They barely have to change the music or the story, after all.  The Jacksons already laid most of it out anyway.  It has all the major elements of a great Broadway musical (I’m thinking Les Miserables, but to each his own): dreams, struggle, dance, daddy issues, and test tube babies.

I can’t decide if I’m more excited for the fully-choreographed scene of Michael’s first nose job or seeing Katherine Jackson belt a minimally rewritten And I’m Telling You to Joe when she catches him cheating.  Seriously, though, the moon walk, live at the 1984 Grammys will be a sight to behold.

Well we all know they can’t name it simply Michael Jackson.  After all, it’s not called Frankie Valley, or Bret Michaels.  Anyone have title suggestions?

But in the past week, the NYC streets have been backed by a Michael-only soundtrack. Side note: I refuse to join the ranks of cynics reminding me of the child molestation charges and You Rock My World (which I kind of liked anyway).  Every time that opening riff from Rock with You started in some bar or a random crazy pushing a cart covered in MJ’s likeness through Williamsburg pumped Thriller from a boombox, I had a smile on my face.

So I’m calling it for a tie between every track on Thriller and Off the Wall.  Okay, let’s pick one.  How about Beat It?  At the very least it’s a resurgence and not a cover (take a cue, Hollywood), at the very most it encompasses the joyous escapism we need this summer while tipping the hat to the greatest pop artist of all time.  Ah, I finally found the antidote to Transformers 2.

Enjoy the pithy banter and non-binary sexual/cannibal object choices:

Anyway, there has been some speculation that Karyn Kusama dropped the ball on this one, but we expect this kind of speculation when it’s a female director holding the ball in the first place.  I’ll believe it when I see it fourth row center on opening night.

Paper Planes was THE song of last summer. You are lying if you didn’t sing along to it, lay back, and groove to this last June.

If you don’t listen to K’naan, you should pick up his new album, Troubador. Awesome. Here’s ‘In the Beginning’ from ‘Dusty Foot Philosopher.’ Put up your fists if all you want is freedom!

Alright, I know the song below is a huge cliche. And, it’s pretty bad, too. It’s something people listen to on cruise ships and shuffle around fake two-stepping until their 8pm bed time. But whatever, of you can’t feel the love, y’all are just too serious.

Gold Digger. No explanation necessary. This song is still the shit.

I could have gone with ‘Summertime’ or ‘What I Got,’ but I have to stick to my guns here and go with ‘Santeria.’ It makes you want to get into a car in the blistering heat and roll the windows down and drive forever. Yep.

Well that will be enough to keep me recycling and scowling at Hummers for another week.  At least we’ll get some entertainment value out of this…

Also, PETA did not approve.

Please, Hollywood, find a script penned by someone who actually cares and cast it appropriately.  That means Jennifer Aniston cannot be in it, sorry.  Michael Bay, god help him, is at the very least doing his darnedest to put together a terrific (-ly loud) movie.  RomComs deserve to be given the same amount of care.  Some of these titles make me want to slap myself in the face.

One could make a case for Knocked Up proving that a movie which inspires both laughter and across-the-cup-rest hand-holding can actually be good and worth seeing – or even The 40 Year Old Virgin for that matter – but I would argue that it’s not quite sweet enough (iow, too many bongs and cresting fetuses).

The true romcom that we all know and adore is about The Love, in the end.  And I miss that.  In these dark times, we need to feel the giddy escapism that comes from lighthearted stories about the absurd complexities of romance.  The Bachelorette can only take us so far.

And now, it’s just too flipping absurd. I mean, one character is in Mexico after her daughter kidnapped her and no one would pay her ransom and they couldn’t sell her organs so now she’s like oh I’ll just live down here with my daughter’s boyfriend who is a Mexican rebel and try to organize (no joke) his machetes and handguns for him. And Nancy is like, oh I became involved with a Mexican Mayor/Drug lord and ratted them out to the DEA and now I’m pregnant with his baby…. Am I wrong to think, “Stoopid…”?

And, let’s face it. Quite a few beloved shows have jumped the shark. Sadly, The Office has run out of funny in a lot of ways. The first and second seasons had me puking up cheerios I was laughing so hard. And now, the writers, even with the glorious Ed Helms, can’t seem to find where they put their wit (although Ed Helms couldn’t make the Hangover funny either… ). The characters seem to have just run out of steam.

Even Project Runway (if reality shows can jump the shark) has plummeted into the absurd. I imagine the audition process used to be: “Do you make good clothes? Are you an interesting human?” Now, I think it’s more like: “Do you know what clothes are? Good. Now tell me the craziest thing you have put in your ear.” It’s the same reason that the nose-bleed girl was on America’s Next Top Model (but DAMN did I enjoy her):

But, while I’m on the topic of ANTM, my friend Liz Lemonazi and I discussed why it is the only show (other than Sesame Street, in my opinion) that is “impervious to shark jumping.” Because it has always been absurd. Because it is hosted by the Tyra beast and her minions. It’s a simple weekly shot of schaudenfreude as a woman. “Damn those girls are skinny… HAHAHA they’re so dumb and racist! I feel good!”

Is this the apocalypse of decent television? Will 30 Rick escape or is it next (even entertaining that though makes me cringe)? TV lords, please let me have my sentimental, stoned moments with ‘Weeds’ and reminisce about the Office episode when they hid Andy’s cell phone in the ceiling. I’m happy with that. I don’t want these dong-licking episodes to ruin it for me. It’s like watching Felicity after she cut off her hair…. enough, already!

I laughed twice.  Once was at Galigianakis eating couch pizza, the other was at Galifianakis calling a dude “mean.”  The rest of it was comedic cliche (crazy Chinese dude = hilarious!) or hopelessly unfulfilled plot set-ups.  The whole plot was essentially a let-down.  They wake up from this craaaazy night after getting soooooo fucked up, and then they’re all, “Oh, it was the stripper’s baby,” and “Oh, we got the tiger/cop car by going and stealing the tiger/cop car.”  Craaaaaazy!

And in between scenes, just in case your brain starts to think too much about how underwhelming the last punch line was, they throw a top-40 recent hit at your face to district your mind and make your hips swivel.  (Not that I don’t groove to Live your life, cuz I do.)

I can easily imagine what the dudes are like who wrote this film, and coincidentally I think some of their buddies were sitting in the row behind me when I saw it.  Come on, boys, if we’re gonna do the Vegas trope, do anew.  Right Steven Soderbergh?