'Teen Choice Awards' recap: So THAT'S why people worship the Jonas Brothers!

They can FLY. I had no idea! During last night's Teen Choice Awards, the dark 'n' stormy second coming of Hanson "hung out" above the crowd in a stunt almost as pointless as their steady stream of candid YouTube videos. I love how the one on the right (just looked it up: It's Kevin!!!) seems to be carefully mapping out a route through the watermelon-gum-infused ether of teens and their choices. The trio's flying was apparently "powered by the screams of teenage girls," but if that were true, they would have been up there the entire time, hoisted higher and higher every time Miley Cyrus barked out something bossy and petulant. Older man Rainn Wilson only had to mention the word "brothers" for the entire audience to start SCREECHING in anticipation. Alas, the Jonas Brothers (agggggggghhhhhhhhh!) have floated up to heaven, where they'll fit right in, because the sodas there really do cost $50.

Other Teen Choice highlights included repeated cuts to Jerry O'Connell (O'Connell Cam was to Teen Choice as Nicholson Cam is to the Oscars), Mariah Carey hitting the high notes just one shade lower than the tonal range only dogs can hear, and an award called -- seriously -- Choice MySpacer. (Something called a "Ryan Sheckler" won.) The winners are listed here, and this concludes the mini-est TV Watch in history. Leave your reactions to the show -- and creatively spelled shrieks because I used the word "brothers" three times -- in the comments. (Cranky complaints beginning with "When I was a kid..." will also suffice.)

'DWTS Talk' finale: The Season 6 Awards Special!

Against my better judgment (as this video includes footage of me "dancing" in the Highlands Middle School Show Choir), I'm throwing caution to the sequins-infested wind and posting this. No deleting it now -- this is the Internet! It's the DWTS Talk season finale, brought to you in part by questionable fashion choices, balls, red velvet cake, video producer/paso doble extraordinaire Jason Averett (who gets an "11!"), Dancin' Dawnie Walton, short-term EW.com intern Maksim Chmerkovskiy, the letters F, R, I, N, G, and E, and finally (seriously...will this sentence ever end? yes) Viewers Like You. Whew! Enjoy.

We listened so you don't have to: The 'Idol' songwriting competition

Michael Slezak: So Adam, it's the final day of voting for the American Idol Songwriting competition. You ready to dive into the land of "I Believe This Is My Moment Like This Inside Your Now"? (Ew.)
Adam B. Vary: Yes. And thank you for diving with me — last year I think I was the only one on staff to listen to (and rate) all 20 songs in the Idol competition, and while I correctly predicted that "This Is My Now" was the only song that was even near "good" enough to win, it nearly killed me.
Slezak: I cannot even begin to fathom how heinous those other 19 songs sounded.
ABV: I seem to recall one or two that were about suicide. By the way, you gotta register first before you can vote.
Slezak: Gack.
ABV: I know. Because voting for the finale song needs to be fair and scientific. Whereas speed dialing for the actual winner of the show is totally fine.
Slezak: Indeed! Okay, just got the confirmation email. So first up: "When You Come from Nothing." No effing way I am voting for a song with that title.
ABV: So this woman's stuck in the crowd, but won't give in to her doubts. Or doubts in general.
Slezak I have doubts about my ability to get through 19 more songs. Shall we move on?
ABV: You've got to believe in something when you come from nothing, Slezak.
ABV: Having heard the 20 mostly ballad-y songs from last year, I'm actually gonna give this poor downtrodden lady 5 stars (out of 10) for being uptempo.
Slezak: I give it one star.
ABV: You're gonna be wishing for negative ratings soon.

I saw it, so you don't have to: Ben Stein's 'Expelled'

In retrospect, I really shoulda known better. I'd clicked through the bottom-of-the-barrel Rotten Tomatoes rating, the various erudite bloggers slamming it, and, of course, my esteemed cubicle-neighbor Adam Markovitz's scathing D-grade review. But still, it had Ben Stein! He was funny in Ferris Bueller! And me, I have a slight glutton-for-punishment streak. So I succumbed to the relentless TV ad campaign earlier this week and went to see a matinee showing of the anti-evolution documentary Expelled. Worst decision ever.

