While major media outlets like the New York Times and the SF Chronicle are busy interviewing PR agents to see if good ol' smelly Mel's antisemitic tirade is going to affect his career (now there's an angle for some real investigative reporting!!), we here at the Guardian have uncovered our own global Gibson conspiracy: Mel Gibson himself is responsible for starting almost every war known to man! Think about it.

Braveheart = Tribal warfare.
Apocalypto = Indigenous warfare
Signs = Alien wars/Crisis of faith
Pocahontas = Colonial wars (bonus "war is hell" points for singing)
Tequila Sunrise = War against Michelle Pfeiffer
Chicken Run = Interspecies war
Conspiracy Theory = War of THE MIND
What Women Want = War of the sexes
Lethal weapon = Race war
Mad Max = War of THE FUTURE
Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome = Tina Turner

and pretty much every other movie (Gallipoli, The Patriot, Air America, Passion, Year of Living Dangerously, The Chili Con Carne Club) -- all about WAR!!! And he started them all! OMG!!! ---Marke B.

“I believe that you are a mother who is pretty desperate.
Not only are you not a very nice person, you’re also a slob.
You’re a hustler.
What happened in April?
And you were incarcerated for 3 years’ time, is that right?
Right!
Of course!
Outrageous!
Why don’t ya pay attention?!”

Nothing makes listening to my voice mail more enjoyable than when N and C prank me using a Judge Judy soundboard.

Except maybe when I get a similar call from (remember her?) Miss Cleo.

If you drive through the Mission in one of these supercute babies, you are on notice, my friend.

Image from www.carview.co.jp.

Complete interview: The Descent director Neil Marshall on phallic caves, Iggy Pop-like troglobites, and good old-fashioned horror

(Caution: slight spoilers ahead!)

Director Neil Marshall (kneeling, left) on the set of The Descent. Photo credit: Alex Bailey

Doing publicity rounds for The Descent (in Bay Area theaters Fri/4), British writer-director Neil Marshall called from -- appropriately enough -- a cave-like environment somewhere deep within darkest Hollywood. (“I'm just stuck in a small room with no windows at the moment. Serving my time.”)

SFBG: You’ve said that you don’t want The Descent to be seen as a chick flick -- which it’s clearly not, of course. What inspired you to make a horror film with an all-female cast?

NM: It’s unique in this genre, certainly. It was very contemporary, and nobody’s tried it before in an action-horror movie. The story wasn’t about them being women, it didn’t hinge on them being women -- it just, simply, they were. It’s perfectly believable in this day and age that women would go off climbing, go off caving. Why not? I didn’t think it threatened the believability in any kind of way. I just thought it’d be interesting, and be a lot of fun to do. It had the potential to be a lot of fun, but it also had the potential to be a complete nightmare.

Tim Gunn's take is, of course, exceedingly elegant.

Tony Jaa returns August 25! [Edit: the film is now opening September 8!]

Official site here. Link to my review of Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior here.

Ong-Bak was a massive hit in its native Thailand and earned a stateside cult following, largely thanks to Jaa's insistence on performing all his own stunts and fights without wires or special effects. The plot, about a country boy who travels to the city to retrieve a stolen Buddha head, may have been pretty lame -- but the brawls were numerous and glorious. Judging by the trailer, The Protector looks like a flashier effort from Ong-Bak director Prachya Pinkaew (an avowed martial arts movie maniac). Elephants! Motorcycles! Fire! Helicopters! Big bald white dudes going "Aaaaarrrgggh!" Tony Jaa's feet and fists of fury! Can't wait, dude.

The one and only Mary Woronov is a novelist, a memoirist, and the kind of movie star who is too sexy, too campy, and much too smart for contemporary Hollywood (Rob Zombie excepted).

Woronov is coming to town this weekend for Midnight Mass and a screening of the great, underrated Death Race 2000. I recently spoke with her, and she had sharp and funny things to say about loving Playhouse of the Ridiculous, hating Warhol, loving and hating Picasso, despising the Bush era, and channeling Joan Crawford.

Guardian: Were the other Warhol superstars afraid of you and Ondine?
Mary Woronov: People were very intimidated by Ondine. People were mystified by me, not intimidated. For one thing, I didn’t have sex. For another, I acted like a guy, merely as a counterbalance to the transvestites and the female energy that was there. I was not one of the girls who wanted to be a star, I was a really good actress. I did theater and I ‘got’ the theater world, so I was different from the desperation of the other girls who thought Warhol was somehow going to make them a star. That’s what he was selling, fame for 24 hours. That was not my plan, and I never got hooked.

New from Oakland's AK Press:

The double DVD compiles a pair of films by Scorsese disciples (and lifelong friends, since meeting as nine-year-old Brooklynites) Steven Fischler and Joel Sucher.

