This week’s Fierce Anticipation blogumnist is an attempted screenwriter, noted hundred-aire (NOT SURE I GET THIS), and sandwichsmith, Sam the Sham. Sam is a regular in Single Serving Films’ weekly shorts (on Facebook and Youtube), his own blog (TooLong2Tweet), and is the subject of several instances of crude graffiti.


Within approximately 3.4 seconds of meeting me, the one thing you will know is that I’m a music nut. I can effortlessly name any of the 7356 songs in my iTunes from hearing the opening notes (covers, live versions included). If you’re an LA denizen, it’s likely you have witnessed me singing, “air-guitaring,” “air-slap bassing,” or on occasion even playing the controversial air-harmonica (or real) while stuck in traffic (Yes, I realize that my factory-installed stereo is the razor-thin veil separating me from Hobo McBumstein, the lovable tramp on Sunset Blvd.). Lately, I’ve been entertaining the masses rocking out to Biz Markie’s “The Biz Never Sleeps,” Primus’ live New Year’s Eve run, and even Michael Giacchino’s score from UP. If I used Pandora more, it would have an identity crisis and run off to Burning Man.

I tell you this not to impress you, dear readers (I am no longer on Jdate or OKCupid, ladies, so you can halt your search right now), but rather to set you up for what I am Fiercely Anticipating in 2011. 2010 was a year of unkept promises for me. Disappointments. And I am not just referring to the Taco Bell/three seashells-laden future promised by Demoliton Man (and surely you realize by now that I seldom joke about tacos). I am fiercely anticipating the music of 2011.

Take for example, I have been promised a new album from Dr. Dre for almost a decade. He has been “busy in the beat lab.” I call bullshit. When I go into a lab, I get results (fun fact about me). The good Doctor has been pulling an Axl Rose, holding off until it is “ready.” He released a single, aptly titled Kush, but I wasn’t thrilled. It was like getting under your prom date’s dress to find panty hose, when you’d been praying for five weeks it would be silk stockings… hypothetically speaking of course.

I was also promised a brand new album from The Beastie Boys, The Hot Sauce Committee Parts 1 & 2 , but setbacks in production and (band member) MCA getting throat cancer halted the release. In September, they announced Part 1 would be bumped indefinitely and Part 2 was slated for release in Spring of 2011. They then retracted that statement, saying Part 1’s original 16 tracks would now be released as Part 2. So what happened to the tracks making up Part 2? Are they now Part 1? Why not just release what you have as Part 1? Either way, get with it, Beastie Boys. You’re breaking your mothers’ hearts (we Jews respond to guilt).

Lastly, and this one is relatively new on the radar, I was promised that by Christmastime ought ten funk legends Sly Stone (of the Family Stone) and George “Dr. Funkenstein” Clinton would release a collaboration. The news came from guitar god and platform shoe-enthusiast, Prince. I’ve been an avid fan of both Stone and Clinton since childhood, despite Stone’s cracked out Coachella appearance this past year, and Clinton’s stumbling performance when I saw him (he knew he was on stage in Orlando, but I think that’s all he knew). Christmas has come and gone. Album? None. I felt like Steve Martin in My Blue Heaven; disappointed to find no red bicycle, but instead, dead Uncle Alfresco under the tree.

So 2011, please, I’m begging you to make good on your promises. With albums from the aforementioned artists, and the likes of Rose Hill Drive, Foo Fighters, Red Hot Chili Peppers (sans Frusciante?), Them Crooked Vultures, Kanye & Jay-Z together, Tenacious D, AND a full-length hip hop album from Huff ‘N Doback (Boats n’ Hoes, anyone?). I am champing at the bit for some tasty licks and smooth grooves.

Kinda Wanna See

My encyclopedic/borderline intervention- level obsession with music is matched only by my love of movies.

No matter how you slice it, 2011 will be a footnote in cinematic history. The asterisk will either praise and laud the bold choices and fearless triumphs, or the asterisk will say “Hollywood, we trusted you, you greedy fat-cats with your cucumber water and your paninis.”

Geek movies abound in 2011! Cowboys and Aliens! Another Pirates! Another Mission Impossible! Thor! Captain America! X-Men: First Class! Green Lantern! Green Hornet– whoa whoa, wait. Seth Rogen?

I have a certain cautious optimism when approaching geek-movies (hence the “Kinda” wanna see), particular comic book movies, especially after the Star Wars prequels. I know it is trite to still reference those, and how they “betrayed me” and “violated my childhood,” but let’s face it. Lucas took something we all loved and perverted it. It was as if Toy Story 3 started with Woody and the gang being lowered into that pit of fire and despair, and then we had to sit for an additional hour and a half of their tortured, uninterrupted screaming and pleas for release from this nightmare.

This past summer, when I was fortunate enough to attend the Cheeto and B.O. scented halls of ComicCon, the buzz wasbuzzing for 2011 (and also for the free hentai, as we soon eerily discovered). But when I hear that Kenneth “I turned DeNiro into Frankenstein’s monster” Brannagh is tackling Thor, or that Van Wilder is donning the green power ring and going toe-to-toe with Sinestro, you’ll have to forgive me for being a tad guarded in my excitement.

Wouldn’t See It If You Paid Me

I will not see the last Harry Potter. And I’m not sorry.

I know I am offending the masses with this one, but I have never gotten into the series. I actually passed out during the climax of Goblet of Fire. Firstly, if you’re going to have a name like Goblet of Fire, there better be Vikings riding bears, fighting centaurs, to an all-Iron Maiden/Dio soundtrack). I just don’t give half a shit by this point. Telling me “Oh it’s SO dark now!” will not convince me either. Don’t care. And frankly, if you’re going to promise me “dark” AND have a film with the likes of Alan Rickman, Ralph Fiennes, and Gary Oldman, those kids better be skinned alive by the end of Act 1, all while the three exchange repartee that sounds like it was conjured up by HP Lovecraft.

The whole Potter phenomenon is a special club I never joined about an obsession I never cared about,. “Look! Jelly beans that taste like excrement! Tee hee! *wink* Hi fans! Dark lord, Hagrid, broomstick! Oh what a merry whimsy! See you next year!”

Fuck you, Harry. Your ride at Universal made me sick.