Aside from its loony-fringe politics and sheer stupidity — think, for a moment, about how dumb you'd have to be to subtitle your deadly serious pseudo-science film "No Intelligence Allowed" — this movie is just excruciatingly bad from an aesthetic perspective. Imagine if the grating schoolteacher Stein played in Bueller got a whole movie to himself, and it was a holier-than-thou culture-war diatribe instead of a fizzy teen comedy, and also Stein's character was revealed to be an ignorant creep with a penchant for wildly inappropriate Holocaust references. Now I understand why Ferris wanted that day off so desperately!

Anyone else sit through this monstrous excuse for a movie? I stuck around for the whole thing, and never have 90 minutes felt longer. I actually started groaning and muttering at the screen when Stein shamelessly exploited the memory of the millions whom Hitler murdered — which, apparently, was Charles Darwin's fault somehow?! (Seriously, what was Stein thinking with that?) I'd apologize to the audience members who were irritated by my involuntary heckling, but there were only like four of them, and they were people who had paid money to see Expelled, so I don't really feel too bad. Anyway, take it from me: Do not see this movie under any circumstances. Not ironically, not so you can mock it in the footnotes of your Ph.D dissertation on molecular biology, not even because you think it might make a funny "I saw it, so you don't have to" blog item. And if you already made the mistake I did and subjected yourself to this stinker, go ahead and vent your feelings below — and please accept my condolences...

Miss USA 2008: Presented by Maxim?

Friday night, while my sister was in town for a "Being Fearless" conference and listening to Mia Farrow speak about Darfur, I was lounging in her hotel room and watching the Miss USA pageant for the first time in at least a decade. Before you say, "I know who got the brains in that family," you should be aware that my sister asked me to watch it, and that she was thrilled that she made it back to the room in time for the Final Question.

This year's pageant, hosted by Donny and Marie Osmond on NBC, was in Vegas, which I'm assuming is why the 51 contestants started the show in skimpy, sequined cocktail dresses. Here, you can really appreciate the detailing on the bodices of their garments in this video of the Top 15. (Would it have killed them to pan up to their faces?) The swimsuit competition was full of amazing little moments as the contestants, clothed in faux fur wraps, black bikinis, and stilettos, worked the stage to a 10-minute live version of Finger Eleven's "Paralyzer." (My favorite moment being at 9:40, when a cameraman shot through a contestant's legs to capture one of the band members.) Next, came the "evening gown parade" to Rihanna's "Umbrella." I'm still trying to figure out why Miss Missouri thought it was a good idea to show her thong, and why Miss Oklahoma's cutout dress earned her a 9.318. Of course, only the Top 5 actually got to speak. I was disappointed that judge Rob Schneider's name wasn't one of the five drawn for the Final Question (embedded below). But at least we got Project Runway winner Christian Siriano! He asked Miss Oklahoma which famous person she'd like to help better herself. Naturally, she chose Britney Spears, which wouldn't have been a bad answer had she said that it was for the sake of Spears' kids and of the children who still look up to her. (Instead, it was so Spears could "go on to the next deal.") I believe Heather Mills deserves full credit for dashing Miss Pennsylvania's hopes: Mills asked her if it's a good thing that cosmetics companies are marketing beauty products to girls in elementary school. Pennsylvania's answer: It depends on the product.

Here's my question: Is the Miss USA pageant always this ridiculous*, or did I happen to catch a particularly noteworthy year?

*Yes, I'm just jealous of their bodies. You're absolutely right.

I saw it so you don't have to: 'Step Up 2 the Streets'

Hello PopWatchers. My name is Jill.

And I'm a dance junkie.

Movies, TV shows, theater... if there's poppin', lockin', breakin', clownin', steppin', krumpin' or tappin' (yes, tap dancing. If it's cool enough for Savion Glover, it's damn sure cool enough for me), you know I'll be watching. Dance movies, in particular, are my dirty little secret. I blame it on the 10 years of jazz and tap lessons as a kid, plus another three years of hip-hop dancing in college. I don't watch these movies for the plotlines, I assure you — it's all about the dancing for me. And I've found that the more cheese-alicious the storyline is, the better the dance scenes.

