No W

Today, Americans, you have a choice. You can take $10 from your wallet and buy a well-crafted sharp stick and ram it right into your eye, or you can head to the cineplex tonight and plop it down for a ticket to the premiere of "W". Yes, the Madame has been ranting again. But I happen to agree with her. We have had to look at this ruinous man and his insidious dealings for nearly eight years (that's two full thirds of my life). Even if Oliver Stone was sending him up, I still wouldn't be interested. But apparently, the directorial king of big-screen conspiracy theories took the biggest gimme that ever fell into his lap and then produced a work that reviewers are calling "surprisingly evenhanded." Astounding. To whom would this be a selling point? The 17 percent of Americans who still approve of him? (If someone can find me their addresses, I have some condoms to mail them.)

So what are we supposed to learn about W from this film? His foibles? Are there any left we haven't seen? Maybe movie-goers are supposed to be touched and amused by images of a lovable drunkard. I have been told it's not politically correct to say this, but sometimes I've wondered if there weren't many times he'd have made better decisions in the White House if he'd called his sponsor first.

So another three hours of W in our lives? Bloody hell. Blind me now.

Who's the best villain—John McCain or Vincent Donofrio?

Sounds like the pundits think John McCain won at least the first half of tonight's final Presidential debate. But that was before he began blinking frenetically, rolling his eyes, raising his eyebrows and twitching whenever Obama said anything.

With all that poorly disguised buildup of steam, I was surprised that McCain's face never turned red—even as his skin kept tightening beyond its available reserve of elasticity. It was like he was wearing an Edgar suit. If you didn't see Men in Black, you won't get that reference (or appreciate the analogy fully from the photo I've provided). In MIB, Vincent Donofrio, in the role of Roachy, inhabits the body of Edgar the hapless farmer. As the story progresses, he struggles to maintain Edgar's corporeal form. Eventually, the insect-inside loses his composure.

The gradual transformation is a spectacular piece of acting on the D-man's part—proof that it takes more than makeup to make a great movie monster. If you haven't seen this movie, you must put it on your list of top priorities (after voting, of course). If you have a cat, even better. We are natural entomologists and love a good bug-and-guts scene.

Oh, and while you're at it, rent Mars Attacks. Ack-ack-ack. We come in peace.