'Four' on the floor

Mouth agape, I begin this column. For the world's most spiritless superheroes have once again conquered the box office, with their utterly insipid sequel, “Fantastic Four: The Rise of the Silver Surfer.”
Instead of going through the phone-book-sized list of all that is wrong with this film, I decided to dedicate this column to pitch some ideas to you, the reader. As it has proven that a film with almost any superhero is capable of making a mint, so long as it is torn from the pages of an actual comic book.
I decided to comb through the archives of D.C., Marvel and lesser-known publishers' vaults for some of the long-forgotten heroes of yore. I am now convinced with some updated plots, proper nerd-demographic marketing and sub-standard CGI, that any one of these characters could make a mint at the box office (remember, these are actual character creations from comics).
Let me know what you think, and let's greenlight these suckers! (click on the link to view pictures and learn more about these superheroes)

1. Shaloman: A superhero, created by Al Weisner in the '80s, to give Jewish children a positive role model, Shaloman is actually made of granite and springs to life with a thundering “Oy Vey!” when he senses evil (I swear I'm not making this up).
   The new plot: A gang of rouge rabbis begin swiping sacred artifacts from temples across the country to sell on the black market and fund their ambitions of creating a nuclear weapon.
   The tagline: This summer, you have to be meshugener to miss “Shaloman!”
   
2. Hummingbird: Standing a majestic six inches in height, ornithologist Alan Laurel was Hummingbird, a superhero whose sole power was to telepathically speak to certain species of birds. He once fought off criminals with a pencil.
   The new plot: A megalomaniacal scientist starts injecting birds at an aviary to create an army of winged mercenaries. But what he did not count on, was the superhero the size of a peanut to be whirring about and put an end to his evil plan.
   The tagline: This summer, see what all the buzz is about!
3. Vita-Man: A research scientist named Will Wheeler created pills that would bring out the best in human abilities (one for strength, one for constitution, one for, ahem, speed). It's a wonder why this pill-popper did not survive into the 21st century!?
   The new plot: Victor Viagra decides to gobble all of Dr. Wheeler's panacea pills and goes on a rampage that lasts for days without sleep, including several frequent stops to the local brothels. It's up to Vita-Man to give Victor's attention a little deficit disorder.
   The tagline: Quit fiddlin' with Ritalin; stop crammin' the Ambien – There's only one pill for society's ills – Vita-Man!
4. Nature Boy: It could be his fashionable extra-large belt, or those skin-tight skivvies of his, but Nature Boy looks way too happy to be concerned about nabbing bad guys. He was rescued at sea by Neptune and various other gods and goddesses of the ocean and land and granted the powers of the earth (like overpopulation, global warming and acid rain?).
   The new plot: When a group of cub scouts get stranded after a rafting-and-camping trip gone awry, Nature Boy swoops in to save the little lads and still has time to join them for a wiener roast.
   The tagline: This summer, Nature calls.
5. Toy Boy: Little Jason Kriter was the son of the most wealthy man on the planet, so whatever little Jason wants, little Jason gets. So the little silver spoon-fed capitalist brat decides to amass a cadre of futuristic weapons to fight evil.
   The new plot: A group of escaped cons begin knocking over banks during the holiday season, dressed in a Santa suits they stole from a department store. Jason, not wanting the good name of the Father Christmas besmirched, hunts down each and every last one in brutal, ritualistic style. Because this film is a holiday release (ensuring a marketing blitz of Toy Boy merchandise) , he also wins the hearts of all the little boys and girls in his neighborhood, as he designs them toys which can also be used as weapons, thereby assembling a legion of crime-fighting ankle-biters.
   The tagline: This Christmas, there's only one “Toy” you need.
6. Minute-Man: Created in 1941, Jack Weston was an ordinary schmo who wanted to do more for the war, so he became a one-man army dressed as the American Flag and taking on the enemy single-handedly.
   The new plot: In an update for the modern age, “The Minute Man” is laced with double entendres to add that comedic “edge.” And the character's alter-ego's name is changed...to George W. Bush.
   The tagline: There's only one surge necessary for “Minute Man.”
   