So it was no surprise that I found myself powerless to resist the siren call of Step Up 2 the Streets. It's also safe to say I'm never going to get "Low" by Flo Rida out of my head. Ever.

Step Up 2: The New Class (as I've taken to calling it) was certainly diligent in its adherence to the dance movie formula. You know the one — the main character has something to prove to parents, teachers, friends, whatever... take your pick. How does he/she do it? With a dance-off, of course! Ah, if only problems in real life could be solved this way. "Excuse me, Visa? Yeah, I can't pay my credit card bill this month. But lemme show you these sweet moves I've been working on, and let's just see if we can't come to a mutual understanding, okay?"

'The Celebrity Apprentice' recap: Walking over Vinnie

Okay, so could last night have been any worse? Not only was I nursing a fever and was forced to miss Lost’s premiere in order to blog about The Celebrity Apprentice (oh, to have TiVo), but NBC also decided to punish all of us TV watchers by giving us not one, but two hours of this sad excuse for television entertainment (please, oh please let the rumored upcoming end to the writers’ strike be true!). So please forgive me, PopWatchers, if this week’s recap is brief and a bit joyless. Because if anything can suck the life out of me more than the flu, it’s Celebrity Apprentice.

On the upside, however, last night’s episode wasn’t short on drama (a welcome change from last Thursday’s snoozer). Not that we really needed two hours of petty conflict, but let’s face it: Trump is usually prone to overindulgence. And though it was a letdown to wait two hours only to see Vinnie’s resignation, I have to give the producers major props for toasting the actor’s ouster with a Journey classic and a cut to black. Oh, don’t stop believing, Vinnie. 

Last night’s challenge was to create a campaign to raise awareness about Crocs’ shoe-recycling program. On the men’s side, Hydra once again decided to use Lennox "I Like Cats" Lewis as their campaign figurehead, proving that their creativity might be wearing thin. But before we delve into the men’s plans, why don’t we give three cheers for our favorite boxer? Lennox certainly made more of a contribution this go-round than just stating his affection for the cute kitties, but it was Trace who ultimately created Hydra’s slogan of choice: “Wear Them, Share Them.” And as much as we might question the team’s originality, one has to admit that Piers’ ultimately ill-conceived plan to send Vinnie to infiltrate Empresario as a mole was quite clever.

People applauded at the end of 'Rambo.' Including me.

Here are the reasons I enjoyed Sylvester Stallone's Rambo, or what my colleague Marc Bernardin has affectionately dubbed "the best movie 1986 never gave us."

• You can actually summarize the plot in one sentence: After reluctantly leading a group of naive missionaries into war-torn Burma, Rambo reluctantly busts their captive asses out. Sometimes, you don't need five intertwining story lines. (Stallone's scary-big forearms are mystery enough.)

• Rambo's "thousand-yard stare": That's what one of the mercenaries on Rambo's team calls it. And after four films, I still love it. Sometimes, you don't need to tell someone to "f--- off" (although I appreciate it when Rambo does that, as well).

• You know the bad guys are gonna get it. And that they deserve it. And that Stallone will know how to film it: Stallone, who co-wrote and directed the movie, overwhelms you with the brutality of the Burmese army so you don't have to feel guilty for being alright with them getting an arrow through the head, or decapitated, or blown up. It's like watching a wide receiver take a vicious hit in HD. The man knew what he was getting into, right, and it looks so awesome that you forget what a cheap shot it probably was.

Who got 'snubbed' by the Razzies?

Everybody loves the Golden Raspberries, and why not? In a long, drawn-out awards season where wealthy, glamorous folks take home trophy upon trophy upon trophy, it's nice to have a bitchy, non-congratulatory antidote. Heck, Oscar winner Halle Berry showed up to collect her own Worst Actress trophy for Catwoman back in 2005. Viva, Razzies!

