Great New Movie!

DUBYAS TWO

The Greatest War In History
Explodes On A Screen Near You!

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New blockbuster is both a tender love story and an action-packed war movie telling how two American heroes, both in love with the same woman, had what it took to save the world from Nazi tyranny.

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Reviewed by Roger Ebert (assuming he isn't dead yet)

(WARNING! This review is almost as long as the movie, but keep reading you stupid prick as you might learn something!)

HOLLYWOOD, NP. TEN YEARS after the release of its triumphant blockbuster Pearl Harbor, Disney today gave its first screening of the latest 'wartime story to end all wartime stories'. Disney's movie dwarfs any film ever made in terms of cost, special effects, and appeal to American patriotic fervor. The four-hour epic tells how the US won the greatest war in history.

Dubyas Two begins where Pearl Harbor ended with America defeating the Japanese after their 1941 sneak attack on Hawaii. Dubyas continues with the destruction of the Nazis on the Continent of Europe in 1945 by American troops.

The film's cost may well exceed $1 billion because it is a virtual cornucopia of astonishing special effects. It has dazzling cinematic clichés, many of which have never been seen before. Disney is confident that the film over the course of its run will rake in several billion dollars, many times its cost.

Let me be up front with my claim that this is the best war story ever put into a digitized format. Some critics have expressed reservations about another re-telling of history from a biased American perspective. Others say it ignores the contributions of other nations in defeating the Japanese, German and Italian war machines. Still others blabber on about trivializing the greatest event in the twentieth century by ignoring important events and placing historical figures in events that never happened.

Well, I have a one finger salute for these carping nobodies!!!! One dumbass critic even complained that Winston Churchill, who he claims "was the greatest statesman to come out of that conflict is not even mentioned". WELL, UP YOURS, JACK! Churchill was a limey who went crawling to Roosevelt for help when the going got tough! Some statesman!

I go to movies to be entertained and if the central characters are always Americans it doesn't bother me. I'm happy with a tender love story that is played out against the background of a world in turmoil and needing America to jump in and fix it. I won't sit through any movie that claims any nation other than America played any significant part in defeating the Nazis and Japan. Certainly not any arse-numbing Canadian or fairy-infested Brit movie even if its paid for by the Pest and includes all the popcorn I can eat.

And I'll bet my flat Yankee ass neither will anybody else. If I want to watch a documentary with all the boring details of what really happened I'll turn on the History Channel.

So what if maybe some other countries played a minor role in World War II — big deal! As long as the film remain true to the final outcome, which is that the Yanks defeated the Nazis, that's all that counts. If other countries want to make war movies about how they helped America do it, nobody's stopping them.

I usually rate top at four stars maximum, but this one is so great, I'm giving it FIVE stars.

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Dubyas Two — The Story

by Scott Upchuk, Film, Bathroom Accessories, and Food editor of several hundred tabloids here and abroad.

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I am thrilled that I and other top critics, including Roger Ebert, were allowed to view the just completed movie in a special pre-release screening (we were flown to Hollywood in a Disney jet but that had no bearing on my reaction to the movie. We scribblers cannot be bought!

In Dubyas Two, top American stars play key roles in saving the world from Nazi domination. Because of time limitations and to keep the plot manageable, certain minor episodes of the war—The Battle of Britain, The Eastern Front, Battle of the Atlantic, Italian Campaign, D-Day Landings, etc.— are mostly ignored (Thank God, I said to myself —the plot entanglements of the protagonists themselves were hard enough to follow!)

Ben Affleck and newcomer Gomer Hammerflueger play the two Americans (Josh Hartnett who played Ben's rival in Pearl was having his jaw re-set for an upcoming movie about how the new American nation won the war of 1812 and was unavailable for the part).

HERE'S THE STORY

It's 1942 and Ben and Gomer are top pilots in the Eagle Squadron aboard the US aircraft carrier, CHARLES A. LINDBERG, steaming on patrol in the English Channel. The carrier is on a mission to supply the Free French (America's main ally in WW II) with a decoder device that an American destroyer had captured from the Nazi submarine U 571.

Dubyas opens with the two boys playing PING-PONG on the carrier's deck. Despite a badly infected hangnail, which forces him to play the game with one hand. Ben is playing an intense, aggressive game against Gomer, his friend ever since as schoolboys during the thirties they pitched hay together on an Ohio farm.

Now Ben and Gomer are rivals for the affections of a US Navy nurse, head pilot of The Corps of Flying Navy Nurses, played by Kate Beckinsale, reprising her role in Pearl.

