Where Have All the Comedies Gone? I Need a Dose of the Brit Wit

While working from home today I turned to "Soul Men" on Showtime. Like so many other "comedies" I've seen in the last two to three years, this had the setup and the actors (Bernie Mac and Samuel L. Jackson) for a decent movie. The plot was very similar to "The Blues Brothers"—two men try to revive their motown band "Real Deal" from the 70s. However, it blew chunks.

But "Soul Men" accounts for just one horrible film in a long line of horrible films trying way, way too hard to be humorous. Every single spoof movie since "Scary Movie 2" (i.e., "Epic Movie," "Not Another Teen Movie 1, 2," and God knows how many more) has been more painful to watch than the one before. I'll admit, I haven't seen all of these movies—I'd like to think I have more of a life than that. But the days of Mel Brooks are long gone, and I'm not a huge Brooks fan; but when I watch the shit directors and writers today call "funny," I have to revel in the man's genius.

To give my readers some perspective on what I deem funny, I've compiled my top 10 favorite comedies (for this second), in no particular order and not including stand-up recordings:

• "Half Baked" (Duh.)


• "Life" (Martin Lawrence and Eddie Murphy make the best duo since Cheech and Chong.)


• "Young Frankenstein" (The horses nay every time Frau Brucher's name is said—come on! And Gene Wilder rocks at any time.)


• "Kingpin" (I still use "Munson" as a verb.)


• "Dumb and Dumber" ("Tell her I'm charming, with a rapist wit.")


• "Clue" (Madeline Kahn as crazy, full-of-unmitigated-rage Mrs. White. Enough said.)


• "Death at a Funeral" (British version. I love Uncle Alfie demanding where his tea is when he never asked for it to begin with.)


• Three Stooges (Obviously not a movie, but I have to include their stuff!)


• "Old School" (It's all-out debauchery and dirty, good times. You can't beat Vince Vaughn as a fast-talking electronics salesman, either.)


• "Drop Dead Gorgeous" (Adam West stars in the opening scene. Seriously.)

The next few movies in my Netflix queue include "Hot Tub Time Machine," which I've heard great things about from several people, the remake of "Get Smart," and then a whole big bunch of British bits—I'm going U.K., and I'm going back in time. The whole series of "Are You Being Served?" "Black Adder," "Keeping Up Appearances," and "Faulty Towers" wait in my queue. I hope the English bloody come through for me, because I am truly jaded on American comedy. ("Step Brothers" had me laughing hysterically, but that sentiment was shared by few.)

One day soon I hope I can write that I laughed consistently throughout two movies within a two-month span. One day...

Until then, I hope "Hot Tub Time Machine" lives up to the hype, and maybe my wish will come true sooner than I thought.

Staycation Fabulous: Part I

Daniel and I recently stayed two nights downtown at DoubletTree's Arctic Club Hotel, on 3rd and Columbia. The first thought that popped into my head when we walked in was the Overlook Hotel from "The Shining." I speak only of the decor and 1920s vibe of the film—no butchered twins showed up asking me to play, and I didn't try to get with the dead woman in the tub, but Daniel did. I really dug the place.

The feel of the lobby comforted me because of the dark oranges and browns everywhere, which are what reminded me of the movie most (Sick, right?). Pictures and names of very old men, white and native, who founded the region lined the walls behind the front desk, in the elevators, and in the hallways. I'm unsure if the lobby furniture was comfortable because I only sat on the bar stool, which suited my bum very nicely.

Room 901 suited us very nicely as well, despite the fact that only one robe hung in the closet. The Whirlpool bath rocked our world (not like that, perverts); the jets were far out. But be careful with the bubble bath—a dab'll do yeh. The rest is pretty standard: flat screen TV, WiFi, mini fridge with beer and wine, lots of window space and light. I ordered a kid's dish of pasta with butter and Parmesan and a tomato juice at 9:45 p.m., and the deal went down without a hitch.

Two weddings happened during our stay—one on Saturday, the other on Sunday. I had a far-fetched fantasy of crashing them, and maybe Daniel would have gone along with the idea, but when push comes to shove, we proved ball-less. Watching the bubbly being liberally passed out to guests in the lobby pre-reception delighted me and of course made me want to barge in and make the whole damn thing about us. But we walked around outside instead.

Even though downtown and Pioneer Square are only 20 minutes away from my neighborhood, I rarely go down there, especially since I work in Georgetown—with its broken pavement, train tracks that go nowhere, and grunge-fabulous restaurants. (That was just a side note, but while I'm on the subject, let me say that the GT section of Seattle has lots and lots of good bars and restaurants and a blunt but comforting attitude that says something like "tattoo but clean." Georgetown will be happening and overrun with hipsters in few short years. Get the Marco Polo fried chicken while the gettin's good.)

Anyhow, The Arctic Club gets 4 out of 5 stars from me. I may write about Chez Shea. Scallops were like butter.