Shocking News

My name is Pete Landelli. I came across this article and was able to convince Blogger to allow me to log into Rick's account and post this. I used to work with Chadley Bebay and this news is a shocking tragedy to say the least.

Full text:

"Early Wednesday morning Police responded to a 911 call in Bayside, Queens and found a grisly discovery. According to a note found on the scene, Queens man Chadley Q. Bebay III committed suicide by jumping off of the top floor of an apartment building. Bebay was not a resident, but when police searched the apartment window Bebay jumped from, they found the badly decomposed body of popular internet blogger Rick Flemming, 53. Bebay left a suicide note claiming he had accidently killed Flemming by forcing him to drink copious amounts of alcohol. The note went on to say Bebay was convicted of aggrevated assault months ago and was forced to abandon his internet activities. The assault charges stemmed which from an online argument. The judge sentenced Bebay to probation, house arrest, and limited his internet usage for employment purposes only. In an effort to return to entertainment blogging, Bebay tracked down his mother’s apparent former lover, Flemming, and blackmailed him into hiring him, thus allowing Bebay to return to blogging. But things got very grim; as the note goes on to explain. Bebay was keeping Flemming drunk more and more of the time, until Flemming choked on his own vomit, while tied naked to a chair. Bebay let the body decompose in Flemming's apartment, which Bebay continued to live in. After struggling with guilt for two months, Bebay plunged to his death. Services have not been scheduled."

I killed Rick Flemming and Now I must Commit Suicide.

Sorry everyone. This is the last you will ever hear from me.


I have killed Rick Flemming. I forced alcohol down his throat until he puked on his own vomit. Now I am going to kill myself.

I am so sorry for everything.

Chadley Q. Bebay

Beverly Hills Chi-wa-wa.

Hey Peepists!
Its so nice to be back online with y'all reporting on movies. Its my passion... My life's passion. My boss Rick Flemming is only on the second of 12 steps, so I am gonna be taking over for quite some time...
This weekend I had the absolute pleasure of seeing Beverly Hills

Chihuahua. This flick had it all. A talking dog (who was just as cute as a button), racist jokes, (I'm a sucker for jokes that celebrate our differences), and the flashy glamour you can only find in L.A. I loved the movie, but I did have an attack of IBS, and had to sit out for a while. Literally!! HAHAHA... So. I don't know whats happening to me. ThiNGs ArE LooKING StrANGE...Um... I have weird thoughts sometimes... Sometimes I get a tickle in my rectum... I picture myself choking the next-door neighbors to death... Mommy? MOMMY?! ARE YOU THERE!??

-Chadley

New Editor in Chief: Chadley Quince BeBay III

Hiya Peepholes! Some of you may know me, some of you may not. I am Chadley Quince BeBay, celebrity entertainment blogger. I rose to stardom co-authoring the hugely popular blog Entertainment Weakey. What a rush that was... After a legal battle stripped me of my rights to engage in movie criticism and heated debate with passionate movie fans, I fell into semi-obscurity. Well, Rick Flemming has granted me access to my beloved fans once again. You see, an exception was made to allow me access to the web if it was for work. All it took was the threat of a paternity suit, and a bottle of Remy Martin a day and I got a job at Flemming on Film. The pay is shit, but... I'm BACK! Let's just say it wasn't hard me to get Rick to sign on the dotted line in his current state. While he recovers from a tiny little relapse, I will be filling in. And let me tell you...I like my new digs....ha. Ha. Ha ha ha. HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHA!!!!! I will have a new review up for you soon.

-Chad.

From the Vault...Basic Instinct

Sorry I haven't posted in a bit... There has been a bit of a problem. In a post I made a few weeks back I made mention of a waitress named Jenny Bebay, that I may have had a rendezvous with, oh, 20 years ago or so. Seems like her son Chadley thinks I may be his real father. He said he googled her name... and came across my page. Anyway... He won't stop calling. He said he will drop it...if I give him a job at this blog! Can you fucking believe this shit? Anyway, I have to publish another archived review today. I am having a phone-conference with this kid's probation officer...