Here's a hot shopping tip for all y'all rednecks, brown-necks, yellow-necks, orange-, and green-necks in need of some styling belt buckles and finding themselves far, far away from Texas and that rad Albuquerque flea market. You'll have to get your bad, leather-clad self down to this lil' stand in the center of Serramonte Center in Daly City: Heryadi and Rieky Yusuf's Jewelry Box Hiphop Style (650-991-7353).

They may not have those scorpion-in-lucite buckles that you still wish you picked up in Rosarito, but that I-hate-work number sort of makes up for it, no? Then after you get a specimen modeled after your ancestral flag, go down the street and stuff yourself on Hawaiian kalua pig at 99 Rice Bowl in Westlake Mall and follow that up with Krispy Kremes by the 280. Urp.

Lindsay Lohan to Elle magazine, regarding her desire to travel to Iraq and put on a USO-style show for the troops:

"I'm not afraid of going," she said. "My security guard is going to take me to a gun range when I get back to L.A., and I'm going to start taking shooting lessons. He says if I'm going to go there I should really know how to shoot. Yeah, I have a dark side. I watched all those videos on Charles Manson for a while."

Look out!

Via www.eonline.com.

It was Cher done him in. Oh, Bradley the time-management-challenged hippie, we'll miss your non-sequitors about beards and whales and eagles.

The Smoking Gun posted the court document directing the U.S. Marshals Service to sell off Ted Kaczynski's property -- except the stuff pertaining to, you know, bomb-making and whatnot. Proceeds go to the victims. So far, no word on which online auction site will do the honors.

Somewhere between our best intentions (to rent The Constant Gardener, no less) and the new-release wall at Lost Weekend, we plunged into the vortex of Edison Force. The pull of Justin Timberlake’s movie-star debut -- sundry cameos don’t count, including that worth-reconsidering turn as a flaming make-up artist in the will-Lance-Bass-get-the-girl comedy On the Line -- was stronger than the Death Star’s tractor beam. Despite debuting at the 2005 Toronto International Film Festival, and boasting a somewhat prestigious cast (besides JT, you get Morgan Freeman, LL Cool J, Dylan McDermott, Cary Elwes, Piper Perabo, and an oddly coiffed Kevin Spacey), Edison Force went straight to video. And oh, we were ever about to find out why.

This is not a story about the feverish hype swirling around Snakes on a Plane. It’s not a review of the film, because Snakes on a Plane is so critic-proof that snotty journalists like me don’t get to see it before it opens. And it’s not yet another piece in praise of Snakes star Samuel L. Jackson’s inherent awesomeness (not that I'm denying it, of course). What follows is an interview with the individual who just may be the coolest cat in America right now -- snake handler Jules Sylvester, the guy responsible for charming winning performances out of Jackson’s forked-tongued co-stars. Sylvester, a Hollywood veteran who’s wrangled critters on everything from Men in Black (thousands of cockroaches) to Out of Africa (lions, dogs, owls) to Arachnophobia (duh), is bar none the jolliest person I’ve ever talked to at 8:30 in the morning on the subject of killer snakes.

Image of Albino Monocled Cobra from Chameleon Counters.

[Note: this is the complete transcript of the interview that appears, in edited form, in this week’s Guardian print version.]

... club sandwiches. BUT formerly local club kids Justin Bond and Kenny Mellman -- aka KIKI and HERB -- have really made good. They're currently alive on Broadway at the (dear lord) Helen Hayes Theatre in "Kiki & Herb: Alive on Broadway," and they're garnering effusive raves, like this one in today's NYTimes.

Way back when I was but a wee thing doing loads of drugs in the light booth at Josie's Cabaret & Juice Joint, I totally used to groove to them, back when they were locals (they're bigtime newyawkaws now) -- and back when their combo of post-kitsch musical cabaret mentality and slyly sincere emotional buffeting was totally radical. Turns out it still is, as anyone who went to K&H's New Year's Eve show this year at Herbst Theater can attest. Go Justin! Go Kenny! See? Club Trash can be artistically relevant. Just like maybe murdered beauty pageant tots. Now all we need is a Jason Mecier retrospective at the Smithsonian and Ggreg Taylor on Oprah.

On the occasion of the first San Francisco screening of the most ridiculously hyped movie of 2006 (and, quite possibly, of all time -- sorry, George Lucas)...

So bar crawls for me are usually literally that -- I've worn out the knees on so many jumpsuits dragging my ass amongst watering holes that I might as well be a member of the orphan chorus in Annie. Hard knocks, more shots, wrecked stockings. And by any indication, I should probably invest in a pair of those hunky PG&E repair guy knee pads for Thursday the 24th's BAR AIDS event, during which 15 or so bars will be donating a percentage of bar sales to local anti-HIV and STD warriors StopAIDS.

The fun goes on all evening, all over the city, and it may be the first time you can honestly puke for a good cause. See you in my beer goggles! (You can get more BAR AIDS info here.)

