"Sunny day!" Jack Bronstein smiled, putting on David Cronenberg's sunglasses from Nightbreed. Though no longer the undisputed king of bad movies, Bronstein was a happy man. Even the sun seemed to like him today, sending ultraviolet radiation with a meek benificence.

He looked up at the sky and held up his burrito juice in a toast. "Here's to you!" he shouted. A couple seconds later, Bronstein muttered, "--wipin my ass! Heh heh."

It's like that when life's on your side. People who laughed at you last week? They smile at you now, and you STILL don't like them! While contemplating that adage about biting hands that feed you, Bronstein was interrupted by the dog sneaking up behind him.

"OW!" he shouted.

The Glaviano setter was tiny, but his bite stung somethin' fierce.

"Get outta here, you mutt!!"

Even after Jack gave the dog his burrito, it continued its harrassment, nipping Jack on the ankle and drawing away before Jack could kick him in the face. The eighth bite "broke the dike," and Jack pulled out his .45.

"LISTEN YOU STUPID DOG! DO YOU KNOW ME? I COULD BURY YOU UNDER THE SIDEWALK AND PAY OFF THE JUDGE, THE JURY, AND GOD! STOP BITING ME! GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!!"

Just then, Los Angeles Dodgers catcher Mike Piazza stepped between Jack and the Glaviano setter.

"Excuse me," he said. "Do we have a problem?"

Jack forgot about the dog and aimed at Piazza. "Problem. Let's see. This gun shoots real bullets, and it's pointed at your face. I'd say we have a bigger problem than a pile of dog-doo on somebody's shoes."

Piazza's eyes moved down to Bronstein's feet, a twinkle dancing briefly. Sure enough, the mutt had left a deposit on Jack's wing tips. And it smelled real bad.

"Son of a bitch," Jack said. He looked down, up, and down again. Before he could say something foul, Piazza kicked him right in the 'nads.' Doubling over, Jack gasped, "The sun has set--OOF."

Piazza gave him a stiff uppercut, which left movie boy without a gun and on somebody's Buick.

"Normally I'd call the police," young America's favorite 'backstop' chastised Bronstein, who couldn't believe his ears. "But I don't think you're even worth it. Come on Elmer, let's dispose of this murderous assault weapon." After Jack rolled off the Buick's hood, Elmer climbed on his back and left 'one for the road.'

"Aagh," Jack groaned. "Stupid dog." BEEP! BEEP! Jack jumped to his feet. The car's driver had gotten inside and started it up. Now that Jack had been ass-kicked AND THEN ass-loaded by a dog, it seemed unlikely that fate would put him right in front of a homicidal Buick owner. But this was Los Angeles™. The Buick surged forward, knocking Jack back to the pavement. Lucky for him, it was one of those old Buicks that you can climb under and there's still a foot or so of clearance. Deafened by the engine's roar, Jack said a Kabbalistic password and shielded his face. Five seconds later, the Buick was gone, and Jack was walking along in two shitty shoes.

"Digsby Showplace," he whispered. "Finally!" He bought a $10 ticket and found a seat for the 2:30 showing of Tin Cup. He knew it was going to suck ass, but that was unimportant. Jack's favorite thing about the movies was the trailers. Five three-minute trailers with really lousy music, and Jack was in 'dog heaven'.

Who knows, if the trailer is good, he sometimes even stays for the movie. And face it, folks, Hollywood puts ten times as much money into advertising and hype as it does into actually making a movie. "It's fun!" The lights went down, and you could almost taste the freedom. Jack could. A smile crossed his face once more. (The previews began ...)

gangsterville films limited

IN ASSOCIATION WITH

sharkwater studios

PRESENTS

coming Valentine's Day (2000) ... he's the cop who cannot be bought; she's the ex-stripper who won't say 'die.' Together, they're

THE COP WHO COULDN'T BE BOUGHT
AND THE EX-STRIPPER WHO NEVER SAID 'DIE.'

They say that finding an honest policeman in a place like New Orleans is like trying to find a needle in Pinhead. It's even harder to find an ex-stripper who isn't just waiting for an excuse to kill your dog, burn down your house, and push you in front of a speeding Mardi Gras float.

THEY never met Lenny Ozark and the lovely 'Ditte.' Lenny has had the aforementioned trifecta pulled on him one time too many when he meets the ex-stripper who teaches him how to live again. Inspired by Gitte and her stories of 'the island.' Lenny kicks ass, takes names, and then kicks some more ass in a nightmare world of dope peddlers, 'smack daddies,' and other singularly unpleasant characters in ...

THE COP WHO COULDN'T BE BOUGHT
AND THE EX-STRIPPER WHO NEVER SAID 'DIE.'

EXECUTIVE PRODUCER -- DICK SHARKWATER

MUSIC BY HANS ZIMMER AND JAN HAMMER

'All the Drag Queens in the World' written by Glenn Frey and Jan Hammer
Performed by Glenn Frey

EDITED BY MARCIA LUCAS

PRODUCED BY JANE HAMSHER

WRITTEN BY COLIN QUINN

DIRECTED BY DAVID CARRADINE

STARRING

coming Columbus Day 1999

Chuck 'Chunk' Bunkfritter has done it again. Moop Dreams blends the world of inner-city hoops with the high tragedy of William Shakespeare in a way that can only be described as 'Bunkfritter.'

Follow the story of a young basketball phenom who rises from the streets of Venice Beach to kick some Elizabethan ass. Just listen to the critics:

Siskel: "I thought Moop Dreams should have won the Oscar for best documentary."

Ebert: "After watching Moop Dreams, I went straight to Sportmart and tried to eat a basketball!!"

