The hot dogs came from Ratner's "private craft services backpack"

For all the crappy movies he makes, I could kiss Brett Ratner on his fat, nacho-cheese-and-vodka stained face for all the amazing content he provides this blog. Fresh off outing himself as the guy who allegedly jizzed on Olivia Munn’s dressing room ceiling while chowing shrimp — his defense, “She wasn’t Asian then,” — is this account of a Tower Heist screening in LA.

According to Twitter and several Vulture sources: After a screening of his film Tower Heist at L.A.’s Arclight Cinemas, the director came out for a Q&A, and when asked by the moderator whether he prepares and rehearses with his actors before shooting a scene, Ratner waved his hand dismissively and said, “Rehearsal is for fags.” [Vulture]

Rehearsal is for fags. That is the most magnificent and telling thing I’ve heard since Michael Bay said, “I don’t change my style for anybody. Pussies do that.”

And on that note, I was hoping you guys could help me come up with a list of other things Brett Ratner thinks are “for fags.” Here’s what I’ve got so far:

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Not pictured: Gabourey Sidibe's trailer window.

Opening Everywhere: Tower Heist, A Very Harold & Kumar 3D Christmas

Opening Somewhere: The Son of No One

FilmDrunk Suggests: Are you kidding? TOWER HEIST! Did you read Vince’s review earlier? It’s the most unintentionally hilarious comedy since Ishtar. And of course we love Brett Ratner here. He’s the best tiny-donged crustacean jerker ever. Go see Tower Heist now.

Tower Heist

Rotten Tomatoes Score: 68% critics *cough, bullsh*t, cough*, 71% audience

Gratuitous Review Quotes:

“This is, of course, Hollywood schlock, directed by shlock-master Brett Ratner (Rush Hour). But it’s also a surprisingly effective social drama. Ratner keeps the action rooted to the here-and-now, offering a recession-times revenge fantasy where the motivations never feel fantastical, even if the heist itself does.” – Robert Levin, The Atlantic

“That proves a road way too traveled for Heist, whose finale suggests itself around the opening credits. Murphy’s lines play as conventionally humorous as Alda’s are conventionally loathsome.” – Scott Bowles, USA Today

Eddie Murphy is back in top form, reason alone to see Tower Heist, a highly entertaining and heartfelt action comedy that ought to steal more laughs [GET IT? LOL -Ed.] than any other film this holiday season. Because it doesn’t take itself too seriously or get too wrapped up in a convoluted plot, it’s actually more fun than Ocean’s 11, 12 and 13 added together. [...] With its old fashioned sensibilities and comic stunts, this crowd-pleaser is implausible if you stop to think about it—but who wants to think? -Pete Hammond, BoxOfficeMagazine

Armchair Analysis: What I love about the idea of this film is that millionaires are trying to pretend like they know how the disenfranchised minimum wagers feel. That’s why Levin’s little excerpt up there is a load of poopy. Like Brett Ratner really understands what the little people are going through when he wraps a film, has some Mexican guy drive him home in a stretch Hummer limo and then spends 20 minutes ordering hookers from a leather-bound catalog. If you’re a hotshot Hollywood director and you want to make a revenge film set against this economic turmoil? Have the IRS investigate the Kardashians and let them be deported to Armenia.

Folks, we’re about to go deep down a douche rabbit hole here, so fair warning. I promise it will be interesting, but you dance with the devil and the devil don’t change and all of that. Just know what you’re getting into. So, a while back, Olivia Munn wrote a book (“Suck it, Wonder Woman”). One of the juicier passages, so to speak, was a story about short, fat, egotistical director who performed a horrible act on himself while she was alone in a dressing room with him. Now, king crotch-fondler himself, Brett Ratner, has come forward to admit that the crotch-fondler in question was him, though he denies some of her story’s more crotch-fondly aspects. (I believe him, but we’ll get to that).

On Thursday [during an appearance on Munn's old show, Attack of the Show], Ratner came clean, saying that he was that bigwig director, but denied ever having such glistening, self-pleasuring hands. “I used to date Olivia Munn, I’ll be honest with everyone here. But when she was ‘Lisa.’ She wasn’t Asian back then,” he said.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Ah yes, the old she-wasn’t-even-Asian defense. “And bros, I think I know Asians, I’ve done three movies with Jackie Chan.”

