Author's note: I don't make a habit of subjecting Mr. Scoop to chick flicks. Really. I swear.
In case you ever wondered how to drive Mr. Scoop into a rabid, angry, hate-filled, murderous rage, it is really quite simple. Just sit him down and make him watch Robert Altman’s “Pret-a-Porter”, specifically any scene that has Kim Basinger as the vapid FadTv fashion reporter. As an added bonus, have him start sober. Twenty minutes into the movie, he has stated in no uncertain terms that if he ever sees Basinger in the street from this point on, he will bash her in the brainpan screaming “This is for ‘Pret-a-Porter’, you hosebag!”. He will club her repeatedly and then, when she is writhing around on the ground in pain, he’s going to kick her in the stomach and say, “And that . was for ‘Batman’”.
Mr. Scoop has declared it “beer o’clock”. Basinger was on screen again for about 10 seconds before Mr. Scoop announced that he wanted to “sandblast her face.”
He was just treated to sequences of women walking down runways wearing “fashion”. He was astounded by the hats. “What the…son of a …who in the hell wears that?! That is an unfortunate hat!” he exclaimed, watching one floppy monstrosity fill the screen. “That one’s even worse!”, after a white head cover that wasn’t quite sure if it wanted to be a fedora when it grew up sauntered by. “You only wear that if you’re trying to cover up traumatic brain injury…better to be amputated at the neck.”
“It is only because I love you very deeply that I have not shit myself repeatedly while we watch this,” said Mr. Scoop. He’s romantic like that.
Speaking of shit, we’ve been keeping track of the running gag of characters stepping in dog shit. It seems to happen to some one in the movie about every ten minutes. Mr. Scoop says it’s the only reason he’s still watching. I think he’s watching because he’s become fascinated with the Julia Roberts character. He watched her down a half bottle of wine in about 3 minutes and announced that he wanted to party with her. Then, as Tim Robbins popped the cork on a bottle of champagne that she really oughtn’t drink, he watched her face light up. “That is the best 6 seconds of acting I’ve ever seen her do! Every muscle in her face is screaming ‘I want dick!’”
I think I . need a beer.
“I want you,” said Mr. Scoop, as he stood up for a cigarette break, “to kill me.”
Mr. Scoop sums up his feelings about the movie after losing almost three hours of his life to “Pret-a-Porter”. He’s had 8 beers:
“Quite frankly, that movie was a fucking mess. It was all over the place. Too many characters. Too many little vignettes. One character who randomly turns out to be a cross dresser. The two reporters who just end up sleeping with each other repeatedly for no good reason. Kim-fucking-Basinger. Although, I do respect the director trying to redeem himself at the end of the movie by showing me about 86 naked tits.
I’m picking the next damn movie.”
Next stop: “Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle”
I think I’m switching to whiskey.