worst Getting Buried Alive Moment in Film: Kiefer Sutherland in The Vanishing. I saw this flick in a pitch black cabin in Arrowhead, with wind whipping at the windows. When Kiefer wakes up in his coffin, flicks his lighter and screams, realizing where he is… well let’s just say I didn’t get much sleep that night. I had to pop in Mary Poppins AND The Phantom Tollbooth just to calm myself down.

You know, just to be on the safe side, I better hook up with Pai Mei in case I happen to errantly insult Michael Madsen with an ill-timed Species 2 joke.

Being Dirty For An Extended Period of Time

The day I bought my first bottle of Purell was the day I started fighting back.

The Career Longevity of Freddie Prinze Jr.

Every time I think he’s over he goes and makes a half-decent sitcom, and buys himself a few more years. If a guy like that can have a successful career, what does that say about our society? The Apocalypse is nigh! Nigh, I tell you! Nigh!

The face Reese Witherspoon makes when she tries to make Ryan Phillippe laugh in Cruel Intentions.

I don’t care how funny Legally Blonde was, or how cute she was in that horrible Mark Ruffalo flick, I can never see a Reese Witherspoon performance and not get weirded out by “The Face”. As John Turturro would say, that image will haunt my dreams… forever.

Public Speaking

I’ve done it before to great success, and I’ve done it before to humiliating failure. I have spoken eloquently in front of five thousand people and assorted members of the local media, and I have spoken like a blubbering fool in front of a room full of friends. It’s one of the most exciting things I get to do, and I nearly crap my pants each time I have to do it. I think it boils down to being exposed and examined in front of people whose opinion you generally value. The thought of looking stupid, or spitting while you talk, or if you stammer or stutter, or cough at the wrong time, or having your voice visit puberty out of nowhere. All these things and more make public speaking the harrowing, trial-by-fire experience of most people’s lives. I absolutely love to own a crowd, but I writhe in fear that I won’t ever be able to do that. So, you know, I guess it’s great I’m an actor, then.

The Feeling of Falling in a Dream

Subtracted points for when I used to get that feeling while sleeping in class, and my whole body jerked like a Tasmanian Devil and my professor noticed. Damn fear of falling!

Demi Moore

No reason really, she just gives me the willies.

Losing My Parents

I just wouldn’t be able to function without them. I need them to see my yet-to-be born children. I need them to help me through buying my first home. I need them at my wedding and at my first movie premiere. There’s just too much left to be done and said. Maybe it’s my Jewish neuroticism because both of them are as healthy as I could ask for, but who knows, you know?

The feeling you get the moment before a car accident.

I’m talking about the point where your mind realizes that there is nothing you can do to prevent what’s about to happen. Basically, the “You’re screwed!” feeling. I also hate the rush of adrenaline you get right after you nearly avoid an accident.

Gene Simmons’s Tongue

That fucker is nasty. I saw him once at Steven Spielberg’s old restaurant The Dive! in Pasadena. He was with his wife, Shannon “Will Strip for Skinemax” Tweed. I was in a booth with the fam, when the KISS frontman stood up to leave, saw me staring, smiled… and unleashed it. It… was… huge. Even from a good thirty feet away it still seemed ginormous. He flicked it at me like a snake, and I nearly pissed myself. No sleep was had that night, and I’ve never been able to enjoy a KISS song since (With the occasional exception of “God Gave Rock n Roll To You”).

Helen Hunt’s Forehead

It’s just so… all-consuming.

That My Twitch Will Never Go Away…

… and I’ll be at the podium at the Oscars explaining why I keep stealing glances at the Oscar girl instead of dropping thank you’s into camera one.

Anna Nicole Smith.

Don’t ask.