7. The Fab Four: Yes, a direct knockoff to the Fantastic Four (and a chance to capitalize on the height of the Beatles popularity in the '60s), four “ordinary, science-loving teens” (there's an oxymoron) are zapped into their alter-egos: El, Polymer Polly, Hy and, yes Crispy, who, despite his heat-inspired name possessed the ability to freeze things.
   The new plot: During a science expo with a rival high school, the Fab Four notice that one student listed Beryllium's atomic number as 9.01219 instead of 9.01218. Chaos ensues.
   The tagline: The Fab Four: Putting the “Noble” in “Noble Gasses.”
   
8. Silkie: If you thought Aquaman was the nadir of suckage as far as superpowers, take a gander at Silkie (even her name sounds like some sort of fabric softener). Tracy Winters, a former marine biologist, is amphibious and “aquakinetic” (she talks to fish). So, apparently, if any criminal decides to hideout in Atlantis, they're in for an ass-whuppin'.
   The new plot: A renegade group of whale poachers are operating a worldwide blubber ring until the cross the watery path of the soggy Silkie.
   The tagline: This summer, adventure is all wet.
   
9. Skateman: A former Vietnam vet, Billy Moon is now the pride of the Roller Derby. (Yeah, I remember my childhood being spent muscled out of the “all skate” circles by those damned camo-wearing soldiers.) Aside from his groovin' moves on wheels, he also cradles a utility belt with a stash of weapons But Skateman does not go it alone. He's accompanied by his faithful skateboarding sidekick, Paco.
   The new plot: The local roller rink is closed down to pave way for a nuclear testing lab. Leave it to Skateman and Paco to unleash a torrent of four-wheeled justice on the evil scientists in the lab.
   The tagline: Skateman: He's hell on wheels!
   
10. The Green Lama: A millionaire college student heads of to Tibet for postgrad work, and, after years of meditation and becoming a priest, returns with superhuman powers to fight evil. Oh, those ultra-violent Buddhists!
    The new plot: A young sociopath begins entering the minds of others during silent meditation, transforming their thought to do his evil bidding. That is, until the Lama enters the picture, espouses his karmic cantations and scares them all right into their next lives.
    The tagline: Everyone needs a hero every now and Zen.

Ogre and done with
It took three films to do it, but the animated tale of a grumpy green giant and his fairy tale buddies has finally lost its “Shrek” appeal.
Now it's more along the lines of “What the Shrek were they thinking?
Though, to be fair, the “Shrek' franchise never had the sturdiest legs on which to stand. It had moments of brilliance, but was at times too caught up in its pop-culture relevance to withstand the aging process gracefully (let's just say that Smash Mouth and Ricky Martin both owe this cartoon a piece of their souls in turn for their DVD immortality).
With “Shrek the Third” the francjise that had once elicited so muck fun in the swamps and bogs has now become swamped and bogged down.
But don't take my word for it. During a recent kid-friendly matinee at the Movies and Midway, I counted three times in which the Dora the Explorer set broke out in honest laughter over the course of the film's 94-minute run time.
Suffering the same “Spiderman 3” story-stuffing syndrome, “Shrek the Third”is a clear-cut example of the law of diminishing returns.
Realizing that they may have apparently skewered the library of “happily ever after” offerings, the film's team of four writers decided to incorporate Arthurtian Legend as well, and the result feels like dungeon clean-up duty.
Shrek (voiced by a seemingly tired Mike Myers) and Fiona (voiced by the limited range of Cameron Diaz) are now faced with impending parenthood and royalty. Fiona is carrying around a bundle of blobbly, greed, flatulent joy, and her father, the Frog King literally croaked, leaving Shrek to rule the land of Far, Far Away.
In a desperate attempt to elude the latter responsibility, Shrek sets sail to find the only other living heir, a child who will be King Arthur, but who likes to go by the name of Artie (voiced by a disturbingly falsetto Justin Timberlake). Artie is a awkward youth who sepnds his days at a medieval high school that resembles a cross between Hogwart's Academy and Sweet Valley High.
There is also a too-little-too-late female-empowerment side story featuring a brief inclusion of Snow White, Rapunzel, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty. But it only serves a non-sequitur, sladash afterthought, much like the random bizarre addition of frogs singing “Live and Let Die” at the Frog King's funeral.
The result is nowhere near as amusing as it may potentially read.
The only returning actor who still manages to breathe life into the proceedings is Antonio Bandaras' Puss In Boots. Puss is a feline Cassanova with a stray cat strut and shows that his kitty still has claws for comedy.
Donkey (voiced by Eddie Murphy) has been relegated to the fifth (or fifteenth) wheel, and merely blends into the scenery. He offers none of the punchy dialogue that ruled Shrek's first outing, proving he is a one-trick Donkey.
Eric Idle as Merlin the Magician is the only new voice with distinction, but even his presence is a reminder of a far funnier take on the whole Knights of the Round Table tale, “Monty Python and the Holy Grail.”
When the film slows to its requisite “lesson learning” mode, it also feels forced and out of place after attempting to stick in the gut of so many happy endings it attempts to skewer.
There is talk of three more Shreks to come down the pipeline, with a possible Puss in Boots spinoff (please, if there is a animation god, do not drag his good name through the kitty litter).
One can only hope that when the writers sit down to devise yet another addition to the “Shrek” film family, they will follow in the true footsteps of an ogre and eat its offspring.
For more movie reviews, check out Rector's website “Use Soap” at “mysite.verizon.net/beachrun113.”

'I Think,' therefore I am...not
Chris Rock has been crowned the funniest comedian alive several by several publications for a reason.
His profane take on everything from domesticity to race is laced with intelligent, nakedly earnest observations.
Here are but a few chestnuts:

On relationships: “A man is only as faithful as his options.”
On comedy: “Comedy is the blues for people who can't sing."
On gay marriage: “Gay people got a right to be as miserable as everybody else.”
On race: “Every town has the same two malls: the one white people go to and the one white people used to go to.”
On sports: “Black people dominate sports in the United States. We're 10% of the population, we're 90% of the Final Four."
On education: “Community college is like a disco with books; 'Here's ten dollars, wanna get my learn on!'"
On celebrity: “Right now, my job is that I'm like an ambulance chaser. I've got to look for movies with white guys falling out of them.”

His stand-up shows are a mix of jokes that zip with machine gun velocity, while others are like a slow-release capsule, taking sweet time before hitting the brain.
Unfortunately for him, his intelligence in selecting film roles has yet to capture the high levels of hilarity as his stage routine. It is a streak that remains unbroken with “I Think I Love My Wife.”
He must have Robin Williams’ agent.
His interest in aiming for material above the standard lowest-common-denominator scraps thrown to the likes of fellow comedians Martin Lawrence or Larry “The Cable Guy” (and yes, the “comedy” of those two is much closer than you may first think), most likely led him to his latest effort “I Think I Love My Wife,” an adaptation of French director Eric Rohmer’s “Chloe in the Afternoon.”
The source film is itself a tad overrated (the esteemed New York Times critic Pauline Kael called it “perfect”), but it does certainly mine some quietly discomforting material. In both “Chloe” and “I Love My Wife,” the male protagonist is tempted by the fruit of another, when a sexy ingénue wiggles her way into the seemingly dull domesticity his married life with wife Brenda (played by Gina Torres).
In Rock’s film, he plays investment banker Richard Cooper who's suffering that infamous marital scratch that apparently comes right at year seven.
And how better itch it than with the perfectly manicured fingernails of Nikki Tru (played by the undeniably sexy Kerry Washington)?
The fact that his current sex life is reaching Sahara-like conditions of aridity does not help matters. Nikki knows Richard's a good man and leans on him far too often as she attempts to get some semblance to her life. But she is in no rush, for she can maintain a platonic distance from him but still reap all the benefits of a relationship (someone to help her move, give her a lift, listen to her many problems).
Meanwhile Richard maintains all the guilt of an affair, but receives none of its physical perks.
The film culminates to a scene in which Richard is forced to either succumb to the seductive whims of his “friend,” or return to the established family life he has spent the better part of a decade creating.
Basically, the film’s plot boils down to this: we can either choose to be confined by the “walls” we often associate with marriage, or we can decorate them with pictures and memories of a life shared with another.
Rock has to be given credit to tackling much meatier roles than most comedians, but he is hindered by both his skill as a director and his range as an actor.
It was rumored that Charles Stone III (son of legendary University of Delaware professor Chuck Stone) was the film’s original director, but dropped out. And the film often has the feeling of possessing a split personality, developing bits only far enough to use them for a comedic payoff before letting them vaporize into the background.
Supporting roles from talent like Steve Buschemi (as a guiltless co-worker who frequently bangs staff members without remorse) and television's Michael K. Williams (as Nikki's felonious ex) are woefully underused.
And while both Washington and Torres manage to flesh out what could have been flatly drawn characters (let's face it, there's nothing flat about Washington), “I Think I Love My Wife” ultimately rests on the rather slight shoulders of Rock. He just cannot display the depth and angst so needed for us to feel Richard's internal tug-of-war.
While he should be commended for tackling heavier topics than shuffling about with his ear-to-ear grin and cracking wise, the comedian has a long cinematic road to travel before we can tune into Rock's roles.