Gerry D Usher: "Yeah, I remember that movie. Some fuckin shine tried to steal the poster for that film and got a stun gun up his ass for his trouble! Ha ha ha ha, fuckin prick."

Need we say more? You knew Othello was one bad dude, but wait until you see him slam dunk!

MARLON BRANDO PRESENTS

Moop Dreams

produced by Shack Creekwater

written by Jason Alexander

directed by Chunk Bunkfritter

STARRING

Move over, Creepshow! Suck a warm one, Tales from the Darkside! Trilogy of Terror? Get the fuck out!! Katasi Pictures presents the last word in 'movies that are like two or three little movies in one,' Russell Mulcahy's
TALES OF GAY.

You've seen Mulcahy's work in HIGHLANDER 2: THE QUICKENING, THE SHADOW, and the early Duran Duran videos ... But after you see TALES OF GAY, you'll stop confusing Mulcahy with the guy on M*A*S*H once and for all! Smoke it!

Tales of Gay
-- the motion picture
 

director of photography: Jan Olafsrud

music by Jack Nietzsche

produced by Leonard Moultrine

written by Chermyn Goldfarb

directed by Russell Mulcahy

rated R for violence and a whole lotta doin' the nasty

Episode 1: The Phone Call

Episode 2: Brewsky?

Episode 3: Take This Job and Smoke It

OPENS NOVEMBER 17 ALL OVER THE PLACE!!

Steinmetz Bronstein presents

A STORY THAT THE CATHOLIC CHURCH does NOT WANT YOU TO SEE.

IN FACT, IF YOU EVEN TELL SOMEBODY YOU WANT TO SEE IT, POPE JOHN PAUL II WILL PERSONALLY DROP BY AND BUMP YOUR REBELLIOUS ASS WITH THE POPE-MOBILE!!

It's been 2100 years since Avram Knesset stopped Roman centurion Titus Malorcus from stealing his grapes and beating his unleavened-bread-eating ass all over the Dead Sea. And if you subscribe to the notion that there was one year between 0 A.D. And 1 A.D., then it's been 2101. When the story of Knesset comes to theaters everywhere on December 23rd, Jews will finally be free to throw off the yoke of Mameluke tyranny and stomp on grapes like they was in the south of !@#$%* France.

A Steven P. Armbrust Film 2101

AVRAM KNESSET:
DEFENDER OF THE GRAPES
 

Written by Lewis Shmendrik

 
Director of Photography Victor Lazlo

 
Executive Producers
Steinmetz Bronstein
and
Baruch Katzenbaum

Produced by Dick Sharkwater

Edited by Szathmary Peters

Music by Combustible Edison

Gaffer: Wendy Rothenberg

Casting by Sergio Lacuna

X-ray technician: Ronto Sakatake

Animated sequence by Curtis Bloomfield

directed by Steven Armbrust

STARRING

... "Yes! YES!!" the fat guy in the first row shouted, hurling his nachos into the air. 'That's the best trailer I've seen in years!" The overweight fellow regretted losing the nachos, but he knew where to get more. He turned to face the audience, which was about 20-25 strong. "Well, people?" he said. "Does Jack Bronstein still have it? Or does Jack Bronstein HAVE it?"

A moment later, the Julia-Louis-Dreyfus-model woman yelled out, "Jack Bronstein sucks!" To the fat guy AND Jack's dismay, the chant went through the crowd like a retrovirus. They cried, "BRONSTEIN SUCKS!" for a good five minutes, muting Kevin Costner's urbane banter about rude caddies. Proud to be at the helm of a cinematic mob, Jennifer Richman pointed at Bronstein, who was having some trouble detaching his shit-covered wing-tips from the floor. "There is the oppressor! Seize him, my comrades, and your reward shall be great. Get him!"

Fat Guy had been sizing up the situation very carefully. He figured that what's-her-name was probably some kind of Amazon dyke. Yeah, Jennifer probably wore steel-reinforced underwire bras and watched shows like Real Scary Crash-Up Car Chase Deaths, Mexican Style. Better, he thought, to take out her minions first, and leave her for his idol, Jack. He waded into them, bashing male and female ass alike, providing some with a tap on the shoulder, and others with a 'no-look' kidney punch. It took him all of two minutes to 'lard' his way over to Bronstein, who finally had freed himself from the theater's sticky floor.

Just as Jennifer Richman was poised to spray Jack with mace, some bemused old woman walked in with a walker and cried, "What's going on here?"

In a flash, Fat Guy grabbed the walker and hurled it at Jennifer's midsection.

SMASH

Since then, Jennifer keeps most of her opinions to herself.

Bronstein followed the fat guy and stopped him. "Sir, you've done Hollywood a great service. There will be a reward, I'm sure. Name it, friend. Money, $, your own studio, a couple senators, babes?"

Fat Guy sipped thoughtfully at his Cherry Coke.

"Mr. Bronstein, you're too kind," he said. "I'll settle for another order of nachos."

Doubt about who the bigger jerk-off was hung in the air, but like a phony storm cloud, it just hovered there.

"You got it, Fat Guy." Marvelling at the way his new friend stuffed his big face, jack scraped off his shoes with a stick.

"So you like movies, eh?"

"MUNCH mrowr bl SLURPuh, Gulp."

"And you clearly have an eye for talent."

Fat Guy belched cheerfully and tossed away the nacho tray.

Offering him a napkin, Jack queried, "Want to make some bank, Fatty?"

"I'd be honored, Mr. Bronstein. Just keep the nachos coming."

Jack Bronstein raised his eyes to the sun defiantly. "See?" he said silently. "Shove THAT up your ass."

More Bronstein: