Earlier this week, Warner Brothers gave Entourage: Tequila
Shots Bros and Hot Ass (I assume this will be the movie’s title) a green light
to start production. So yeah, that’s fun, I couldn’t be happier that the world
didn’t end when it was supposed to and now we can enjoy this amazing work of
art that will no doubt be a critical and box office success. Oh wait, just
kidding. Entourage is fucking terrible. It’s thirty minutes of People Magazine
being acted out by below-average actors with as many vapid/poorly acted cameos
sandwiched between Kevin Dillon scowling and Jerry Ferrera wearing fat kid
shirts and Kevin Connelly puckering through that punch-me-in-the-face puss of
his. Oh and Jeremy Piven—Ari was funny for MAYBE nine seconds. Now I just wish
Piven would go back to eating too much mercury-infused sushi and drop dead.
Whoever birthed this unholy nugget of shit and pushed it into production should be ashamed of themselves. As should HBO, which is hard for me to say because I love HBO. I bet Tina Turner felt the same myriad of conflicting feelings whenever Laurence Fishburne did five pounds of cocaine and smashed her in the face with a lamp. On one hand, HBO, you are a genius, and you bring me so much joy. On the other, you produce piles of garbage that aren’t worth thirty seconds of anyone’s life, let alone two fucking hours. How about a Deadwood movie? Or maybe a movie that continues a storyline from The Wire? I guarantee you could make a more engaging, entertaining, and provocative movie featuring only Slim Charles meticulously cleaning his assortment of pistols than one that will (obviously) feature Adrian Grenier running around Hollywood telling everyone he’s from Queens, being an unaccountable douchebag, and fucking diner waitresses while his loser friends wait underneath the table for scraps. If I were Matt Dillon I would stop paying Kevin Dillon’s rent immediately and force him to stop contributing to nonsense like this.
Bottom line, Entourage was shiny toy intended to be as complex as putting on a pair of socks. Which is fine, I guess, if you enjoy watching rich people dick around with zero consequences and complain about life being “hard.” If this show had any balls it would have explored what life is like for a young actor with piles of money and shitty friends who are along for the ride. How about stupid Vince gets addicted to heroin and gets infected with HIV and has to make a comeback as that actor with a crippling disease? Or how about Fatso Turtle gets into a drunk driving accident and commits manslaughter and Vince blows his fortune protecting his fat stupid friend? But Noooooooooooooooo. If the producers had explored circumstances that were interesting and controversial, then they never would have landed that awesome Tom Brady cameo, which America really needed. From what I remember (I watched the first two seasons and then melted my eyelids closed with a cigarette lighter), Vince’s conflicts involved not being able to fuck some forgettable pop star and having to rent a $2,000,000 house instead of buying it. WOW. WE CAN ALL REALLY RELATE TO THIS SHIT. But all was resolved when he made himself feel better by buying a Lamborghini or something and banging a makeup artist on a yacht.
I wish Mark Wahlberg had kept his goddamn humble-bragging tales of him and his bros to his miniature-self. Great, you have leech friends and you wear black t-shirts--let’s write a fifteen season arch based on your fucking trouble, “playing by the rules” even though the rules really don’t apply to you because you’ve been handed bundles of money and fame since you were walking around in your fucking underwear singing songs in a garbage dump.
If you hadn’t starred in Boogie Nights, The Departed, and Ted, I would fucking hate you too.
Fuck Entourage.
Whoever birthed this unholy nugget of shit and pushed it into production should be ashamed of themselves. As should HBO, which is hard for me to say because I love HBO. I bet Tina Turner felt the same myriad of conflicting feelings whenever Laurence Fishburne did five pounds of cocaine and smashed her in the face with a lamp. On one hand, HBO, you are a genius, and you bring me so much joy. On the other, you produce piles of garbage that aren’t worth thirty seconds of anyone’s life, let alone two fucking hours. How about a Deadwood movie? Or maybe a movie that continues a storyline from The Wire? I guarantee you could make a more engaging, entertaining, and provocative movie featuring only Slim Charles meticulously cleaning his assortment of pistols than one that will (obviously) feature Adrian Grenier running around Hollywood telling everyone he’s from Queens, being an unaccountable douchebag, and fucking diner waitresses while his loser friends wait underneath the table for scraps. If I were Matt Dillon I would stop paying Kevin Dillon’s rent immediately and force him to stop contributing to nonsense like this.
Bottom line, Entourage was shiny toy intended to be as complex as putting on a pair of socks. Which is fine, I guess, if you enjoy watching rich people dick around with zero consequences and complain about life being “hard.” If this show had any balls it would have explored what life is like for a young actor with piles of money and shitty friends who are along for the ride. How about stupid Vince gets addicted to heroin and gets infected with HIV and has to make a comeback as that actor with a crippling disease? Or how about Fatso Turtle gets into a drunk driving accident and commits manslaughter and Vince blows his fortune protecting his fat stupid friend? But Noooooooooooooooo. If the producers had explored circumstances that were interesting and controversial, then they never would have landed that awesome Tom Brady cameo, which America really needed. From what I remember (I watched the first two seasons and then melted my eyelids closed with a cigarette lighter), Vince’s conflicts involved not being able to fuck some forgettable pop star and having to rent a $2,000,000 house instead of buying it. WOW. WE CAN ALL REALLY RELATE TO THIS SHIT. But all was resolved when he made himself feel better by buying a Lamborghini or something and banging a makeup artist on a yacht.
I wish Mark Wahlberg had kept his goddamn humble-bragging tales of him and his bros to his miniature-self. Great, you have leech friends and you wear black t-shirts--let’s write a fifteen season arch based on your fucking trouble, “playing by the rules” even though the rules really don’t apply to you because you’ve been handed bundles of money and fame since you were walking around in your fucking underwear singing songs in a garbage dump.
If you hadn’t starred in Boogie Nights, The Departed, and Ted, I would fucking hate you too.
Fuck Entourage.
1 comments:
well done. this movie will totally blow. wish they would consider the wire.
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