Basic Instinct (1992)

Ladies and Gentlemen, every 25 or so years, a motion picture comes along that is so inspired, so artfully executed, so cleverly plotted, layered and nuanced, that all other films pale in comparison, as shallow and vapid exercises in mediocrity. And then there are films with lots of tits.

Basic Instinct falls into the latter category, but that does not keep it from earning a place in history. Its an ass-masterwork, a picasso of pussy, a tittie tour de force... And one of the most important..oooh.. uhhhh....mmmm...... uh.. be right back...

Anyway where was I.. Ah yes... From the first time we see Sharon Stone's inviting pussy... uhn..

mmmmm....huhhh..huhhh... Sorry. Uh.. okay, back to the review: Michael Douglas....uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uhhhhhhhh.......ahhhhhh. Whoooo... damn. I'm sorry guys. This movie really stuck with me, I can't seem to...ughhhh.. shake.... it..UHNNNN!!!!!!!! Anyway, great flick....

5 Flems.

Death Race

Hello everyone! I had a wonderful weekend in the Florida Keys. My oh my, what a time. My old college roomate Dan Gorman and his son Brad came down from N.Y. for a couple days. We took the boat out, tossed back a couple brews. It was great... I may have to sell the boat though. Ever since the divorce I have had some serious cashola problems...

Anyway I was asked to an exclusive viewing of this new actioner Death Race, and since I was so stress-free and relaxed from a weekend on the water, I figured why not?

Why not, indeed... This "movie" is tantamount to a 90-minute stream of flatulence blown mercilessly into the viewers face. The leading man looks like my building's Super after a night of drinking, and I don't know if he's Irish or what, but I can't understand a word he says. His head is lumpy and he is going bald. In my day we had real leading men: Burt Renyolds and...well I guess just Burt Renyolds... Anyway, nobody in this picture had one iota of charisma, so I won't hold it against whats-his-name.

Of the countless gripes I have with this 'film', the worst has to be the casting of Tyrese Gibson. He seems put there to serve one sole purpose: To spontaneously laspse into a wide and bright-eyed-grin, squinting and sort of shake his head in joyful disbelief. I don't know... I don't find him cute, and I don't even know what he was supposed to be in this film.

The plot revolves around, you guessed it: a Death Race. Big. Fucking. Deal. This is the kind of script you usually find propping up some exec's wobbly massage table, but somehow it got turned into a real live film. Too bad, there is a Weinstein somewhere with a strained lumbar and he ain't happy.

-1/4 Flems.

From The Vault: Candy Man

Here is another old review from the archives, historical in its significance as it was my first review in Miami. It also marks the first time I went by Rick. Also the rating system was officially changed from "Richards" to "Flems" at the suggestion of Carl Deschamps, then-editor of The Miami Herald. We were the best of friends until his untimely death, and he even claims to have named his kid after me. At this point in my life I was still married, Jasper (my girlish son) was nothing more than a thundercloud on the horizon, I was fucking waitresses left and right (this one waitress.... I'll never forget her name: Jenny Bebay. Sounds hot huh?) I had it all folks. That was, until I reviewed Candyman.

Candyman (1992)-

Hello guys! The name's Rick Flemming, and I am pleased to come from the Salt Lake City Dispatch to join the team here at the Miami Herald. My inaugeral review: Candyman.