Kate is watching the contest from the ship's bridge and we can tell from the intense interplay of emotions that mobilize her perfect features that she favors both men and wants both to win but she knows that's impossible. It's obviously a terrible dilemma for her.

The intense game of ping-pong takes up almost the first hour of Dubyas and just when the suspense over the outcome of the bitterly fought contest becomes unbearable, we are transported to Berchtesgaden where Hitler (played by Caesar Romero) orders his Lufftwaffe Chief, Hermann Goering (played by Danny deVito), to bomb London. Michael J. Fox (who does the several voice-overs in a stuttering voice, I guess because he has multiple sclerosis, tells us that the Nazis have just won the war against Poland and France and want to bomb Britain into submission before invading Washington.

Goering (Danny de Vito) picks up the phone and orders 1500 Heinkle bombers to destroy London. The scene then shifts back to the carrier.

Kate, the American Navy nurse, is still on the bridge, apparently the ping-pong game now over, but we are left guessing who won (we learn who at the climactic end of the movie but I won't give spoil it for you by giving it away).

THE TENSION IS UNBEARABLE!

Kate is watching a glorious sunset while smoking a Lucky Strike Green (Lucky Strike Red had 'gone to war', luckily, because it would have clashed terribly with her cherry lipstick), wondering which of the two pilots will accompany her to that evening's showing of the film, Gone With The Wind in the after hangar deck.

The clock ticks ominously and we see by the bridge chronometer that it is 20 minutes shy of eight bells, when she must make her decision. The spacious after hangar deck normally houses the carrier's Hellcats but fortunately for the free world, the fighters have been transferred to the flight deck to make space for the showing of the feature movie.

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Ben Affleck takes off in his Hellcat to intercept thousands of Heinkle dive-bombers on their way to bomb London

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As luck would have it the Hellcats are pointed in the right direction (towards the front end) and can take off at a moment's notice.

Thinking about her two suitors, still undecided whether she will let Ben or Gomer be her escort for the evening, and perhaps, afterwards, permit the lucky suitor peck her on the cheek. (I HAVE TO ADMIT i FOUND THIS a bit bewildering because in a brief but discreet flashback featuring gamboling sheep being mounted by horny rams, Gomer had already humped Kate within an inch of her life in a wild night of passion in the ship's parachute loft. But this is a Disney film and to win a PG-13 rating, this part has been cut from the film to be shown in America. Word has it that an explicit showing of the many-splendored night of passion among parachutes being hung out to dry will be shown to French and German audiences, which are used to frank displays of sensuality.)

Incidentally, all the Germans shown in the film are clearly identified as Nazis and their uniforms liberally display the hated Swastika; this struck a chord with me as my grandfather on my mother's side was a German citizen during the war and he spent the entire time in a concentration camp along with millions of his compatriots who opposed the Nazi dictatorship and the destructive war being fought under the hated Swastika.

Anyway, Kate grinds the Lucky on the guard-rail and flicks the dying fag onto the flight deck. She is about to head below when she throws a quick parting glance at the sky. The camera focuses on her beautiful eyes that widen in alarm as she sees the sky filling up with thousands of evil looking Heinkle dive bombers obviously on their way to bomb London. Realizing there is not a second to lose, Kate pushes aside the officer of the deck (who has dozed off while reading a well thumbed copy of Stars and Stripes) and reaches for the PA mike.

In a voice pregnant with authority and just a tinge of commanding hysteria, she yells: "All hands on deck! Pilots man your planes! Nazi bombers at eight o'clock!" Actually the bombers are all over the clock, but Kate has little time for accuracy. She must get those planes airborne!

Achtung! Heilige Scheiss!

For ninety minutes we are treated to gut wrenching air combat as the Hellcat squadron, headed by Squadron Leader Ben and his wing man, Lieutenant Gomer, take on the entire Nazi German Bomber Command. At 150 peak decibels—less heard than felt in concussive waves from the twenty Dolby total-surround speakers—racketing 0.5 inch machine-gun fire, gethumping 20 mm cannon, screeching engines and the dying groans of Nazi aircrew is a triumph of special effects.

In the screening room I was literally knocked out of my chair by one arresting slow motion sequence: A 20 mm shell leaves the cannon muzzle of Ben's Hellcat and makes its unerring way towards an enemy cockpit. As the plane with its evil Swastika insignia grow to fill the giant screen, the pilot desperately tries to shake it off, but it's no use. I couldn't help but duck as the lead-jacketed slug shatters the windscreen and continues towards the pilot.

As he screams to his Nazi co-pilot, Achtung! Heilige scheiss!, (Attention: Holy Shit!) the shell enters his left eyeball and his head explodes like a stolen watermelon falling off the back of a black sharecropper's wagon. I confess I felt a bit queasy as a red-green mush of brain matter is shown dribbling down the instrument panel as the altimeter spins madly counter clockwise towards zero. (Actually, according to Roger, Hellcats had no 20-mm cannon but eight 0.5 inch machine guns but that's just a minor nit-pick in an otherwise splendid film.)

Following their destruction of the Lufftwaffe, the Hellcats return to the carrier deck where the pilots (only one American plane was lost during the fight and he parachuted safely into the sea where an American fishing boat, skippered by Danzell Washington, scoops him up from thirty-meter-high waves in a terrifying, heart-stopping sequence of American daring-do) are decorated with Purple Hearts by the Captain, played by Charles Heston. (I learned from a studio source that Heston would only agree to the cameo role if during the presentation he was allowed to make a five-minute pitch for the right of Americans to carry automatic weapons in the peace that would follow the war.)

While Heston made this speech, I wondered how it was that the Hellcats took off at sunset yet when they return to the carrier they land at mid-day in brilliant sunshine, with all hands at goofing stations frantically waving American flags. But I had no time to sort out that anachronism because after the ceremony Kate announces to Ben and Gomer that Gone With The Wind has already been shown and that, anyway, they're probably both too tired to sit through an four-hour movie after shooting down hundreds of German planes.

The crestfallen pilots return to the briefing room where they are told by Heston, "... get a little rest, guys, because you will be asked to help plan for the 'big one' tomorrow."

Flying Navy Nurse Kate freshens up before taking off for Berlin where she shares the podium with Gen. DeGaulle in the Grand Berlin Victory Salute March Past in 1945, the climactic scene in new movie , DUBYAS TWO. Photo — Disney studios

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On the morrow, communicating with the Pentagon using an early version of Radar Internet (invented by an American screwball scientist played by Brad Pitt), the American heroes convince Gen. Mark Clark and his sidekick, General George Patton (comically played for laughs by Cuba Goodings, Jnr. ) to invade Europe using American marines and doughboys already carried aboard the Charles A. Lindbergh.

The last (two-hour) half of the film is taken up with shots of the re-taking of France and the invasion of Nazi Germany by the American marines and doughboys. Some of the scenes were obviously borrowed from Saving Private Ryan, which Bay also directed.

The film ends with a triumphant parade through Berlin's Brandenburg Gate with Eisenhower (played by Alec Baldwin) and Patton taking the tumultuous cheers of Berliners now free of the Nazi yoke.

It would take a stronger man than me not to be affected by the overpowering emotionalism of the cheering Germans waving Old Glory and tossing flowers and kisses at Eisenhower with his arm around Ben (now the Supreme Commander's aide) and Patton with his arm around Gomer (the victory Jeep's driver).

Because she raised the alarm when the Nazi bombers were on their way to bomb London, Kate is chosen to take the salute as the Jeep passes. On the podium she shares the spotlight with General Charles DeGaulle (also played by Alec Baldwin, now wearing a big, fake nose). Kate throws several kisses, but to whom? Are they for Ben or Gomer, or perhaps Eisenhower or even Patton?

Cleverly, Dubyas Two doesn't let us know but I'll bet my girlfriend's cherry there'll be another movie coming along to sort it all out. Incidentally, a little bird told me that Ben and Gomer are negotiating with Disney for a sequel where they plan and execute a little caper that will deal with their winning the Cold War, no less!

Dubyas Two is a great movie—despite its minor flaws—and well worth the expected $50 admission. Roger gave it five, but I'll add another for Six Stars

Scott Upchuk

2006 PHOENIX CAR SHOW

Electronic Convergence New Craze
At Phoenix Show, 'Smart' Computers Run Cars—And Monitor Body Functions

FecALARM Device That Tells You When You Have To 'Go Pottie' Causes Uproar At Trade Show.

By Crusty Blanche-Froid, Bathroom and Food Correspondent

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Phoenix, Ariz. Oct. 3. Everyone knows that someday soon our refrigerators will talk, our stoves will ask what we want for dinner and then go on to prepare it, and our TVs, computers, telephones, heating systems, etc. will merge into a single gizmo that we'll hold in our hand or maybe will be fitted into our eyeglasses. Whatever form it takes, the coming together of technology goes by the new buzz term, electronic convergence.