Holy crap, dude. I think my eyeballs are bleeding.

For the full selection of Dancing with the Stars contestants, including Tucker Carlson (sans bowtie -- hey, how's his head stayin' on?), go to ohnotheydidnt via the glorious Dlisted. Be warned: the new season starts Sept 12. Cha-cha-cha!

Bring your favorite pooch (even if he regularly snacks on your US Weekly -- dude, a tooth mark right through Jennifer Aniston's face!) to Dolores Park tomorrow for SF Dog's "Dog Days of August" event.

According to the event website, there'll be "dog arts and crafts" (presumably, made by humans with dog motifs, not actual arts and crafts made by dogs), a doggie fashion show (so Project Runway!), and a screening of Best in Show hosted by the canine-friendly San Francisco Neighborhood Theater Foundation.

UPDATE! Pics from the event after the jump.

Fab intern K. Tighe went to Thursday's Fashion Week emerging designers extravaganza, here's the take:

What to wear? The big question. When I decided to attend the 3rd Annual San Francisco Fashion Week, I didn't really think it through. You see, I'm not what one might call a "fashionable" person. Oh, I've got style for miles and miles -- but trendy I am not. I've been wearing a uniform of jeans, cowboy boots and free band swag t-shirts for years -- and the thought of dressing up for such an event frankly turns my stomach a little. So I did what any self-respecting journalist does in dicey situations such as these -- I put on a sweater. I figure at the very least I can start a trend -- the "dude ranch rocker on the slopes" look is gonna be all over the Milan runways next year, you watch.

Makeup!!!

I head to the Galleria -- roughly 15th & Kansas, that highly fashionable district located just between the Mission and Potrero Hill -- hoping the walk will open my mind a little. SF's Fashion Week is not modeled after the stuff of New York and Paris events -- tonight will focus on emerging local designers, and that is a cause I can get behind. I hope.

Fab intern Justin Juul picked up the Fashion Week/Fisher Spooner pieces for me this past weekend. Here's what he had to say.

The press people at Mystery Girl Productions invited Marke B. to the third annual SF Fashion Week sometime last month. Never one to turn his nose up at a free party, Marke enthusiastically accepted before realizing that the dates clashed with those he had previously set aside for his three-day long birthday bash. Thus, by way of simple calendar negligence, the job was handed down to me, Justin Juul, better known ‘round these parts as “The Almost Fabulous Intern” -- if Marke gets an alter ego, damnit, so do I. Join me as I spend a night in Marke’s shoes.

Justin and fashionable stalker friend

Pre-Party
“What would Marke do?” I thought, as I began to get myself dolled up for the evening. “What was he saying last week about Tylenol Cold and Sinus medication? Did he say you should or shouldn’t mix it with tequila?” Since all I had was a half pint of Gentleman Jack, I figured it didn’t matter so I popped the pills, finished getting ready, then went outside to wait for my cab. While standing there, the details of Marke’s alcohol and cold medication story re-surfaced in my head. “Don’t do it, young intern,” Marke’s ghostly voice echoed, “you’ll pass out and turn blue on the dance floor like I did, wooohooo hooohoo (spooky/fabulous ghost sounds).” Fuck, I thought to myself. I spent the next half hour nursing my third Jack n’ Coke in the cab while trying to ignore Marke’s phantom presence. Despite the knowledge that I was probably going to suffocate by the end of the night, I felt I was off to a good start. Marke would have wanted it this way.

It's another brief club weekend update, courtesy of your eternal Guardian club whore Marke B. I don't know if you're saving your wad for the long weekend Sunday night (I'll be outta town, alas!) -- but don't. Go to my friends Ryan R$obles and Juantita More's fab new club Playboy at the MANsion, er, The Stud -- check it out.

gogo boy xtravaganza! lewd and lascivious fashions! lots of kooky musiks! and look -- sexy jesse who just turned 30 is on the flyer wearing acid wash! you have to go now, don't ya ...

PLAYBOY
Saturday, Sept 2
10pm-4am
at the Stud.
it's scary fun! it's wild! I think ...

“People are crazy here, no?," director Joao Pedro Rodrigues half-asks over the phone from LA, where he’s making a brief visit to promote Two Drifters (aka Odete), which opens in the Bay Area this week. His words bring to mind a certain observation by a Hollywood starlet that then became a Rex Reed book title. But in Rodrigues’s case the remark might partly be inspired by the star of Two Drifters – the person whose apartment he’s visiting, Ana Cristina de Oliveira, who has since gone on to a role in Michael Mann’s Miami Vice remake. De Oliveira plays a volatile character in Two Drifters, and some swear words delivered loudly by her bring this interview to an abrupt end.

Guardian: You’ve used the same bold red font for title credit in both of your features. Can you tell me a bit about deciding that?
Joao Pedro Rodrigues: I like it. I like red, it’s like blood. It’s like something that’s inside you.