My first gripe with this picture is this: The goddamn thing was too dark to see. Now I know what you are thinking...but I'm sorry. I could barely see Candyman. Also his voice was constantly overpowered by the score, which consisted of one sustained note. Not a good note, either. One of the bad notes. The leading lady was chewing gum loudly through every scene, and I swear to god I saw toilet paper stuck to her shoe. Candyman's hook was obviously rubber, easily squishing against whatever surface it touched, but I noticed an even stranger phenomenon: At the end of many scenes, I could actually hear the word "Cut!" being shouted from off-scene. All in all the movie was outrageously awful. A steaming column of dung standing upright on its own, begging to be squashed. Well, I will gladly be the one to squash it.
-Half a Flem

Star Wars: The Clone Wars

Hello loyal fans. I knew hiring Winston was going to be a problem. He married my sister, so he is technically my brother, but sheesh. The guy's a dweeb. My sis could have done a lot better. And to answer his egregious claim that I have issues with alcohol...Well, if you couldn't drink one glass of wine without hitting on all of your wife's friends, you might point fingers too.

Moving on. I was invited to an exclusive screening of Star Wars: The Clone Wars and I have one thing I gotta say. If I ever run into George Lucas, I will tear the beard off of his bloated face and stuff it up his asshole. This movie is the worst kind of childish shit. I loved the original Star Wars. The next two not so much. The 3 more recent pictures? Egad. Don't get me started...

At least those whimsical turds had people in it. This movie is either clay, cartoons, or computer cartoons, I can't even tell. The mouths move out of synch with the characters words...You can see strings on the X box or X Fighters or whatever the fuck those planes are.. Its a mess. I really dont have any more time or energy to further comment on this atrocious shit-fest. See it if you want, but for fuck's sake don't see it.

Half a Flem.
-R.F.

Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants 2

Hello my dearly devoted readers. Due to popular demand, and neccessity, I have been asked to write another review for Rick's website while he deals with his personal [alcoholism] issues. I received a call from Mr. Flemming on the night my review for Space Chimps hit the web, and he told me that it sucked. His exact words. "It sucked." "You suck." That's what I told him. Then he said, "Write another review." So I said, "Okay, I'll write another review." Put that in your pipe and smoke it Ricky-boy.

Last week I visited my 11 year old neice Olivia. She told me that after years of waiting, she had seen what she felt was the greatest movie ever made. She went on and on about how funny the movie was, how she related with the characters, how she felt like she was best friends with them, how she felt like her best friends were like them, how she wanted to have adventures like them, talk like them, eat like them, live like them and eventually grow up to be like them. But I was never a fan of Sex & The City, so I saw Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants 2 instead.

The movie was crap folks. I never saw the original Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants (from now on I will only call it SOTTP), but I'm glad I didn't waste my time. It's about four girls who, for some reason (like I said I didn't see the original SOTTP) are constantly sharing a raggity old pair of jeans between them. This "magical" pair of pants is supposed to bring the girls closer together, I think someone might have mentioned that a gypsy put a curse on them or something. Once again, never saw the original SOTTP. Never saw it, not interested.
Please do yourself a favor and avoid this movie at all costs. The midnight IMAX showing I attended was empty for a reason.....SOTTP2 is pure garbage. Half a Flem.

From The Vault: Romancing the Stone

Hello guys. Sorry I don't have a new review for ya. Winston, my oh-so-lovely brother-in-law, is going to help me keep this thing up to date. I have had some problems lately. Seems my ex-wife wants increased custody of my son Jasper. I have been run ragged by that cunt. Anyway my sister Trish has been right by my side this whole time. She thought her husband Winston could lend a hand with this blog until I get my shit together. Since he is the only guy I know who can write, I thought 'why not?' Hopefully his reviews won't always be as boring as that last one. Sheesh. Anyway here's a review from the vault to hold you over until another movie comes the Regal down the street. Editor's Note: this is my very first published review!

