Tina Fey

REVIEW: ‘Admission’ Just Isn’t Princeton Material

I didn’t exactly have an ideal pick and choose of films to review this week.  After watching a few trailers, I decided I’ve never been attracted enough by the Beat Generation to see On The Road.  Harmony Korine’s Spring Breakers was drawing me in, mainly because Vice is a webzine I visit frequently and they seem to have some promotional pact going on with the amount of coverage they are giving this film; this might be financial, might not:

Our Idiot Weather

BAKER STREET | REVIEW

 by Eric J Baker

As you read these words, I am either dead, in jail, or lying in a Bangkok hotel room minus a kidney.

Wait… that was last weekend. Right now, I’m either laughing at the Weather Channel people for making a big deal out of nothing, or I’m sitting in the dark with the power off and wondering what the hell I’m going to eat for the next three days, or I’m being washed away by the deluge of Hurricane Irene, lamenting for the final time that I passed on a threesome with those two blonde chicks in 1991. But fuck if I’m going to lead this story with a boring satellite photo of a storm called “Irene.” This Irene is Irene Hoek, a playmate from the Euro edition of Playboy:

A hot shirtless babe. Sorry, Str8s call them 'topless.' But that word reminds us of a drunk, horny, unlucky bottom in West Hollywood on a Saturday night after the bars have closed.

If I had created Eve instead of letting God do it, you can bet she would have looked a lot like this. Then I would have stabbed Adam in the neck with an ice pick and set about wrecking Eden properly. My apologies, by the way, to the vast majority of our readers who do not find such images appealing. It’s just that I and the apparently one other straight man who follow this blog found Tuttle’s lead photo from Wednesday to be a bit jarring, so I was promised a bunny as compensation for my pain and suffering and I’m cashing in. Besides, I might be drowning right now, and you wouldn’t deny a drowning man one last piece of eye candy, would you?

Oh, You Pretty Things


BAKER STREET

by Eric J Baker

It has been quite a busy week here at Pure Film Creative. Our style guru, James Tuttle, went on location to file a report from sweltering Manhattan, covering art, theater, and fine dining in one devil-may-care swoop and, at the same time, showing us east-coasters what good hair looks like. Meanwhile, our ringleader James Killough’s Marcus Bachmann post went homo-viral, drawing more traffic than Buddha’s birthday in Seoul (Seriously. Have you ever been to South Korea in May? You can’t turn around without hitting your head on a paper lantern).

We apologize to most of our readers for having to post this shamelessly straight horror fanboy geek  image, but Baker is in Jersey and, well, the heat… We did manage to locate a version of C.H.U.D. in French, however, to make it more suitable for this blog.

My role in all this was to sit back and go, “Hmmm,” which was a lot more work than it sounds. Because it means I was thinking. I was thinking that PFC is ostensibly an entertainment, culture, and arts Web site, in that order, yet politics has been poking its repulsive head out of the sewer quite a bit here lately, like an outtake from the imaginary remake of C.H.U.D. (For real, Hollywood. Get on that remake already). Although Tuttle has been keeping it real, Killough and I are guilty of milking the Bachmann name for all it’s worth in clicks. So, for me, no more bat-shit crazy congressional reps or their self-loathing, closeted gay husbands after today.