Failure

You knew it was coming. This is probably the one universal fear. Well, that and snakes (those bitches). Look, as far as this one goes, you can’t really do anything about it. If you let it control you, then you’ll never succeed. You must remain resolute in your belief that success will find you, while failure is busy taking the wrong exit of the freeway. Personally, while I am afraid that my dreams won’t all come true and I’ll end up penniless and pessimistic, I try to not to let it get to me. As long as I find happiness, failure has no bearing on me. It wouldn’t matter if I got fired from every job I ever have; if I’m happy, then nothing else matters. Coming from the vantage point of someone who has already had their first “real world” job and gained some measure of success from it, I’m not so naïve that I think it will all work out right away. But I gotta believe that all this work is for a purpose. I gotta believe that I’m gonna make something of myself. Because if not, what’s this all for? Why am I even bothering? That’s failure- giving up on the belief that something good is always in reach. Knock on wood, I hope never to lose sight of that.

Ending This Blog Post Without A Funny Joke

Everyone has fears and phobias. The point of this article is to show that no one is alone in having them, as oddball as they may be. Fear is a good thing. It keeps us on our toes. If there was nothing to scare the bejeezus out of people, there would be no order to this world. Extreme sports wouldn’t exist. Johnny Knoxville wouldn’t have a career. And we don’t want that, do we?

I’m warmed by my fears. It’s nice to know I have something to overcome, to stare down in the face of adversity and all that jazz. Whatever scares you, or keeps you up at nights, or makes you hyperventilate, it’s all for a purpose. Those things make you the person you are, not just the person who screams all the way through The Grudge, even though their eyes are covered the whole time. You know what I’m talking about.

Bangarang!

P.S. Damn it, I really didn’t conquer that last one. Aw well, maybe next year…


Rocky VI… Really? … REALLY?

My prediction for the movie: pain.

Sometimes you get a movie that comes out that you love so much and when you watch it you wish the film would never end. Some time later you are elated to find out that they’re making a sequel. It comes out and totally rules. You are all over this franchise. What’s more, the entire country is all up on the franchise. And sequels just start pouring out. And one after another, they all rule. You feel vindicated, sated and full on the series.

But the producers, or the director, or maybe even the star, disagree. And they decide to make one more. And suddenly after all this time you’re actually worried. You thought you were done. You thought you could just revel in the DVD’s or the repeat viewings on TNT, happy that the franchise was that close to perfection; even more happy that the series faded into the sunset before it was too late. But what to think now?

Isn’t it too late? Hasn’t time passed it over? Are you too old for it now? And what will this sequel do to the overall series, especially if it’s terrible?

This is what haunts me after learning that Rocky VI is officially in pre-production. Stallone has been threatening that bomb for years now, but no one ever believed him. He’s well into his sixties now, ain’t no way we wanna see him shirtless and taking a beating. We all know it’s a desperate attempt to get back into the spotlight, and besides the last one was so terrible that we all collectively decided to believe it didn’t exist. Even more, he hasn’t had a hit movie in more than a decade. Why would we ever let him make this movie?

Like I said, he’s been saying it’s happening for years. He even wrote a spec script and pitched it across town. He released the first 60 pages in his worthless, now-defunct magazine “Sly”. I read it, it’s terrible. Rocky’s broke, Adrian’s dead, and the worthless son is now a successful stock broker that ignores Rocky. Meanwhile, Rocky runs his own restaurant, continues to be broke, and occasionally shadowboxes in his basement. Yeah, it’s that good. Worse yet, the villain is a stereotypical black heavyweight named Mason “The Line” Dixon. I wish I were kidding. Rocky decides to get back in the ring one last time, completely forgetting the fact that he has considerable brain damage, and even an errant backhand to the head may render him a vegetable. Of course, odds are he goes fifteen rounds, takes dozens and dozens of high impact shots to the face and body, gets knocked down two or three times, and somehow manages to win on a last second punch in the final round. The Rocky formula is nothing if not predictable.