Romancing the Stone (1984):
Hello everyone! My name is Richard Flemming and I am the new movie reviewer for the Salt Lake City Dispatch. My first review: Romancing the Stone an adventure-cum-romantic comedy starring Michael Douglas, Kathleen Turner, Danny Devito and some other random actors. This picture promised to be the smash hit of March 1984, and judging from the previews, I thought it may be just that.
WRONG. This movie stinks worse than dog shit in a sauna. Aside from the incomprehensible dialogue (for example, Douglas repeats the line: "Daddy made a Dum Dum! Daddy made a Dum Dum!" every time anything went wrong), near-pornographic sex scenes and nudity (we see several prolonged shots of Danny Devito's shockingly diminutive scrotum during a pointlessly drawn out 'skinny-dipping' scene), utter disregard for the likeability of the main characters (Douglas, for example, alludes to a past conviction on a few counts of child molestation), the worst part may be the casting of Kathleen Turner. Are we supposed to buy this towering behemoth of raw masculinity as a leading lady? I'm sorry, I have met tow truck drivers with less ass-hair than this monster. If you are looking for some real movie going magic, go see Splash. If they ever make a sequel to this, I will quit the business.
1 Richard (editors note: I had yet to change the rating system to increments of Flems.)

Space Chimps

Hello my dearly devoted readers. Allow me to introduce myself, as it has become obvious that Mr. Flemming does not have the courtesy, nor the respect, to do so for me. My name is Winston Halesworth, and I have been hired to review movies from time to time for this web log. Keep in mind that I only get the chance to make it to the movies once a month when my community group takes us all down to the Regal the third Saturday of every month. The first Saturday of every month is reserved for our trip to the Bowl 'n Sip, the second saturday is reserved for our trip to the Middletown Strip Mall (love it), and the fourth Saturday is reserved for our trip to the park where I fancy feeding pidgeons. Sometimes there are five Saturdays in the month, and that is when we meet in the community center and sit around a table full of delicious pastries and stare at each other in silence. But I digress. You want to hear about movies. And movies you shall hear about. This week: Space Chimps.
First off - let me start by saying that Space Chimps was not our first choice. Frederick (head of the Middletown Senior Citizen Committee) was supposed to reserve 20 tickets for the new Kevin Costner blockbuster Swing Vote, but thought that it was a documentary about the 2000 Presidential election. So instead he bought 20 tickets to Space Chimps. You can imagine 20 seniors' confusion when he handed us all tickets that said, "Space Chimps" on it. What the hell is a Space Chimp anyway? Space Chimps.

Anyway - the movie stunk big time. It was a combination of robots and computer robots to make it seem like monkeys were actually astronauts, if that makes sense to any of you (didn't for me). The strangest part? The monkey spoke. That's right, they spoke through the entire movie. English. The monkeys spoke English through the entire movie. Are you following me? The computer monkey robots spoke Eng---listen, it's not even worth my time to try explaining this to you. It just doesn't make sense from the very beginning and it leaves a bad taste in your mouth for the remainder of the picture. Not to mention the scene where a disco ball inexplicably drops from their space ship and the monekys all start dancing to the tune of "Staying Alive". I would avoid this at all costs. I've seen garbage in my day, but this really takes the cake. The garbage cake that is. 1 Flem.

Review From the Vault: Howard the Duck

Hello guys, as you know the original page, Flemming on Film got deleted, so until I get the necessary bandwidth I cannot archive all of my past reviews. (We can't all be Roger Fucking Ebert). So every Friday I will treat ya to a classic review from the Flemming Vault: Enjoy!

Howard the Duck (1986)

Every now and then a film comes out that is so awful, so unbelievably asinine, so painfully pointless, so devoid of reason, logic, skill, or an essential humanity, with absolutely no redeeming qualities that words cannot describe just how excruciating the experience of watching it is. But I reviewed Big Trouble in Little China last week, so let's move on...

Howard the Duck may be the best picture released this year so far. The main character is literally a duck (albeit a duck of a larger stature than one might normally expect. Hint: he ain't from our world...) In short our fine feathered protagonist is absolutely charming. He looks adorable, and I fell in love with him the moment they showed him on screen. Love the Duck. Once they sold me on Howard, the rest was was pure movie magic.