And yet I've got a beef with the folks behind the ceremony. Look at the films that led the pack when Razzie nominations were announced earlier today: I Know Who Killed Me grabbed nine, while Norbit and I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry got slapped with eight apiece. Having actually attended two out of those three films for I Saw It So You Don't Have To -- Killed Me (pictured, left) almost killed me, Chuck and Larry made me want to (up)Chuck -- I can't argue they're not worthy, and yet, what about the woeful performances that mucked up otherwise good (or at least decent) movies? Or the totally abysmal efforts by actors who you'd normally expect to be fantastic? It's one thing to shoot at fish in a barrel such as Jessica Alba in Awake, but I feel like the Razzie committee ought to be digging deeper, making sure they "honor" not just the obviously bad, but the unexpectedly awful as well.

While watching Live Free or Die Hard on demand a few weeks back, I couldn't get over the way Timothy Olyphant (pictured, right) sucked all the energy from the room every time he appeared as computer-savvy baddie Thomas Gabriel. Where the heck is his Razzie nod? (Apologies to my pal Mandi Bierly, who's a big fan, and who's just announced she's not speaking to me for the next 15 minutes.) While we're on the topic, who else deserves to have their subpar work celebrated, Golden Raspberry-style? Let's start the list of snubs in the comments section below!

Crowned: The Mother of All Misogyny

You probably don’t watch Crowned: The Mother of All Pageants. Good for you. Take last night’s debacle: Challenge no. 1 was supposed to teach the mother/daughter pairs how to maintain composure. Stand on a rotating platform, they were told, and hold a plastic smile while the other teams try to distract you. Of course, by “distract” they meant “hurl insults at and demean.” Worst example: team “Beauty Is Skin Deep” Angela and Tenia decided that they’d knock financially strapped Moya and Jenileigh (pictured) off their pedestal by engaging in class warfare, sneering that their hair extensions cost more than their rivals’ entire wardrobes. As if that weren’t enough, challenge no 2. called for each contestant pair to create a 60-second video blog, explaining why they should win. One daughter grew so frustrated with her mother’s faulty memory she sniped, “I guess I'm going to have to be a bitch to you today.” Really? Just today? Somehow we doubt that.

'Supernanny' season premiere: Who needs sound anyway?

I had Supernanny on mute last night because sometimes I like to pretend I'm super-productive. Super-productive in my apartment means sitting around reading the Internet while watching reality TV with the sound off.

Anyway, I happened to glance up during this four-and-a-half year-old's milestone moment (pictured) wherein Supernanny lets her know it's finally okay to brush her own teeth instead of having her clueless (but all-in-all pretty sweet) mother brush them for her while she kicks and screams on a sofa. I turned the sound on, and it turned out this episode was a bit of a snoozer. Too bad I didn't realize there was a second episode on right after that, featuring a heartbreaking, I-can't-believe-this-is-on-TV (but isn't nearly every show like that at this point?) story of two teenage daughters-turned-primary-caregivers who actually called Supernanny themselves.

Bottom line: UGH. Way to go, culture. Lookin' great in '08!

After the jump, what I should have said when asked to possibly write a blog post about Supernanny...

Things I learned while watching 'Clash of the Choirs'

Clash of the Choirs premiered last night on NBC. Were you expecting Laurence Olivier as Zeus and Bubo the Owl? Sorry, no Titans in this Clash, only choirs. More specifically, five local choirs led by celebrities in their hometowns. The clashing promised in the title? They fight with their power to harmonize and dance in various formations! I would have preferred seeing the choristers throw down with their fists rather than their throats, but that's another show.

Still, despite the disappointing lack of Harry Hamlin (and hand-to-hand combat), Clash of the Choirs entertained in ways both good and scary. It was also educational. Here are some things I learned from the show:

• I cannot tell Samantha Harris from Maria Menounos. Seriously, even after she said her name, I still thought that Dancing with the Stars' Samantha Harris was pretending to be someone else just to try and prove that she can handle being a solo host. When "Maria Menounos" became flustered by Michael Bolton's screaming fans, I was almost certain that some conspiracy was afoot.