I want to love this movie. If by some miracle he actually pulls it off, then we can erase the bad taste of Rocky 5, and finally feel like the series ended on the high note it deserved. Much like I hope that Lucas does one more Star Wars film that blows everyone’s minds and erases the necchy taste of the new trilogy. And in converse, much how I hope that Spielberg doesn’t make the fourth Indiana Jones movie, because the last one was so great and it seemed like such a perfect ending to such a sterling film franchise. But do I really think Stallone has one more in him? No, I don’t.

It’s not that I don’t think he’s talented, because I do. It’s not that I don’t think he has the body for it anymore, because good lord, he still does. Heck, he’s bigger now than he was for Rocky IV, and he was beyond yoked out back then. I just think the “idea” of Sylvester Stallone has eclipsed Sylvester Stallone the “person”, to the point where he has become a near-reality show parody of himself. And it all stems from that moment in his boxing reality show “The Contender” where the boxers come back to the gym to find Stallone shadowboxing and sweating like a hot pig. It was unreal. I truly think that HE believes he’s a real boxer. When you are known for one role, when that one role is so embedded in our cultural lexicon, it’s not hard to believe that the actor and the role are one in the same. But usually it’s the fans that are unable to disconnect, not the disillusioned actor.

The Rocky series was a touchstone for an America that no longer exists. Rocky was the everyman, fighting hard for God, Country, Mickey, etc. Hell, he single-handedly ended communism in Rocky IV. But what America would he be representing now? The country is split into colored-states, we’re at war with an enemy no one fears, the digital age has turned everyone into cynics, and worst of all, athletes are no longer seen as gods among men. You can blame the Terrell Owens’s of this world for pulling the curtain back on that myth. And boxing is in such disrepair now that Tyson is officially off the reservation, that Rocky Balboa is probably the most known boxer in the country, and he’s a fictional character.

There’s nothing for Rocky to unite. Nothing for him to fight for. Today’s audiences are no longer able to suspend disbelief. He’s gonna walk into that ring with a black guy twice his size and not a person under 21 will believe he can win. And when he does, they will laugh at the screen. And all the adults in the audience, the ones who bought the ticket hoping to recapture some of the magic they felt so many years ago, will duck down in their seats and cringe at what’s become of this once holy film franchise. They will reconsider why they ever bought the myth to begin with. It will destroy all the good this series has done for the movies, and for America.

I hope it’s good, I really do. I want the lights to come down and see Rocky Balboa take on the world. But I have this deep-seeded fear that instead of seeing inspiration, I’m just gonna feel sorry for him. I’m going to shake my head at the crooked decisions of an actor that once held my attention in palm of his hand. I’m just gonna feel bad that he refuses to hang them up. Because this isn’t like real life. When Michael Jordan came back to play for the Wizards we smiled and applauded but mostly we just ignored it. And now that he is retired for good we don’t think about it; it did nothing to tarnish his legacy. But movies are forever. Imagine if Return of the Jedi had been a complete disaster. We never would have looked at Star Wars the same way again. This is why we never saw a Godfather 4, because part three went so astray.

I just don’t understand why Stallone doesn’t get it. The last Rocky movie was an abomination. And now all these years later he’s gonna roll the dice on an egg like this? If this movie tanks than I’m no longer looking at four good movies and one mistake. No, now I’m looking at four good films that may have only been so good because the last two were so bad. I am obligated to question the integrity of the sequels that are good movies. I don’t want to do that. I have too many good memories of the Rocky franchise. Can’t we just let it be? Can’t we just let it rest in peace?

Up until those lights come down on opening night I will hope the movie is good. I will watch the trailer and analyze the poster. I will tell myself it’s gonna be good. I will watch a sit through a Rocky marathon with my friend A-Train the night before “Rocky Balboa” comes out. I will be there opening night. I will hold my breath for two hours. And hopefully, I will walk out pumping my fists in celebration, a mixture of relief and excitement. That would be… good.

The ball’s in your court, Sylvester. You’ve been great to me in the past, so I will give you the benefit of the doubt. Please, please please don’t let me (or the world) down.

Bangarang, Rocky!

UPDATE: Yeah, so I was waaay wrong about this movie.