So, you may have heard that unfunnyman and general embarrassment to the human race Rob Schneider took out a full-page ad in the Hollywood Reporter the other day to strike back at the Los Angeles Times' Patrick Goldstein. Goldstein had pointed out that when studios spend money on crap like the forthcoming sequel Deuce Bigelow: European Gigolo -- the arrival of which is, I believe, considered by biblical scholars to be a sign of the pending apocalypse -- it makes babies cry and puppies explode and other bad things happen. And in response, Schneider, whose complicity in things like Deuce Bigelow proves in the first place that he has no shame, used his ad to suggest that nobody knows who Goldstein is and that Goldstein has never won a Pulitzer because "they haven't invented a category for 'Best Third-Rate, Unfunny Pompous Reporter,'" and to warn Goldstein that he might want to steer clear of Schneider's friends, because they might just beat Goldstein "beyond recognition." (You can get the details all over the Web; you might start here.)

Now, I, while even more unfamous and bereft of journalism awards than Patrick Goldstein, have on occasion dared to propose that some of the creative "artists" paid obscene amounts of money to produce material meant to entertain are less than successful in their endeavors. For example, I recently implied that Debra Messing is a hideous, twisted, freakish parody of modern womanhood. I also recently insinuated that the oeuvre of Andrew Lloyd Webber is a crude insult to centuries of theater tradition. As far as I know, neither Messing nor Webber have yet seen fit to respond to my comments... but perhaps this is because, unlike Schneider, they are at a loss for words. And yet, the evidence of all the publicity that both Schneider and Goldstein are getting out of their incident suggests that public tiffs of this nature are a boon to the self-promotional efforts of everyone involved. The Wedding Date didn't do so well at the box office last weekend; The Phantom of the Opera, with its paltry few and minor Oscar nominations, is in danger of being swept aside by other more honored films. A little PR wouldn't go amiss for either Messing or Webber at the moment, and I, of course, will whore for free publicity.

And so, as a mutually beneficial public service, I hereby offer some pithy comebacks to those I've insulted in the course of my movie criticism. Ad space in a major publication and a celebrity signature on a check to pay for it is all that's required. What are these people waiting for?

I said:
Debra Messing is a hideous, twisted, freakish, parody of modern womanhood. here

She could respond:
Oh my God, who does your hair? And those nails -- a nightmare! You know, some Pilates would do wonders for those thighs. And the wardrobe... pul-eeze!

I said:
The oeuvre of Andrew Lloyd Webber is a crude insult to centuries of theater tradition. here

He could respond:
Slowly, gently, I clench up my fists
Know it, sense it -- I am mighty pissed
Critics are insulting
Reviews are revolting
Let them learn if they insult what I write
How I love the beauty of a fight

I said:
Tara Reid is stupid. here

She could respond:
You're just jealous cuz you've never accidentally deliberately shown your tits at a red-carpet event.

I said:
Cuba Gooding is president of the Cuba Gooding Snow Dogs Club For Actors Who Killed Their Own Careers. here

He could respond:
Oh yeah? Well, you'll never be able to scream at a casting agent "Show me the money!" while wagging an Oscar in her face and then collapse to your knees a moment later, sobbing and begging for work.

I said:
Adam Sandler is an untalented perpetual kindergartner who wallows in toilet humor and is skin-crawlingly repulsive. here

He could respond:
*throws feces*

I said:
Eliza Dushku is a pouty, vapid Barbie doll. here

She could respond:
*pulls string in her back* Acting is hard! You should be nicer!

I said:
Oliver Stone is a loon. here

He could respond:
I know you were put up to that by the dark nefarious puppetmasters who control film criticism in America, but that's no excuse for letting yourself become a patsy for them.

I said:
Brett Ratner is the most hacktacular of hacks -- if there were an Oscar for hacks, he'd get all five nominations and there'd still be a five-way tie for the winner. here

He could respond:
*rolls around on a bed of thousand-dollar bills*

I said:
Ben Affleck is nothing without Matt Damon propping him up. here

He could respond:
Hey, Matt, get over here and tell me what to say!

I said:
Richard Gere is as wooden as a wooden nickel in a wooden cigar box in the middle of the woods in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. here

He could respond:
The magical woods of Tibet are just the place for a peaceful, meditative retreat, where you can learn to let go of your antagonistic, hurtful attitudes. Oh, but a starving-artist loser like you could never afford a trip to Tibet, could you? *pffft*

I said:
Jimmy Fallon is a black hole of funny, a yawning void of charisma. here

He could respond:
Er, heh, um... you're not funny either. So there.

I said:
Ben Stiller is a highly intelligent man who whores himself out as a punching bag in humiliation comedies. here

He could respond:
*sob* You're right. I'm sorry! I'm contributing to the lowest-common-denominator-ing of our culture. I'll stop immedi-- Psych! *rolls around on a bed of thousand-dollar bills*

I said:
Michael Bay is bloated with rage, homophobia, and a might-makes-right sense of entitlement. here

He could respond:
Woo-hoo! America is Number One! Woo-hoo! *rolls around on a bed of thousand-dollar bills*

--MaryAnn Johanson
02.09.05