• Nick Lachey is terrible at the reality show fake-out. After auditioning singers in Cincinnati, Nick assembled thirty singers into three groups of ten. He told them that there was only room for twenty, so one group would be cut. Then, he turned to one group and gave the worst reality show fake-out I've ever seen. He said, "I'm sorry…that it's cold in December in NY!" Ugh.

I Survived a Holiday TV-Movie Marathon!

How have you been getting ready for the holidays? Shopping for soon-to-be-outmoded electronic gifts? Baking various types of berry pies? Dragging warm and unfashionable clothes out of storage? Nope, not me. I've been busy watching Christmas-themed original TV movies. Ten of them, in fact. Not Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman, either — we're talking about those happy, sappy, and sometimes crappy flicks that crowd the Hallmark Channel, Lifetime, and ABC Family around this time of year. Whaaaa, you say? Are you some sort of twisted self-hurter? And wait a sec... aren't you Jewish?

My reasons for engaging in the holy mother of all endurance tests were strictly professional: I was constructing EW's second annual holiday-movie-cliché checklist, which reveals how many of those well-worn plot gimmicks (Old Flames Reignite, Magical Occurrence, etc.) appeared in each of these movies. To complete this mission, I had to sit, sober, through approximately 900 minutes of flicks like An Accidental Christmas, Holiday Switch, and Holiday in Handcuffs (pictured, with stars Melissa Joan Hart and Mario Lopez).  And, oh, the things I witnessed during my movie marathon: The re-sparkling of teen stars from years past (Nicole Eggert! Shannen Doherty!). Feisty, funny grandmas who like their egg nog with extra sauce. Mistletoe mischief. People stranded in awful weather. The irony-free delivery of lines like "Do you believe in miracles?" and "I set out to offer somebody else a Christmas miracle, but I ended up with my own." There were a few surprises here and there; the characters in Handcuffs were edgy enough to use words like "boink," "slut," and "pornstar hair."

But here's the craziest thing to report from the trenches: I actually got a little misty-eyed during not one movie, but two. (I've blocked out the specific incidents, but I believe that both Lost Holiday and The Note were responsible for mildly activating my tear ducts.) What does this mean? Maybe I do believe in Christmas, er, non-denominational miracles after all.

Still, you're probably wondering: Dan, what did you get for your far-beyond-the-call-of-duty journalism? A raise? A promotion? Check this out: I received a phone call from my editor-in-friend, Dalton Ross, who said, "I'm in the middle of some much more important work right now, but I wanted to let you know: Great job on that chart." In the spirit of the holidays, I told him that his kind praise was truly the greatest present of all. I was lying through my teeth, of course. So now all I can do is to desperately hope that when he gets a free moment, he'll reflect back on all of the hours of my life that I can never have back — hours that could've been spent helping the homeless or watching reruns of America's Funniest Home Videos — and decide to give me a 50-inch 1080p flat-screen TV. If not, I'd even settle for some spiked egg nog.

Are you watching these new holiday TV movies? If so, which ones (if any) are great and which ones just grate?

I bought it so you don't have to: Project Runway's BITTEN dress

That's right, folks, the first shopping day after last Wednesday's Project Runway, I headed to a Steve & Barry's store—in Orlando, FL, where I was spending Thanksgiving—to check out contestant Victorya Hong's winning "neck-tie trapeze" frock (pictured here, on a model) when it debuted in Sarah Jessica Parker's BITTEN collection.

Much to my dismay, the dress was not available in the charcoal color fabric that I thought I saw during the episode (my editor argues otherwise, but I saw dark gray on my sad, non-HDTV screen), but instead in black and burgundy. Other than that, no other design details were changed, though on the rack, the stretch-cotton dress could easily have been mistaken for an artist's smock.

After trying on the dress and futzing with the attached scarf/bow/necklace thingie, I decided that for $19.98 it was worth taking home. Let's be honest, the Project Runway and SJP stamps of approval probably swayed me a little (okay, a lot), but I really did like the fact that the garment was both forgiving and simple. Plus, it has pockets. Yay!

