"I think I broke his fucking neck"

You know, I saw Adam Sandler's "The Longest Yard" a while back, and I say that with the knowledge that I'm dismissing director Peter Segal's auteurial status. Guess what? In this case Adam Sandler (and his writing collaborators) are truly the progenitors of this vision, to whom all blame and hosannas should be expressed. And I think the measure of one's enjoyment of the Sandler vehicle can be plotted with a sine curve to the relative distance to one's last viewing of the original. Therefore Paramount may have shot themselves in the foot by rereleasing the original, and offering people a chance to see it (chances are only people like me are going to buy this thing, though, so what are you going to do). But it's the difference between a passable lay and great sex. It's the difference between $8.95 Steak n' Eggs and a Filet mignon. It's the difference between bammer weed and the chronic. It's the difference between Attack of the Clones and The Empire Strikes Back. It's the difference between Alien Ant Farm and Michael Jackson. It's the difference between Tim Story's The Fantastic Four and The Incredibles. And, ultimately, it's the difference between passable but hugely commercial and truly great pop art. It's the sort of thing that when you watch Robert Aldrich's classic 1974 film, you regret the fact that you may have enjoyed what was never truly great to begin with, but now seems a pale imitation of the real thing. And perhaps that's not fair to the passable. It never aspired to greatness. But once you've tasted that greatness, you're kind of fucked. Cause you can't go back when you know how good it can be. Or maybe you can if you can forget your standards.

I will say this, when they remake Slap Shot, someone's going to lose an eye.