Today, at the 2006 Car Electronics Show in Phoenix Arizona's Metro Center and Exhibition Hall, the world of electronic convergence has already arrived, at least for the automobile. This year's show has as its theme: Bio-Tech Convergence — The Marriage of Technology and Biology. The vast hall contains hundreds of exhibits featuring hi-tech bio-electronic devices, but the one that generated the most attention, indeed it almost generated a riot, is a new device for use in automobiles that believe it or not actually senses when you have to relieve yourself. Yes, that's right: the device made by Sony is called FecALARM and it senses when you have to 'go pottie'.

I write primarily about developments in chic bathroom accessories, so pre-show hoopla got me all excited about the new device. I was almost first in the Exhibition Hall after the doors opened at 9.00 AM and was able to get close to the stage where the new Sony device was introduced.

Assam Muhammad al-Fekulent, its developer, opened his presentation by saying that in cars fitted with FecALARM, a sensor detects when the driver should visit the bathroom. On detection, the wearer of the rectal insert hears a rapid high-pitched beep then a siren like a fast approaching police car. These sounds direct the driver's attention towards a small TV monitor fitted into the dashboard. On the screen the bio-information appears with directions to the nearest facility. For those with food always on their mind, the screen also shows if doughnuts, coffee and other snacks are available at the comfort station. For double-safe protection, the information can also be relayed audibly through the car's speakers (but for those who like their privacy, the information can be re-directed to individual ear-plug receivers).

Mr. al-Fekulent said that FecALARM is just one module in the automobile total information and control system package. FecALARM works in conjunction with individual rectal suppositories that are self-inserted by the car's occupants. The 'do-it-yourself' suppositories, cleverly packed with miniaturized sensors and transmitters, are optional but as Mr. Fekulent explained, they are but one component of the total car management system and if not used, the system is "flying on one wing" — like buying an expensive hi-fi system with Radio Shack-quality speakers.

For those 'all-the-way-ers' who are not satisfied with less than the best, FecALARM constantly measures fecal pressure on the sphincter. When the suppository senses a pre-set pressure (adjustable to the wearer's danger level), it sends a hi-frequency, broadband signal (1.45GHz) to the car's computer. The computer screen then displays the information to the driver and other occupants fitted with the suppositories. Mr. al-Fekulent then pointed to a mock-up of the monitor with sample information displayed.

The graphic nature of the message on the computer screen brought forth gasps from the audience. One reporter, Maureen Dowd, representing The Washington Post Writer's Group, asked Mr. al-Fekulent if she had heard him right about the suppository aspect of the device. "Shove it up your ass," he replied. This response provoked an uproar and several of the hundred or so media representatives at the presentation rushed the stage trying to get at Mr. al-Fekulent.

After police had restored order, Mr. Fekulent apologized for his choice of words and admitted that he had set up the computer screen in a hurry just before the show, and had no time to program 'fancy-dancy' names for common bodily functions into the computer's hard drive. But he insisted that the device meets a very real need for travelers and that he hoped the press would see it as a vital part of the total information and control system, which is what electronic-bio convergence is all about. He hoped many of them would take a ride in one of the demonstration vehicles to see the total system in action. I had no desire to take up Mr. al-Fekulent's offer as my bowels have been acting up lately, but Scott Upchuk, my Notional Pest colleague, who is always probing the cutting edges of technology, did and his report follows.

A Car That Drives itself

By Scott Upchuk. Hot New Cars

Phoenix, Ariz. Oct 3. At the 2006 Electronics Show in Phoenix's massive Metro Center and Exhibition Hall, ten thousand visitors had a first hand look at some of the latest wonders of the electronic age. The theme of this year's show is Bio-Tech Convergence — The Marriage of Technology and Biology.

Hundreds of amazing new devices were on display, including a hot new bathroom deodorizer (shown next story, censor permitting), but the convergence of the motorcar with the biology of its occupants attracted the most interest.

MaxiPod Industries had a Toyota ES400 Lexus convertible that was laden with the latest bio-electronic gear. These luxury cars are already hi-tech, but Maxipod has added so many innovations to the demo vehicle that it makes any other car in the world look positively horse-and-bugger-ish.

The vehicle I rode in had the usual controls such as steering wheel, gas pedal, etc., but I was warned not to touch any of them during the demo ride. The 'driver's' only function is to tell the car where to go then sit back and enjoy the ride. Only in an extreme emergency, can the driver regain full control of the automobile.

The car is loaded with sensors: radar, sonar, GPS, iris scanners, rectal suppositories (see Crusty's story above), a huge data base, and a dozen other hi-tech devices feeding information into a 2.4 GHz Dell computer. During the pre boarding briefing, I was told that the computer constantly monitors everything it needs to totally control the car's operation. Further, as the vehicle moves along, the various speakers (and monitors) advise of points of interest, weather reports, world and local news, and any one of dozens of other trip parameters that can be programmed into the computer's hard drive.

Since the computer is also constantly monitoring the occupants' physical status, the speakers may suddenly erupt with suggestions (even orders). For example, they might be told that it was time that the 'driver' or a passenger should take some needed medication and this will suddenly appear on a tray that pops out of the instrument panel. The most amazing feature that I still can't get my mind around is the FecALARM module and its performance when anyone 'has to go pottie' (see Crusty's story above).

My demo drive in the Lexus was an experience I'll never forget! First of all I had to allow the demonstrator (to my delight a vivacious, 25-year-old blonde) give me instructions on how to insert the suppository sensor. The procedure wasn't at all embarrassing as I had feared as my lovely guide put me completely at ease. Then, fully 'sensored' and in the 'driver's seat' (with the delightful blonde seated in the other), I turned the key. The 'road tour' of a lifetime began.

ROAD DEMO OF A LIFETIME
A female voice from a speaker asked me where I wanted to go. At that point my lovely companion took over (for the only time during the trip.) "Take Scott and me on a half-hour tour through scenic Phoenix, and return to the Exhibition Hall," she said.

The engine then started up and with the various sensors presumably doing their thing, we were off on our tour of that most interesting desert town. All my lovely companion and I had to do was sit there and enjoy the passing scenery. I could never even begin to understand how it works, but the computer guided the car with amazing precision and safety through Phoenix's morning traffic.

Initially, I was a bit nervous, but was soon completely at ease, and began paying attention to the running stereo commentary coming from the car's speakers. The voice was female and had a calm, reassuring quality, remarkably like that of Hillary Clinton, soon to be the US president.

As we headed north on US 51, passing The Cactus Memorial Gardens in Phoenix's Squaw Peak City Park, 'Hillary' suggested that I observe the four-foot Englemann's Prickly Pear cactus that was coming up on our right. "If you look closely, Scott, you can see that a rattlesnake near its base is coiled to strike and it looks like a prairie gopher is about to be its next meal."

I've never seen a rattlesnake gobble up a gopher before, so I foolishly stood up on the Lexus' tooled leather seat, my hands on the windshield for support, to get a better look.

At that, Hillary's tone darkened like she was on steroids. She shouted, "Sit down, NOW!"

Her warning quickly reminded me that someone sitting in the driver's seat should never give oncoming traffic the impression that he or she is not in control. I sat down immediately but an approaching car evidently in panic, swerved off the road and careened down an embankment coming to a stop its front wheels all but buried in the mud of the Arizona Canal.

I craned my neck to see if anyone was hurt, but as the Lexus quickly deserted the scene, not even slowing down, I was glad the computer was apparently smart enough to realize that it was best we get the hell out of there. But within seconds, Hillary's soothing voice told me, "It's OK, Scott, nobody's hurt and the car is hardly damaged, and anyway, you probably did the police a favour, because according to my data base, the plate numbers match those of a stolen vehicle."

The near accident had a secondary effect. The excitement evidently made the sensor in my posterior signal the computer. I didn't need to be told that I had to go to the bathroom real soon but I was glad it told me where the nearest men's room was located in the Exhibition Hall. I knew there wouldn't be time to ask for directions when we got there and I couldn't have cared less if doughnuts and coffee would be also be available.

My experiences in the demo vehicle convince me that the future for the automobile is here. Mind you, the total package is not going to be cheap. My lovely demonstrator said that it would be in the vicinity of $50,000, initially, but prices will come down, as they always do after the introduction of revolutionary new technology.

But even that may be not too much to pay. After the New York bombings, people are too scared to get into airplanes or any other conveyance into which large numbers of people are packed. The automobile will be the only relatively safe way to travel. Not only that, but this car will take you anywhere in total comfort, and it doesn't care whether you've got bad eyesight, are subject to epileptic seizures, or are even capable of driving an automobile. Pissed or sober, this car will take you anywhere in perfect safety, as long as you don't stand up on the seat.

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At the TATE GALLERY this week

By Roger Meplease, our Arts Correspondent in London

Sir Humphrey Kindler-Smythe, Director of the Tate, who dismisses criticisms as coming from 'yahoos'.

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LONDON. The 2005 Turner Prize will be awarded this week. The prestigious £20,000 prize will be awarded in one of three exhibitions recently and currently offered at The Tate.

Stephen Pippins artful pastiche of wild animals’ dung has won unstinted praise from those critics such as Marjorie Proops who says, "such works so courageously champion feminine relevance in a world dominated by corporate elites run entirely by men".

Pippin’s work is cleverly arranged as a triptych, with The Madonna as the centerpiece, itself entirely fashioned of mixed-media elephant coprolites. Aptly dubbed PIETA, Pippins’s masterwork has everyone from the Queen down positively rapturous. The Royal Coprophilia Society had previously awarded it the prestigious Two Turds Up Award.

Another contender is Tracey Emin whose display of her chamber pot together with its contents marks a new benchmark for artistic excellence. Alongside the pot, Emin has artfully arranged a snot- stained Kleenex, a missed-pot puddle of urine, and a vial of her very own menstrual fluid.

Finally, Chris Ofili, is showing a short film of himself, in an endless tape, masturbating to the strains of Elgar’s Land of Hope and Glory played backwards on ancient instruments. As his seminal fluid endlessly re-enters his body to the glorious reversed strains of music, viewers are transfixed by its suggestion of infinite artful design, relevance, and gratuitous homage to post-Gloria Steinemism and the new millennium.

Some critics, those not on the art establishment Index of Approved Critics, are not quite so thrilled by the display, but The Tate stands proudly by its tradition of being in the vanguard of artistic expression.

Brushing off criticism that the show lacked relevance to a world struggling with war, poverty, disease, and the recent break-up of Sir Paul McCartney's marriage, the Tate’s Director, Sir Humphrey Kindler-Smythe, said the gallery will continue offering exhibits of excrement and other bodily fluids. “Unless we show it, they will not come,” he said, presumably meaning to the Tate. “ I can’t be bothered with people who don’t recognize great art when they see it.”

The show continues throughout 2006. Admission: Adults, ten globs of excrement from any animal; children in diapers (needing to be changed), free. Ofili’s version of Elgar’s music, Yrolg dna Epoh fo Dnal is said to be doing brisk sales in the museum’s gift shop.

Roger Meplease is the Cultural and Arts correspondent for The Daily Mail in London.

Butterfly Affleckted

Movie Review - Butterfly Afflected, with Ben Affleck, J. Lopez, Danny de Vito, several butterflies.

Reviewed by Scott Upchuk

Ben Affleck, who was in box-office bomb, Pearl Harbour, and Gigli, which was so awful it barely returned its distribution costs, is an ecological terrorist in Butterfly Afflected. I was rather dubious about screening another film featuring Ben and J. Lo. And, I confess, after about fifteen minutes, I was about to walk out with my bag of half-eaten popcorn and demand my virtual money back. (I say, 'virtual', because as a top movie critic, I get to get in free.) At that early point in the movie, Ben’s character seems headed for a very sticky end, and I thought, Wait! Let’s hang around; this film may be worth the twelve-bucks the yahoos will have to pay to see it.

I’m glad I diId, because it’s gonna be a blockbuster!

The film’s title is a play on the words, Butterfly Effect, the famous premise of Chaos Theory, as stated by Ian Stewart, (Does God Play Dice? The Mathematics of Chaos, pge. 141). The flapping of a single butterfly's wing today produces a tiny change in the state of the atmosphere. Over a period of time, what the atmosphere actually does [because of that tiny change] diverges from what it would have done. So, some time later, a hurricane that would have devastated some part of the world, doesn't happen. Or, one that wasn't going to happen, does.

Affleck plays an eco-terrorist who is hiding out in an island off Samoa, hunted because he set off a huge bomb that killed hundreds of entomologists who had gathered for a convention in Samoa’s capital, Pago-Pago. We are told in voice-overs that Affleck is a left-wing ‘insurgent’ who, under the name, Yusuf al-Muslim, has founded a militant group called CETI — The Committee for the Ethical Treatment of Insects — a Leninist group of nature-lovers whose holy cause is to rid the world of entomologists, people who get their jollies sticking pins in beautiful creatures to mount them in display cases, despite the pain the insects supposedly endure.

Affleck has been crouching behind a banyan tree because a troop of Samoan soldiers is hackling at the bush with machetes hunting for the hidden terrorist. As they pass by his hiding place, a beautiful butterfly, a gorgeous papilio ascalaphus flutters by, and Affleck, desperate to save the insect from the flailing machetes, lunges out trying to cup it in his hands. His sudden movement betrays his hiding place and after a brief scuffle, he is captured and taken in chains to Pago-Pago. The Samoan government holds a show trial in Pago-Pago’s soccer stadium, the dynamics of which attract world attention.

Marxist - Muslim groups hold huge rallies in major cities that get increasingly ugly during the trial’s progress. Reactionary police lobby tear-gas at the unruly mobs and in London’s Hyde Park, a hundred women and children are crushed under the wheels of Bobbies’ police vehicles. In Paris, a mob of shrieking suicide bombers manages to topple the Eiffel Tower, and then, the bug droppings really hit the cuisenaire, to coin a phrase. The gendarmes’ machine-gun anyone seen moving and ten thousand are killed. This action seriously polarizes the two camps, the millions of Muslim-Marxists who hate everything in the West, and the millions in the infidel West who return that hatred in spades. All the Hollywood stars and other celebrities ally themselves with the Marxists because the US president, Guillimero W. Bushbaby, has been known to use enviro-unfriendly chemical anti-bug sprays on his Texas ranch, and has been videotaped pulling wings off flies.

Haters of the Republican president hold a massive rally in Madison Square Garden with a shrieking actor resembling Howard Dean (played by Martin Sheen), mounting the stage and with arms pumping and rotating like a demented windmill accuses the president of forming a conspiracy to take over the world. Amidst the turmoil, the scene then shifts back to Pago-Pago where the show trial summarily finds Affleck guilty and sentences him to death by slow (and I mean, slow) torture, followed by hanging. The hysterical scenes that attend his publicly-televised execution in Pago-Pago’s main square, almost defy description, as his agonizing death is turned into world-wide entertainment.

Affleck’s execution is extended over ten days, and every night on prime-time TV, an enterprising American huckster (played by a fat guy with a scruffy beard going by the name of Michael Moore) hosts a CBS show called The Reality Torture Sweepstakes, which is viewed by billions seeking thrills and the chance to make a financial killing. Each night before one of Affleck’s fingernails is randomly removed, viewers can place bets on an Internet site on which remaining fingernail will be the one that tonight meets the torturer’s pliers. On Day Nine, with only one fingernail and his tongue remaining, viewers are invited to bet which – the tongue or fingernail will be next. This is a Bonus Night. Those viewers who guess correctly and have the resources to cover their bet, double their money.

(Some viewers might think all this is a bit tacky, even in rather poor taste, but it’s a refreshing change from all those clichéd special effects - car chases and the like. Making entertainment out of Ben’s torture not only moves special effects into a new dimension, but also is entirely in keeping with modern American culture and the public’s demand for stark ‘realism’ in media’s depictions of it.)

In the last episode, after all of Ben’s fingernails and tongue have been removed by the torturer’s industrial-sized pliers, bets are placed on the outcome of his hanging. We know that with the noose around his neck, he will be dropped from a platform fifty feet above the floor of the soccer stadium, where thousands who witnessed his ‘trial’ and the execution scene have been rocking and chanting for days. Every time a fingernail is remained, Ben’s shrieks are drowned by the chant, “oogoo partiti”, by the boisterous crowd. “oogoo” is Samoan for fingernail, and “partiti” is, well, guess…

Ben is to be hanged from such a great height, bets are placed on whether his head will be torn from his torso during the drop. Excitement mounts as doomed, tongue-less Affleck, blood dripping from his mouth, is forced to climb to the drop point on the scaffold. After last-minute bets are placed, ten-seconds of drum rolls and bugles playing the ‘lost pest’, Affleck, hands tied behind his back, is pushed off the platform by a laughing executioner (beautifully played by J-Lo, his erstwhile lover but now a Muslim Pago Pagan; see below).

Those who bet that his head and body will part company are rewarded as Ben’s bloody head rolls along the sand until it comes to a rest at the feet of the execution-torture squad’s commander. It’s a great scene, a triumph of the digitizer’s art (but I must confess, I stopped eating popcorn while it played out).

After Ben’s torture and hanging, the world really starts seriously going amok. The US president, Guillimore W. Bushbaby, played by a heavily made up Gregory Peck, looking remarkably like Geo. W. Bush, (yes, Peck’s dead but we live in a digitised world, remember?), decides to rid the world of WMDs, Warriors of Mass Disruption, i.e. the Muslim rioters.

He orders the drop of a precision, tactical H-bomb over the high-rise in Tehran where the head of the CIA says, “it’s a slam dunk” that CETI has its headquarters. After the drop, while the big hole in the ground that used to be Iran cools sufficiently so that “nu-cue-lear de-contamination squads” (Gregory Peck, mispronouncing the word a la Bush)” can enter to find any remaining WMDs. Osama bin Laden, played by Danny de Vito wearing a long beard, is hiding out in a spider hole in a mid-East desert, where on the mud walls are suspended a dozen or more cell phones with which he makes contact with his large, world-wide band of suicide bombers.