Also available for $14.98 was a grey and black version of the shrunken vest Victorya put over her design, but I passed on that, because really, for most of us, "shrunken" is just a code word for "impractical."

Though a Steve & Barry's spokesperson says the dress has been "flying off the racks," there were plenty left in all sizes in the Orlando store when I went, so I'm betting there's still time to grab one. (Sorry online shoppers, you can only get it in stores.)

So, Pop Watchers, tell me: Have any of you bought the dress, or at least gone to look at it? And what did you think of SJP as a guest judge? Did she pick the right challenge winner, or is there another design you'd rather have ended up at Steve & Barry's?

'The Bachelor': Hillary did it all for daddy!

There are moments, however brief, when I stop viewing The Bachelor as a tragicomic social experiment staged solely for my amusement, and get the sudden, sinking feeling that I'm watching real people with real psychological issues, experiencing very real pain on my TV screen. Like, for example, the end of last night's episode, when Hillary, freshly jilted by Brad, had a sobbing, gasping, makeup-smearing meltdown (watch an abbreviated version of it, after the jump). Sad but true, Hillary's cries of ''Why are you sending me home?" and "I just want to go away" stared to make me feel a little queasy. And her final, parting shot -- "I wanted my dad to be proud of me!" -- made me sincerely hope that the show's producers set her up with some kind of post-show counseling.

Of course, if I'm being honest, my feelings of concern and sympathy lasted all of 8 seconds. And then I laughed and laughed and laughed. I mean, seriously. Hillary wanted her dad to be proud? The same Hillary who, in the midst of a pool-party with Brad, confessed to the cameras, "I would let him ravish me any time," and then followed it up with a tirade that was ostensibly so blue, ABC's censors not only bleeped out the sound, but also blurred Hillary's mouth like it was some kind of errant Nike logo. What could Hillary have said that was so skeezy, ABC didn't want to risk innocent toddlers lip-reading it?

Oh, and speaking of things ABC should've bleeped, how about dim Sheena's ear-curdling poem to Brad? If you have any love for the English language, or you're about to eat lunch, you might want to skip to the next paragraph. Otherwise, I give you Sheena's opening four lines:

What's the last movie you walked out of?

I hate to throw a punch at a small, independent movie that appears to be playing at a single, obscure theater in Manhattan, a film that hasn't even scored an official review in EW yet. But last night, about 45 minutes into Klimt, a biopic of the Austrian artist starring John Malkovich (pictured), I became overwhelmed by the urge to flee the theater. Granted, the film is told as a deathbed dream of a talented, eccentric painter, but its disjointed collection of scenes and woozy imagery — look, there's the frozen corpse of a dog! hey, that character's lips are suddenly covered in glitter! — made me feel like I'd downed some bad sushi with a cough-syrup chaser. Nonetheless, since I was watching the film with some out-of-town friends who were planning on catching a Klimt exhibit the following afternoon, I stayed in my seat, and let my mind drift back to two separate memories.

The first time I walked out on a movie: That'd be a free screening of The Big Hit, a godawful 1998 action vehicle starring Mark Wahlberg and Lou Diamond Phillips. If memory serves, my friend Kristen and I attended mainly to for a chance to ogle Antonio Sabato Jr. on the big screen, which made his absence from the film after the first 20 minutes a most vexing development. A scene of Wahlberg and China Chow sensuously stuffing a kosher turkey, however, pushed us over the edge; we grabbed what was left of our popcorn and took back the night. Personal victory! Yay!

Lisa from 'Top Model' raps! It burns! It burns!

I just finished watching "Ace of Spades," a "rap" video from America's Next Top Model also-ran Lisa Damato, and I'm not sure which of the following adjectives best describes it. Help a blogger out, and vote in the comments section below!

A) Traumatizing
B) Gruesome
C) Unwatchable
D) Unspeakable*
E) Doodle-doddle**

* Apologies for my second use of that word in 24 hours.
** Sorry, you'll have to watch the video for yourself to get the reference. And nope, it's probably not worth it.

