The Mike The Pod Review: AVP: Alien Vs. Predator

Dread Pirate's Note: I saw this movie in the theater, and I wrote this review right after this cinematic Auschwitz effectively turned me into a coprophagic-- a shit-eater--for an hour and a half of my life. However, because I was trying to be a clever prick and write my typical baroque rant in "screenplay format", Matt's computer couldn't post it, and then eventually he got around to telling me so. Then, even more eventually, I told him that I could rewrite it without the fancy formatting, and after more time passed, in which Matt and I both faithfully attended our Procrastinators Anonymous meetings (we were always late-- ha ha) I got around to rewriting it. It actually is serendipitous, in a way, because AVP has just been released on DVD, and we are now being besieged once again with advertising for this huge steaming pile of hippo excrement. They are even hyping a "new alternate beginning" in which, presumably, the Predators decide that they are going to adopt pacifism and send three of their gayest "soldiers" to convert a swarm of aliens vividly reminiscent of the 2004 Republican National Convention.

Also, my personal pipe-dream that something incredibly gory and life-ending would happen to Jay Leno and that Johnny Carson would return to host The Tonight Show is now even more out of reach... as Carson passed away last week. Watch some of those old shows, and see how great he was with the audience. And how willing he was to look ridiculous. He was a real Comedian. God, I hope Leno gets eaten by one of those tigers from the San Diego Zoo.

ALIENS VERSUS PREDATOR: THE REVIEW

Scene: Interior. Late Afternoon.

A small home office in Burbank, Ca. Seated at his writing desk, staring deeply into his laptop and drinking a "coffee drink" that contains everything but actual coffee, is Hollywood director Paul W. S. Anderson. The screenplay he is writing is for Alien Vs. Predator 2. He is so lost in his work he does not notice a window behind him slowly opening. A mere two feet or so behind his head, the window opens just enough for a pair of gloved hands to enter. Between them is strung a length of copper wire, glinting subtly in the fading sunlight. Before he knows what is happening, before he can think to react, the wire is slipped over his head and constricted around his throat. He is yanked back against the wall, a flurry of floundering arms and legs, as the window is opened fully and Two Masked Men enter.

Masked Man #1: Quiet down, jerk, or this'll be worse than you can imagine.

Masked Man #2: Yeah. What he said. You ever been to rapingdonkey.com, on the computer?

P.W.S. Anderson:(Choking) No, sirs, I'm afraid I haven't.

Masked Man #2: Yeah, well, a helluva lot worse than that.

P.W.S. Anderson: Please... why?

Masked Man #1: Don't struggle or I'll snatch your neck like a misbehavin' grandbaby.

Masked Man #2: Because, bitch-load, we just came from seeing your movie, if you can call it that.

P.W.S. Anderson: My... movie?

Masked Man #1: Yeah, you know. AVP. Alien Versus Predator. Or, as it should have been called, Foxy Brown Versus The Pussy-Ass Wasted Trademarks.

P.W.S. Anderson: You... you didn't like it?

Masked Man #1:(Pulling hard on the wire): Bitch! Do you think, from the current situation, that we liked that pile of shit? Are you really that dumb? Because you must have been, if you thought people were gonna like this nut-chunky turd that you apparently pulled right out of your tripe-stuffed British asshole and flopped down on the page like the sick scat-muncher you are. "You didn't like it?" Bitch! Shut up!

Masked Man #2: Yeah! Go Redskins!

Masked Man #1:(To M.M.#2): What?

Masked Man #2: What? I said 'Go Redskins!'

MM#1: What the fuck? Are we here to talk about Football? Dan Schneider is on the list for tomorrow, dumbass.

MM#2: (Taking a list from his pocket and checking it): Oh, yeah. You're right. My bad. That's gonna be sweet. I'm gonna go all Lavar Arrington on his windpipe.

Paul W.S. Anderson: Please...let me go...I'll give you anything you want...

MM#1: (Leaning close to PWSA menacingly): Oh yeah? What if I want an hour and a half of my llife back? Can you reverse time and give me that? Or, what if I want to pop off your head like a cap on a gallon of milk, huh? What if that's the only way I'm satisfied? Since you can't rebate time?

PWSA: I beg you... don't...

MM#2: I say we cut off his balls and feed them to his goldfish.

MM#1: (Looking around the office): There ain't no goldfish in here.

MM#2: Hmm. Okay. So, no goldfish.

MM#1: Go get that box out of the van.

MM#2: (Nervously): Are you sure, man? How do we know we can control that thing?

MM#1: I have a hunch. Just go get it.

Masked Man #2 climbs out the window.

Paul W.S. Anderson: What are you going to do to me?

MM#1: Something...poetic. Just wait.

Masked Man #2 re-enters, carrying in his hands, with some trepidation, a metal box that seems to be jostling of it's own accord.

Masked Man #2: Man, I almost dropped this thing in the street.

MM#1: Well, that woulda been dumb. Now bring it over here.

Masked Man #2 gingerly brings to box over and sets it down on the ground in front of the director.

Masked Man #1: Okay, now, Paul. This might hurt a little.

Masked Man #1 steps back, reaching to maintain the grip around the director's neck with the copper wire, and steps on a small lip on the back of the metal box. Suddenly, out from the box springs an Alien "Face-Sucker". MM#1 releases the garrote just as the Face-Sucker leaps onto the screaming Director and plants it's cloacal egg-depositor--hermaphroditic monstrosity-- in his mouth.