72+ Virgins Await You in Paradise

He is seen scurrying around in his spider hole like a hyper-kinetic tarantula, picking up one cell phone after another, and giving orders like, “Allah is great, each infidel child you kill above 72, will double the number of succulent virgins you meet in Paradise.” One scene had me laughing hysterically. After ordering one bomber to “please Allah” by blowing up Queen Mary 2 as she passes the` Statue of Liberty, Osama, dripping with perspiration, relaxes for a moment by picking up a doll representing the US president (remarkably, looking much like Geo. W. Bush). With a long pin extracted from the folds of his turban, he sticks it into the doll’s eyes, then the heart, then the region of the doll where Bush’s cojones would be. But he jabs so hard, the pin transfixes the doll as well as the palm of his hand holding it. “Jesus H. Christ,” he shouts, “You’ll pay for this, you fucking infidel, decadent, imperialist swine!”

Panting with rage, he wraps a towel around the wound and decides it’s time to fulfill Allah’s Will. He picks up a red-coloured cell phone and in a fury, barks into the mouthpiece the fateful order: “Allah is great, Allah is merciful, Allah wills that infidel America and its evil leaders, especially Guillimore W. Bushbaby, be destroyed.” Then he gives the secret codeword that authorizes the detonation of an H-bomb hidden in the Pentagon's Lady Generals’ Powder-Room, Purple-Heart Medal Display Case.

But, unfortunately, neither Allah nor bin Laden know about the Knock-Down Effect (KDE). This is a secret protocol of the Bushbaby administration that should ever a hostile nuclear devise be used against America, every device in the Americans’ arsenal, no matter where stored (other than in America, of course), will be detonated. This we are told by Gregory Peck in a solemn voice-over. To the accompaniment of Morning Has Broken, a chillingly appropriate 60s song by Yusuf Muslim (Cat Stevens), the camera lens takes us into earth orbit, twenty-thousand miles out, where we are afforded a view of the globe suspended like a jewel in space.

The part of the world we see, eastern Europe, most of Africa, and South America, is in the dark blue of night, with concentrations of light indicating the bigger cities; London, Paris, Rome, Buenos Aries. Looking like the new moon, there is a crescent of light in the east and we can see that the sun is just setting over Washington, DC. It is stunningly beautiful, and I feel a tear growing in the corner of my eye as it is clear what is about to happen. One after another we see huge flashes of light, brighter than the sun, everywhere on the dark side of the world. KDE, aka the death of civilization — in action.

Even Washington is not spared, nor is Toronto, Ottawa, Montreal, nor even, surprisingly, Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. (Peck tells us that through a Pentagon goof-up, Washington was not included among the sites exempt from the KDE protocol, because a CIA operative mistook Washington, DC, for the village of Washington, Ontario).

Well, that’s the bare bones of the film, and I’ve left out the love interest described in flashbacks involving Ben and J—Lo before she decides to become a Samoan Marxist and he to be the world's ridder of insect killers. I won’t reveal the ultimate scene that ties this all together, but I‘d be remiss if I didn’t tell you where Ben's obsession with bugs began.

Ben and J—Lo are engaged in PG-13 lovemaking, only their privates are not shown, except for quick flashes. After their vigorous gymnastics are over, the camera focuses on the sheets under J-Lo’s (generous) behind as she rises from the bed. There, Ben sees that under her ass, their thrashing about has squashed a beautiful butterfly. Throughout their lovemaking Ben’s face has been a mask of studied indifference. But, now, every emotion described in Acting for Dummies crosses his puss as he tenderly picks up the crushed insect’s bug-juice-spattered remains. In a rage, he slaps J. Lo several times upside her head, then yelling at her for her “cruel thoughtlessness”, angrily boots her out the door. (It’s at that point that J. Lo decides to join the Samoan Marxist Party, as Gregory Peck tells us).

Alone, Ben finally recovers his composure, but we can see in his narrowed eyes that the world’s entomologists had better watch out. The ‘Butterfly Effect’ indeed—a desperate man clutches at a beautiful, fluttering butterfly and this otherwise inconsequential act leads to the world blowing up and the death of Humankind!

Well, as they say, the rest is history; that is, until history ends with the blowing up of the world. I give this film the maximum:

Butterflies.

If you would like to read the true life story of a bigger asshole than Ben Affleck, click on the link below that tells of the the misdoins of a truly world-class asshole, Brian Wales, aka Lord Asshole, of Pata de Gallina, the Dominican Republic:

Living the Misadventure