“She was hanging out on my set of ‘After the Sunset,’ I banged her a few times, but I forgot her. Because she changed her name. I didn’t know it was the same person and so when she auditioned for me for a TV show, I forgot her, she got pissed off, and so she made up all these stories about me eating shrimp and masturbating in my trailer. And she talked about my shortcomings.” [HuffPo via TheSuperficial]

Yes, pure class, that guy. Now, as luck would have it, I actually had the misfortune of reading Olivia Munn’s book. It might be hard to remember now, but there was a time when I thought she might actually have something to say and just hadn’t been given the opportunity yet. She wrote a book? Ooh, that’s interesting, I thought, now was her chance to open up, tell the world who she really was, beyond a pretty girl in a Star Wars outfit. Instead, it was 300 pages of pictures of Olivia Munn dressed as sexy versions of historical women, badly photoshopped Olivia Munn fan art (from the chapter “My fans rule”), and bold, scintillating assertions such as, “Maybe I’m alone in this, but I don’t think so. Nerds are sexy.”

Basically, a doubling-down on her semi-fake “hot nerd girl” persona. Anyway, I say this only to dispel anyone who reads the following passage from buying the book thinking it’s going to be all anecdotes about fat directors masturbating. Ho no no, don’t we wish. In any case, here are some excerpts from the lone chapter about a fat director masturbating.

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Yeah, us too, Casey.

Brett Ratner has done something ingenious in Tower Heist. No, silly, I don’t mean he made a good movie. Jeez, are you new to this site? I mean that he’s made another perfectly innocuous and unmemorable queef of a film (Red Dragon was okay), but one whose utter dopeyness is impossible to fully convey without explaining the entire final act. Thus, most reviewers will be forced to skirt around the edges, avoiding the truly damning details to make observations such as “Well Eddie Murphy was almost kinda funny again! It has a… real neat message!”

Now, in case you’re worried about me spoiling the two or three unpredictable details of this ingenious masterwork, rest assured that I’ll save that for the end. I’ll even warn you before hand, it’ll be like an awkward first blowjob.

So, you know the plot. It’s Ocean’s 11 with a topical hook. Alan Alda plays a rich money type dude (I’d be more specific here, but the movie isn’t) who lives in the penthouse suite in the Trump Tower, where he cinematically swims laps in a roof-top pool with a hundred-dollar bill painted on the bottom (classic Jewish hedge-fund manager move). Ben Stiller plays the tower general manager, who leads a whacky crew of malcompoops as they open doors, hand out towels, remember birthdays, and generally give the residents what they pay for. “White neighbors?” asks Michael Peña (from the trailer). No, you silly goose! Service! The personal touch and all that bullsh*t! A wacky fat Jamaican in a maid outfit! (Precious’s Gabourey Sidibe).

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(Click to enlarge. If you dare.)

This Week in Posters: Twilight, The Muppets, horrible Brett Ratner posters, when diagonals attack, PLUS — VAMPIRE DOG!

This Poster: Holy hell, that is the gayest Mervyn’s ad I’ve ever seen. Ever noticed how these movies are creepy for all the wrong reasons? Like, you can tell they’re going for goth-vampire creepy, but really they’re just dinner-with-conservative-relatives creepy? I was scrolled all the way to the right on my screen, thinking Fruitcake Cullen over there trying to look hard in a purple scarf (to say nothing of the Anne Taylor sweater and wallet chain) was the gayest thing I’d ever seen. But then I scrolled back to the left and saw Kellen Lutz looking gayer than I could even believe. “Hey, Bro, does my see-through sweater match my big leather wrist cuff?”

You know how some 50s sci-fi movies are cool because they’re this antiquated idea of what the future would be like? Twilight is kind of like that, but more like “hip goth” as filtered through this dowdy Midwestern woman.  Also, I don’t know which Hollywood costume designer I can talk to about this, but being comically overaccessorized does not make you more important. I think this is somehow Johnny Depp’s fault.

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