Is that a sword in your pocket?
I can envision – a decade from now – a legion of school children taught by lazy history teachers who screen “300” in class to depict the famous Spartan army battle against the never-ending hordes of Persian soldiers.
“I know all about the Spartans,” says little Timmy. “They’re the ones who bust out those ‘Matrix’ -style moves and fight everyone in slow motion.”
“Yeah,” chimes little Suzie. “And the Persians were mutant ninjas who owned 8-foot ogres as pets.”
“And Xerxes, the Persian king, looked a lot like RuPaul,” Timmy adds.
“Who’s RuPaul?” Suzie inquires.

OK, the role of the Persian king was actually played by Rodrigo Santoro, but I actually think good old Ru would feel right at home with this bunch.
For in director Zack Snyder’s film, the Spartans are no mere men, they are the manliest of men – sweaty, hulky, oh-so-butch lads clad in little more than capes and codpieces. Any one of them looks as though they could have wandered in from a Right Said Fred video.
Sure, there are a few women that scurry about Sparta, but when director Snyder snuck in a subplot with Spartan King Leonidas (played by Gerald Butler) and wife (played by Lena Headey), Miller fussed that he wanted this film to be “for the boys.”
I’m not sure if he meant actual young men with a lust for mayhem and violence, or those looking more for a “Brokeback Sparta,” but let’s just say that both demographics would walk away from “300” more than satisfied.
For everyone else, it’s probably best not to scratch the copper-colored surface of the film, though, for there are flaws galore. Snyder stayed faithful to Miller’s illustrations, almost to a fault. For what worked well in catchy little balloons over the characters’ heads in the confines of a comic panel does not make for a rousing speech when fleshed out and coming from human form.
Sure, the soundbites from Leonidas are pre-packaged and commercial friendly (“Spartans!!!! Enjoy your breakfast and eat heartily!!! For tonight, we dine in hell!!!!!” and “We Spartans have descended from Hercules himself!!!! Taught never to retreat, never to surrender!!!! Spartans: the finest soldiers the world has ever known!!!).
In fact, there is so much shouting, posturing and chest-thumping throughout that those male audience members with masculinity closer to Conan O’Brien than Conan the Barbarian, may experience subtle breast development by the film’s end.
Don’t get me wrong, “300” is an orgy for the eyes, even while the brain is being assaulted. Every frame is rendered in a sepia-stained paradise, augmented only by the velvet capes of our Spartan heroes and the matching geysers of blood that bubble about like a lava lamp convention (strangely, none ever stains the ground, though…I suppose that would be overkill).
And for those who fancy Bowflex abs, there are more six-packs on display than in a liquor store. (For all those blood-hungry alpha males who become confused and nervous about Snyder’s lingering lens on the male anatomy, take heed. He also tosses in a pair of boobies and a brief lesbian romp in Xerxes palace to pacify).
But these images do not add up to much more than leafing through a pretty picturebook. There are only so many times we need to be treated to the oceans of soldiers lined up to take a swipe at the Spartans. They were outnumbered. We get it. Move on.
The other bothersome element is the crunchy electric-guitar-driven score that may be at home on the video game adaptation, but feels more invasive to the film than the Persians themselves.
I certainly appreciate the attempt made with “300,” and would happily pay to see such bold, visionary strokes on the screen than such studio-sanctioned pabulum as “Wild Hogs” or “Norbit.” But in Snyder’s future (and after “300’s” $70-million opening, he’s going to have a big one), he should pay a tad more attention to the tale that stitches all those gorgeous images together.
If he does that, he’ll have an average that much better than 300.