Snap judgment: 'Big Shots'

I could spend all afternoon griping about Big Shots, which premiered last night in the coveted post-Grey's timeslot on ABC. But in the interest of not giving too much attention to a show that's a horrible fit with its extremely popular, female-friendly lead-in, I'll try to limit my complaints to a top-five list. (And be sure to look for our critic's official take in an upcoming issue of EW): 

1) The show is inhabited mostly by characters whom I want to punch in the face: Take Christopher Titus's Brody, ranting against the eager-to-please country-club waiter about his incorrect usage of the word "shrimps," then suddenly getting all smiley and asking if the guy could (ugh) "hook a brother up?" Or how about Dylan McDermott's Duncan declaring men go through three rites of passage: losing their virginity, having their first three-way, and discovering their wives are cheating on them?

2) Dialog that's equal parts forced and nonsensical: I had to suppress a groan when Jessica Collins (trying gamely as clingy mistress Marla) was forced to deliver the line, "What kind of man would be so deceitful as to lie to the woman he's cheating on his wife with?" First runner-up: Duncan's retort to his friends' suggestion that he should re-marry his ex-wife: "Yeah, right, then sex in the wine cellar becomes 'Don't touch me, I'm exfoliating!'" Wha?

I Saw It, So You Don't Have To: 'Dragon Wars'

I really, really, really, really wanted to see Dragon Wars. The trailer had insane explosions, cars flying through the air, and a giant snake-like creature slithering up the side of the US Bank building in downtown LA!  Doesn't that sound amazingly awesome?!

Well, after seeing the movie last night, I can say it was awesome...for all the wrong reasons.  My (unrealistically) high hopes were dashed pretty quickly. I will admit that the opening credits — which involves a camera panning over a 3D Asian scroll — were brilliant.  But that's where the good part ends. Here's the quick story recap: A long time ago, a boy falls in love with a girl who has the mark of a dragon on her shoulder. An old dude tells boy he must sacrifice her to the good Imoogi (dragon) so the bad Imoogi won't destroy the earth. Boy refuses, because he loves the girl, and his village is destroyed.  Fast-forward 500 years, to present time. The old dude is now an antique dealer named Jack, and the boy (now going by the name Ethan), has a second chance to throw his love (Sarah) to the good Imoogi.   Add to that the fighting that takes place involving the FBI, the police, and random others.  Confused yet?  Oh yeah, and it's all a Korean legend. 

I Saw It, So You Don't Have To: 'I Know Who Killed Me'

Don't ever let anyone say I don't care about you, PopWatch readers. Last night, I threw myself in front of a cinematic bullet for the sole purpose of making sure you'll be fully informed as you stand around the water cooler and laugh with your friends about Lindsay Lohan's deeply unpleasant new movie, I Know Who Killed Me. Sure, you've seen the trailer, and the spoofs of the trailer, but trust me, they can't even begin to prepare you for this movie's astronomical levels of jankitude.

Be warned: I am about to spoiler the bejeezus out of this dog, because you should not under any circumstance — not even in an ironic, ha-ha kind of way — see this revolting, amateurish movie. Not in theaters. Not on DVD. Not even on a 15-hour flight when you've finished a trifecta of InTouch, Us, and Star, and you don't have anything better to do than close your eyes and feel enraged by that hyperactive toddler who keeps kicking the back of your seat. Seriously. I Know Who Killed Me is 105 minutes of your life you will never get back. It has five long scenes of featuring Lohan bound, gagged, and squealing in pain/terror, and three extended scenes of Lohan performing a lethargic striptease. Plus, I swear, 90 percent of the film's props are a shade of blue: the roses Lindsay gets from her boyfriend, the gag the killer uses to suppress her screams, her shower scrunchie, her hospital sheets, her bedroom walls, her sweatpants, her MP3 player, the wrapper for the condom she uses with her boyfriend — all freakin' blue.

Anyhow, if you want the low (and I do mean low) down on the entire craptacular, take the I Know Who Killed Me quiz — after the jump!