He is only able to scream for a moment, and then he falls to the ground, trying to fight off the monster. After a moment, he is still and silent. Only a soft wet sucking sound can be heard as the Face-Sucker plants it's seed in his throat.

Masked Man #2: Oh, shit, man. That thing's gonna come for us any minute!

Masked Man #1: Shut up, Sissy. I got this shit.

Suddenly, and with a sickening plop, the Face-Sucker is off the director and sitting on the desk. It skitters back and forth between the two masked men, ostensibly trying to decide which to attack first. Masked Man #1 turns his back and slips something over his face. He then spins around to face the alien.

Masked Man #1: Hey, cunt-n-cock! Look at this!

Masked Man #1 is wearing, over his mask, another mask, intricately crafted, of Courtney Love's face.

The Face-Sucker screams an unearthly cacophonous screech, and spontaneously combusts.

Masked Man #2: Damn! That was impressive.

Masked Man #1: Yeah. I told you I had this shit. (Looking at the Courtney mask and thinking) We're gonna need something stronger than this for Daniel Schneider, though.

Suddenly, Paul W.S. Anderson screams. Then, he is up on his feet, jerking like a marionette.

MM#2: And so it's gonna come out with his DNA, right?

MM#1: That's what I planned on.

MM#2: (Excitedly): Go Redskins!

Paul W.S. Anderson's torso explodes bloodily-- in a display reminiscent of something found in the toilet of a bathroom in a modeling agency-- and what is left of him flops down behind the desk.

MM#1: Okay, now go to the front door.

Masked Man #2 rushes to the door of the office, and puts his hand on the knob.

MM#1: Wait for it...

From behind the desk rises an "adult" Alien, dressed immaculately in a fine new sharkskin suit.

Alien/Director: Yes? Do you have an appointment? Is anyone interested in a sequel to Lost in Space?

MM#1: Now!

Masked Man #2 opens the door to the office, and standing in the doorway is the largest, ugliest, most menacing Predator one could imagine. He is also dressed in a fine suit, which is stretched taut against his huge, inflated belly.

Alien/Director: Harvey Weinstein!

Masked Man#1: Quick! Now! Run!

As if their asses were aflame, the Two Masked Men dive for the window.

Harvey Weinstein/Predator lunges at the Alien/Director.

Harvey Weinstein: Rated R!

Alien/P.W.S.A: But kids want to--

Harvey Weinstein/Predator: No kids! Rated Aaaaaaaarrrrrr!

The two monstrosities lock into battle. Blood, both hissing acidic and glowing green, sprays against the walls. Wails of pain and horror fill the Burbank dusk.

Scene. Ext. Burbank Dusk.

The Two Masked Men stand by their van, disguised as a cable service, taking their masks off. One is Adam, tall and thin with a cleft chin and wearing a Washington Redskins cap. The other is me.

Me: Not bad, huh? And you were worried...

Adam: I still don't know where you got that thing.

Me: What? The face-sucker?

Adam: Yeah.

Me: You know Ray Harryhausen?

Adam: The "father of special effects"? Yeah, I know him.

Me: Not like I do...

Just then, in response to the howls of pain and crashing, a neighbor comes out into his front yard. It is Jay Leno.

Jay Leno: Hey, there, fellas. Everything okay over there?

Me: Actually, sir, we're here to fix the cable, but our client is... acting out his new screenplay. I believe Mr. Anderson was just saying he wanted you to come up and check it out, give him some ideas.

Jay Leno: For the sequel to the Aliens Versus Predator movie?

Adam: That's right.

Jay Leno: You know, I gave him some ideas for the first one. (Proudly) Yep, I suggested he make it PG-13. Sci-fi people don't want to see rated R movies. They want their kids to be able to see those movies, too. Like Star Trek.

Me: Hmm. Interesting. You know, he's up there waiting...

Jay Leno: Yep. I also told him to make a black girl the lead. He was worried, you know.

Me: Is that right?

Jay Leno: Oh, yeah. But I told him (leaning in conspiratorially) she doesn't have to be black black. Just write it for Arnold and put a black chick in the role. She doesn't have to have a personality; it's an action flick. Maybe she says something "ghetto" to the bad alien as she kills it-- "Oh no you di'int!" or something like that. That'll make 'em happy. Plus, nobody cares about these Predators and Extra-Terrestrials but kids. They're where the money is. And show a little cleavage-- you know, have her with a... a sweaty sex-face, and then you make the dads happy, too. And put a hot Latin guy in for the moms. See? Everybody's happy!

Me: I see. Well, I believe he's up there waiting for you...

Jay Leno: Oh, yeah. Let's see what else I can do for Hollywood today. (Titters like a smarmy hyena.)

Jay Leno walks across the yard and enters the house of Paul W.S. Anderson. Within moments there erupts a sound like a woman, on helium, screaming. Satisfied smiles cross the faces of the cablemen/me and my football-crazy friend.

Me: Not bad for a day's work, huh?

Adam: I'll say. I wonder if Johnny'll come back.

Me: Well, we've done our part. The rest is up to Jesus. I mean Carson.

The two men climb into the van and head toward the summer home of Daniel Schneider, owner of the Washington Redskins and sole member of the Jewish International Banking Conspiracy. As they drive toward the golden California sunset, they can be heard laughing...