The film had it all: Ducks, Explosions, Hot Women, Ancient Evil, Rock and Roll, Outer space, etc. My favorite part of the film had to be when Howard and the female lead almost have sex. I am normally against inter-species relationships, but I think it is a testament to the deft hand of the filmmakers that I was able to toss aside my preconceived notions of love and I found myself not only rooting for Howard, but slightly engorged as well!

Another highlight was Principal Rooney. He's the kind of guy you love to hate. I was very confused as to what he was supposed to be in this movie, but I love his performance nonetheless. The guy is creepy. He seems like a child molester or something, although we all know that is due to his skill as a serious actor.

Anyway, I have heard whispers of a sequel and I don't think I will be the only one waiting anxiously for Howard the Duck 2: Return to Planet Duck (Note: I came up with this title, nothing is official yet...just my own little suggestion...)

-5 Flems, the absolute highest score achievable

Wall-e

Hey guys. My readership has gone down lately, and it has a lot to do with the move. For those who are not sure what move I am talking about, my page Flemming on Film was deleted by my ex-wife Miriam (can't prove it though...) and I had to change the page to Flemming on Films. Anyway, readership has gone down, mostly because people aren't sure where to find it. Please pass the word on: Add and 's' and I will get success. Ahem... Anyway expect some of my archived reviews to show up every now and then, since they are no longer available electronically.

Anyway, onto the review. I saw Wall-e with my son Jasper and his snot-nosed friends last night. He had a birthday party but Chuck E. Cheese's was packed full. (Do Mexican children even know what Chuck E. Cheese's is?) so I had to bring 11 brats to the Regal around the corner. Anyway Wall-E is the story of a lonely robot, left to squeeze shit into cubes on earth, while all the people float around in space, getting fat, etc. An IPod lands on earth, and romance ensues.

The movie is the worst kind of puerile kiddy shit. I mean I don't get computer cartoons. If they want to be real, build the damn robots yourself. If you want a cartoon, call up Hanna Barbara, but what the fuck is the point of this halfway shit? Anyway, the space scenes made me sick, and the lasers and whatnot made my eyes hurt. Jesus...Also everytime I heard someone speak, I just pictured that celebrity hamming it up in a depressing recording studio with a starbucks in one hand looking unshaven and slovenly. I have a hard time suspending disbelief when it comes to computer cartoons.

Anyway, I fell asleep and woke up with the popcorn bucket on my head with those little shits tying my shoes together. To get back at them, I told em we would stop for ice cream on the way home, but instead I just drove on silently and stonefaced, dropping each of them off. They were too scared at my demeanor to dare ask about the ice cream. Ah... revenge is sweet. Anyway... only because I thought the iPod was cute I am gonna give this:

2 Flems

Hell Boy 2

I want to respond to the numerous emails I got last week pertaining to my review of those two Brendan Fraser movies (and yes I spelled his name wrong before.) I let things get personal and I attacked Mr. Fraser. Lets just say him and I go way back and leave it at that. Sorry for publishing such a biased review. Incidentally, those movies were about as enjoyable as anal sex with a baseball bat. Moving on...
I took my son Jasper (yeah I know...my ex named him) to the Regal for some shit called Hell Boy 2 last night. I only get Thursdays with him and I figure I can kill two birds with one stone and take in a picture while we are together. He gets to have a little fun, and I don't have to pretend like I enjoy this kid's company. (he is constantly talking nonsense.) Anyway, I normally don't go for kiddy shit like comic book movies, but I thought I would give this flick a chance.
Wish I hadn't. The movie reeks. The lead character looks like someone spray-painted Frankenstein and I cannot understand a word the guy says. In fact, the sound at the theater was so low, I don't think I heard much of anything. The other characters in the film have funny faces too. Some look like fish, some look like vampires or something. Look, the thing stinks.

The action made me sick (why do they have to spin cameras around like that anyway?!) and the theater was full of little brats throwing waterballons and stuff. Hell on earth for a grown man. I really have nothing else to say about this picture except that its weaker then a cup of Folger's at church. They really dropped the ball on this one.
1 Flem.