On Fuck Yeah! American Freedom (To Eat and Consume!) Day here in the States, our fellow humans over in the European Parliament have uppercut a dirty son of a bitch much to our internet folks’ pleasure.

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[As always, spoiler-free and barebones on plot description.  If you want the third act twists spelled out for you, please visit Roger Ebert’s site.]

But seriously:  this film is worth admission alone because this time, they hired a fucking casting director.  Gone is the triumvirate of shit that Tobey, Kirsten and Franco brought to the table.

Director Marc Webb gone and killed it.  You will fall in love with Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone in this film.  They’re just glowing with chemistry and love and presence.  Garfield takes a half hour or so to get there, but Stone is just a magnet for attention in every scene, and never in a presumptuous or overbearing way.  They work, and they work very well as the leads in this re-take on Spider-Man’s origin.

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[In an attempt to expand his insular perspective, Rendar Frankenstein became An American in Canada! Join Rendar as he tells of the wonders encountered while traveling through North America’s most jovial nation. It’s one-third travel guide and three-fourths misguided interpretation!]

For those of you with a shaky understanding of Canada’s geography, Yarmouth is on the very tip of the Nova Scotian peninsula. Consequently, getting there from Boston by car means driving through Maine and New Brunswick, and then traversing the entire province of Nova Scotia. Not wanting to push my luck, I decided I’d stop for the night and pick up the journey the next day.

Thus, this episode is archived under the title Mr. Frankenstein Goes to Halifax!

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Ugh. Jesus Christ. Now Marvel is relaunching everything ever, shaking up creators teams and daring to address everything save for good stories. Maybe these new titles will be good, maybe they won’t. However you know what dominates hype? Just fucking  quality storytelling. Just focus on it guys. Please. I’m begging you. The wave of hype will dissipate after we go “Wow! Relaunched bullshit that’ll devolve into status quo! This totally isn’t a response to the Blase 52!” and then things will return to functioning as a simmering churn factory for movie scripts.

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Dear Sega. If this isn’t a tease for an HD version of NiGHTS: Into Dreams, I’m going to cut you.

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Have you gotten over the reports that The Hobbit looks like a tunnel of dog dick in 48fps? If so, mow on some of these new pictures from Peter “No serious I can do something good besides LOTR okay maybe not” Jackson’s return to Middle Erf.

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Hell yes. I’m madly in love with Scott Snyder and Greg Capullo’s run on Batman in the rebooted!, relaunched!, totally New 52! Seeing as I’m drinking their delicious honeyed nectar, how can I not be stoked they’re handling the return of the Joker?

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EA president-czar-guy Frank Gibeau has confirmed what most of us have suspected: the future lays in digital distribution. It ain’t a bit reveal that gaming companies are going to slough the tangible coil. Not at all. At the same time, it’s interesting to hear such a titan make the proclamation publicly.

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[In an attempt to expand his insular perspective, Rendar Frankenstein became An American in Canada! Join Rendar as he tells of the wonders encountered while traveling through North America’s most jovial nation. It’s one-third travel guide and three-fourths misguided interpretation!]

In the seven hours I’d spent on the road since leaving Boston, I hadn’t had any problems.

Which is really astounding, given the fact that I seem to be a real shit-magnet when it comes to travel plans. If an airline baggage handler finally decides to express his displeasure at the fact that his boyfriend left him three years ago for a younger man, it’s my bag that’s getting pissed on and thrown on the wrong plane. If the terror alert goes from beige to cyan, it’s the very day I’m hopping on a transcontinental train. And if my iPod is going to die, it’s going to be right when the elderly couple I’m sitting next to on the bus decides to discuss their love of vomit-sex.

But it’d been seven hours of open road and blue-sky optimism. Hell, I even got through customs without any trouble. Actually, that was pretty easy – I just gave a fake name (Rendar Frankenstein raises eyebrows) and told the guy I was on vacation. Ha! He didn’t even suspect that I was going to be looking under his country’s fingernails for the cultural dirt!

Anyways, I was cruisin’ along New Brunswick’s highways, taking in the wonderful scenery – no doubt modeled after Middle Earth – when I saw a sign that made me gasp. The posting shouldn’t’ve been a revelation, as it was just another bit of standard freeway fare. But in my excitement to venture forth into alien territory, any thought of such a sign or its implication had slipped my mind.

Nevertheless, there it was: TOLL AHEAD.

Which was no problem, aside from the fact that I didn’t have any Canadian cash!

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Oh snap! Here’s a trailer for Assassin’s Creed III trailer set to get your Patriotic pulse roaring. Some shitty kid singing “Amazing Grace” and muskets a plenty.

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