I Saw It, So You Don't Have To: 'Chuck and Larry'

Anyone who's endured the trailer for I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry knows that with its central premise — Adam Sandler and Kevin James playing a pair of boorish firefighters who pose as a gay couple to ensure the latter's kids remain eligible to collect his pension — it's not aiming to be the next Brokeback Mountain. (Oh those homosexuals — even their benefits packages are more fabulous!) But unless you gave up your hard earned cash to see the entire movie with your own eyes, then you probably don't know the depths of infantilism and implausibility Chuck and Larry manages to reach.

For starters, Sandler's character (Chuck) is presented as a world-class Lothario ("Mr. February" in the New York City Firefighters' beefcake calendar) who proves utterly irresistible to women. At one point, Chuck's query of "Who wants to massage my ass muscle?" is met by a quintet of scantily clad Asian waitresses piling into his vehicle screaming, "Me! Me! Me!" (He also manages to bed a sexy, blonde physician by insultingly calling her "Dr. Honey" and sexually harassing her in front of his coworkers.)

I Saw It So You Don't Have To: 'Lucky You'

So how 'bout that Spider-Man 3? No, really, how 'bout it? You see, while all of you were out there this weekend contributing to Spidey's record $148 million box-office total, I joined nine other souls (yeah, I counted) last night at a 10 p.m. screening of Lucky You, the Drew Barrymore-Eric Bana vehicle that's been plagued by bad buzz and multiple unappealing trailers. And it's all for you, PopWatchers! It's all for you! So if you're like most Americans — and would prefer to think of Curtis Hanson as the man who brought you L.A. Confidential and Wonder Boys, and not an interminable, hideously shot excuse for a romantic drama — read on for my spoiler-filled account. As my friend Charlie (whom I forcibly dragged to the theater with me) whispered at the midway mark, "Lucky you... if you didn't have to see this piece of crap."

I Saw It, So You Don't Have To: Anna Nicole Smith's 'Illegal Aliens'

I've never been a big believer in giving the deceased a free pass when it comes to evaluating work released after that person has died; artistic merit doesn't gain or decrease with someone's passing.

Illegal Aliens, the final feature film co-starring Anna Nicole Smith, goes straight to video on May 1st. It's awful, a sci-fi spoof that's badly written, made clumsily and on the cheap. Smith plays one of three aliens who can shape-shift and who take human form as sexy babes (the other two are little-known actresses who probably don't want whatever publicity this stinker will bring them, and one of the villains is played by Joanie Laurer, a.k.a. the former wrestler Chyna).

The three heroines are depicted as a kind of Charlie's Angels for the Star Trek set, their mission being to protect Earth from evil forces. I don't think I need to say more about the imagination behind the plot and action of Illegal Aliens than to point out that near the end, Nicole Smith, to help save the day, takes the form of a helicopter (actually just shots of a helicopter with Nicole Smith's voice talking on the soundtrack).

I saw it, so you don't have to! -- 'Wild Hogs'

There are some trailers that look so soul-crushingly awful, I instinctively start making fun of the movie without even seeing it. But is that really fair? I mean, maybe The Lake House had the potential to make me weep like Brokeback Mountain. Maybe Eddie Murphy's performance in Norbit was as award-worthy as his turn in Dreamgirls. And maybe I was just too wrapped up in my feelings of superiority to go see 'em. Well, no más, PopWatchers. I've decided that from now on, I'm going to tackle one movie every month whose trailer makes recoil in disgust — to find out if it's as bad as advertised, or perhaps unexpectedly good. We begin the journey with the Tim Allen-John Travolta road-trip vehicle Wild Hogs, which got a C- in EW, and which your unfortunate correspondent (pictured, at the theater) found as uninspired and flavorless as the chocolate-peanut butter cupcake I snuck into the auditorium to accompany a small concession-stand Diet Coke that, much to my chagrin, cost me $4.01. (Don't answer this, but what does it say about me that it was the one cent, and not the whopping four bucks, that really got under my skin?) Anyhow, here's my by-the-numbers assessment: