> The Cinematic Rant of the Week

The Internet is a hell of a thing. It’s simultaneously the greatest and worst advancement in technology during the course of our young lives.

It is a haven for useful knowledge and information, as well as a seedy den of debauchery and nonsense. For every IMDb, there’s a site where you can give your credit card information to the deposed prince of Nigeria. For every Wikipedia (yes, a legitimate source for quasi-facts), there’s the BME Pain Olympics (kids, don’t look that one up on ma and pa’s computer).

With all this hoopla being made over the important sports match between the Patriots of New England and the Giants of New York, I’ve been thinking about how many damn sports movies there are.

We’ve been privy to movies about mentally challenged people playing sports (“Radio”), dogs playing sports (“Air Bud”), and even Sundance Kids playing sports (“The Natural”). Although their topics may vary, they all share one very crucial element; I hate them all with the fiery passion of a thousand suns.

I thought I was a mature, 21-year-old senior until I saw the Red Band trailer for “Rambo.”

Let me backtrack for a moment for those of you who think that a “Red Band trailer” means a bloody bandage placed on a U-Haul. Trailer is just fancy-speak for a two-minute movie preview. Red Band, on the other hand, is a fairly new idea in the world of film.

A few days ago I had an epiphany: the last 10 months of my life have been a complete waste. Well, not a complete waste. Sure I’ve been happy, but the realization that I’ve been wasting my Netflix account on quality films has shaken me to the core.

Gone are the days when I fill my precious Queue with Oscar winners, art house classics and foreign masterpieces. No longer will directors like Kurosawa, Bergman and Kubrick flood my mailbox. I will never again have to suffer through my mailman complimenting me on my choice of film.

The Academy Awards and I have a sort of love/hate relationship. For as little merit as I put in their choices, I am still enthralled by the entire process and wait for Oscar night with bated breath.

Although I agree with this year’s nominations more so than in years past (“The Queen” for best picture? Seriously?), there are still some massive snubs in every major category. Here are my picks for the movies and people that Oscar just seemed to forget about in 2007.

I don’t form sentences myself; I simply rip from the mouths of fictional characters.

While walking around campus recently, I overheard two separate groups of people quoting “Anchorman” and “Superbad,” within a minute of each other. It dawned on me that these two films are just a few of the many examples of movies that have become absorbed into the normal college vocabulary.

1.) Choose presenters who have more charisma than Janet Reno. She may be cute, but I felt severely uncomfortable when Katherine Heigl got up on stage, admitted that she was nervous and then proceeded to sheepishly read her lines as her face grew a bolder shade of red. What’s even more embarrassing was that she immediately upstaged by the Rock and Hannah Montana.

2.) Don’t have people like the Rock and Hannah Montana present awards. First off, the demographic that tunes in for a five hour masturbation of the Hollywood elite probably aren’t the same who are shelling out half a grand for Hannah Montana tickets. Secondly, only have the Rock come out if he is in his wrestling gear. The Oscar’s could use some more man-bulge.

People die. There’s no changing that.

The first quarter of 2008 has held witness to a startling amount of deaths in the film industry.

Americans used to make horror movies. And they were damn good at it.

In a recent issue of “Vanity Fair,” Jason Zinoman wrote an article entitled “Killer Instincts.” It chronicled the rise of American horror films through the latter half of the 20th century, describing the journey of such visionaries as George Romero, Tobe Hooper, Wes Craven and John Carpenter.

Summer’s almost here, and that can only mean three things. Boozing during the day will become increasingly more prevalent, feet will bleed because of your unflinchingly rigid stance on wearing flip-flops, and you will leave the movie theater dozens of times with a severe feeling of disappointment.

It seems like every summer starts off with copious amounts of excitement for movies, but by the end of August, we look back over the past few months and realize that we’ve been hornswoggled by the studios.

I’m not going to lie to you: June isn’t looking so hot. Don’t get me wrong; I’m sure the temperature will be more sweltering than a sauna in Iran. The kind of hot I’m talking about is an abundance of great movies, and June looks to be frigid.

While last week’s installment of this column showed that May should be a month filled with blockbusters that are, at the very least, watchable, June is shaping up to be a bit of a mess.

While some may spend July sweating the heat and singing “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” the other sane bunch of us will be seeking refuge inside the recycled air of our local theaters. Although the quality of some of these movies is still up in the air, there’s no doubt in my mind that “The Dark Knight” will be the orgasmic film that the trailers make it out to be. The seventh month of the year should go down a little like this.

July 2- “Hancock”

This is how the summer ends: not with a bang, but with a whimper. By the time the eighth month of the year roles around, most of us will be all blockbustered out.

Luckily, the month is shaping up to be entertaining for two reasons. First off, there are a few flicks that look to be so bad, that they could be thoroughly entertaining. Secondly, there are two comedies that, if their previews are any indication, should leave audiences in stitches.