July 6 - Aug 8, 2006
You, Me and Dupree
Owen Wilson, the twin brother of Rainn Wilson from the NBC version of The Office, seems to have a great track record for comedies. He's got Zoolander, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou and Bottle Rocket. And that's really it. He's like Steve Martin in the sense that they've both been in funny movies but when you stop to think about it there's only really been like 2 or 3. For Martin, The Jerk and Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid were it.
This anomaly really seemed to interest my friend Devul. Devul is the angriest living black man on the face of the Earth. Picture the love child of Medusa and Malcolm X on PCP and you're headed in the right direction. His enemy is the honkeyization of the current state of media. He hates how just about every movie and TV show out there contains conveniently rich white people. He'll only watch UPN when he's trashed on Jim Beam so he can spout obscenities and pious judgments at the screen. He dresses like Louis Farrakhan from time to time. I couldn't tell you exactly why the man is friends with me of all people. I suspect that it has something to do with him not knowing I'm white. I don't hide it and it's as plain as day. We've known each other too long for me to ask him if he knows I'm white. He might just snap, and he gets that look in his eyes sometimes that tells me no matter how cool this guy usually is with me that he just may end my life someday.
Devul insisted that we go see You, Me and Dupree at the Regal in Orchard Park. Said he wanted -to study this White Devil in his element.Ó I tried to tell him the movie was about a newlywed couple who lets the husband's down on his luck friend live with them until he gets back on his feet. Devul tells me that none of that matters now. All he's got to say is that Wilson hasn't made him laugh in years and if someone laughs at something before he does that they're getting shot. He nonchalantly showed me the Glock he had inside his jacket. I asked him if he could get me a pair of nickel-plated .45s and he laughed. I looked around that the audience. They were mostly shaggy-headed teenagers whose outfits couldn't have cost less than $100 each and a bunch of Hoochies in Training who wore their sexy sweatpants all day. Why not? I thought. Maybe this crazy bastard should open fire on this lot in here. I could always go for a good scream. Question is, can I handcuff myself to the seat in time while posing as this lunatic's hostage to avoid arrest? I told him if he could get me a pair of nickel-plated .45s and hold off until Little Miss Sunshine that I'd join in. He's simultaneously been trying to crack the Steve Carell code and I thought he might make a breakthrough there. Devul reluctantly agreed and he started eating dried apricots he'd smuggled in the theater.
Thing is, Devul laughed first! He howled as Wilson brought down his friend Matt Dillon's already shaky life. And for as little ass as Kate Hudson has, Devul luuuved her. Michael Douglas pissed him off a little but he got over it pretty quick. He also dug how Wilson was the only one who did everything, even if he did it like a Grade-A jerkoff artist.
The shock of seeing pure Honkey Rage in its element was clearly too much for my friend. Maybe he needed some people talking through the movie. Perhaps a cell phone or two should have rung. The lack of screaming toddlers really seemed to put him on edge, and he just couldn't take it. I think The Man finally broke Devul.
What I saw was more of the same slop that Wilson does when he doesn't work with Wes Anderson or Ben Stiller. Even the work he's done with Stiller was hit and miss at best, but it was better than seeing him run around like an asshat while stifling Dillon and Hudson's chances of turning this sinking ship around. I know that's not how it goes. As for Devul, he seemed okay once we got to the car and I played some Gil Scott-Heron which I keep on my iPod for just such an occasion. We went back to his place to watch and judge the cast of In Living Color, just to make sure he fully came around.
e-mail the evil editors at sic[at]buffalobeast.com
|Popular Favorites from the Archive|
| || || |
| © Copyright 2002-2006, The Beast. All rights reserved. |