Arts & Entertainment
eme variation lacks gut-busting humor
*-—a—*—ii i m_uk:_ij ■ a;
Courtesy of Warner Brotheis
Tom Hanks as Joe Banks and Meg Ryan (in one of her three roles) as Patricia in “Joe Versus
The Volcano.”
By Matt Burton
Senior Reporter
“Joe Versus The Volcano” is a
slight variation on an old theme.
Imagine a situation where a doctor
moyip -|
informs a patient that he has a termi
nal illness and only six months to
live.
Live life to the fullest, right?
Tom Hanks plays Joe Banks, a
hypochondriac, sorry soul with a less
than-spcctacular life. His physician
tells him that he has a rare disease
called a “brain cloud.”
Joe quits his lousy job, a depress
ing little business run by Mr. Waturi,
played by Dan Hedcya, better known
as Nick Tortelli from “Cheers.”
“Joe Versus The Volcano” makes
light of depressing situations, such as
in the factory run by Waturi. Annoy
ing, old, fluorescent lights, flickering
on and off and petrified nondairy coffee
creamer add to the dark, yet farcical
tone of the movie.
So Joe, a former fireman, realizes
that he must capture the same feeling
of adventure and danger in order to
make his life worthwhile.
That’s where the volcano comes
in.
Joe gets an offer by Graynamore,
an eccentric old man played by Lloyd
Bridges, at a chance to jump into a
volcano located somewhere in the
South Pacific.
A mighty strange request, but it’s
not as complicated as it may seem.
On this South Pacific island, named
Waponiwu, (translated, meaning “little
island with big volcano”), exists an
extremely rare natural resource, lo
cated exclusively on Waponiwu.
Graynamore has arranged a deal
with the natives of Waponiwu to supply
a hero for the purpose of jumping into
the volcano as a sacrifice — then he
gets some rare resource.
Guess who the hero is.
Joe gets helped with the journey
by Meg Ryan, who plays three differ
ent roles, all with romantic interests
in Joe.
Throughout “Joe Versus The
Volcano” there is the feeling that
everything will come out all right and
to that extent, it is slightly predict
able.
Often the scenes and acting arc
innocent and silly, yet don’t evoke
the kind of gut-busting laughter that a
moviegoer would want.
“Joe Versus The Volcano” is
playing at the Plaza 4 Theatre, 201 N.
12th St., and Edgewood 3 Theatre,
56th and Highway 2.
Happy/cranky Hanna seeks to please
Sometimes I’m happy; sometimes
I’m cranky.
When I’m happy, I write columns
that generally arc positive and con
structive. When I’m cranky, I write
whiny, mournful columns.
Since this is sort of a consumer
based newspaper that must satisfy its
readers in order to stay in business, it
is important that I write in a style that
DN readers will appreciate.
In an attempt to please everybody,
today I offer you two distinct writing
styles.
Jim
Hanna
mmmMmmffin - . .
PASSAGE NO. 1: A HAPPY STORY
The gentle scrape of my cat’s coarse
longue on my nose stirred me from
sleep.
1 opened my eyes to sec Bert’s
warm, loving face staring back. He
smiled, purred and playfully swatted
at my chin. He was so cute.
I reached for the phone next to my
bed and called up Time and Tempera
lure. The forecast: sunny and warm,
high temperatures near 75. What a
perfect day.
1 gleefully sprang up from my bed
and rushed to open a window. In
came delicious waves of fresh spring
air. 1 look a deep breath and grinned
tooihily.
Just then, a colorful bluebird landed
on my window sill. I held out my
index linger, which he quickly perched
upon.
"Good morning, Mr. Bluebird!
How arc you this fine day?”
He responded with a joyous cho
rus of chirps that made my innards
glow.
"Go on, you silly bird,” I said
tcasingly, and off he flew into the
majestic morning sky.
1 turned back into my apartment,
and, once again, looked at my ador
able kitten. He wascurlcd intoa flul ly
ball and looked at me with hungry,
yet adoring eyes.
"Would you like some breakfast,
you silly goose?” 1 asked.
In one leap, he jumped into my
waiting arms, and I gave him a warm
hug of security.
I went to the fridge to gel out a can
of Puss ‘N’ Boots Salmon Platter for
my deserving feline. Before I could
get there, however, I noticed the pic
ture of J Burger that I had posted on
my dart board.
With a sudden wave of goodwill, I
took the picture down and vowed
never to be so hateful and destructive
again. I’m not sure what was happen
ing, but it seemed certain that I was
about to have the best day of my life.
I went to the phone to call a flower
shop so I could send J a dozen long
stemmed roses. I paused for a second,
though, contemplated the vegicidc
inherent in sending flowers, and opted
instead for a box of chocolates.
I placed my order with a local
candy store and then set about feed
ing my cal.
Oh, what a fabulous day!
I quickly showered (the water
temperature was perfect on the first
try) and put on my favorite clothes.
With a tender peek on my kitty’s
soft, pink nose, I headed out to greet
this most beautiful of days.
On the front lawn of my apart
ment, I noticed a young fawn quietly
nibbling leaves and grass.
"Ohhhhh,” I sighed. "Isn’t that
sweet?"
I reached into my backpack and
pulled out a handful of the oats I carry
with me for just such occasions. I held
them out for the baby deer, who tim
idly approached and began to gin
ecrlv cat.
When finished, I palled ihe lawn
on the head, and il went galloping up
D Street, out of sight.
Then I turned and galloped up
12th Street, certain that I was now
having the best day of my young life.
PASSAGE NO. 2: A CRANKY
STORY
The gentle trickle of urine on my
hand jarred me from my fitful sleep.
My worthless cat, Bert, grinned
stupidly up at me, certain that he had
done a good deed in relieving himself
on my arm.
I angrily sat up and wiped my wet
extremity on his fur before clobber
ing him with a pillow. He scampered
away and hid under a chair.
“F-!” I said, “I don’t want to get
UP But I knew I had to. I grumpily
reached for the phone to call Time
and Temperature, certain that the
weather was going to suck.
The dead phone line was an instant
reminder that I hadn’t paid my bill in
three months, and il had been discon
nected. „ .
“S~!” 1 screamed as I pulled the
phone from the wall and hurled it at
Bert, who was still cowering under
the chair. I pegged him right on the
head and knocked him out. I couldn’t
help but laugh.
I figured I’d get a good idea of
what the weather was like by opening
my window. 1 got out of bed and
cracked one a bit. A howling wind
blasted through the opening, instantly
freezing my wct-with-urinc hand. It
was snowing.
On my windowsill, I noticed a tiny
bluebird shivering in the bitter cold.
He looked at me with longing eyes
and tried to squirm through the open
window. I flicked him back with a
frostbitten hand and slammed the
window closed, pinching a few of his
tail feathers. I laughed to myself as I
watched the bird struggle to get free.
I turned back into my apartment
and saw my hungry, emaciated cat.
He looked up at me, hoping that maybe
this would be the morning I’d finally
feed him.
"Sorry, Bert,” I sneered. "Maybe
next time."
I looked at my feel and saw a dart
on the floor. In one graceful, fluid
motion, I picked it up and heaved it at
the picture of J Burger 1 had pinned to
my dart board. Plwang! The dart nailed
him square in the middle of his left
eye.
I tbougni aoout taxing a miuwci,
but nixed the idea. I like the look on
people’s faces when I stand next to
them in a line. Since I haven’t show
ered in three weeks, my stench usu
ally makes them wretch.
I put on a pair of shorts and a T
shirt and staggered out of my apart
ment. , 44_
“God d-- it!” I screamed. That
annoying little fawn is back.”
I picked up a rock and hurled it at
the fawn who was feeding on my
lawn. It hit her in the leg but she
didn’t leave.
Then, I remembered the stun gun
that I had stolen from the Humane
Society. I carried it in my backpack
for just such an occasion.
I whipped it out and aimed for the
innocent baby deer. I shot one of the
poison darts out and nailed the little
creep in the neck. The stunning poi
son quickly traveled through the fawn,
and it crumpled into a da/.ed heap.
“There’s gonna be meal in the
beans tonight,” I said to myself.
1 laughed pretty loud and pocketed
my stun gun. Then I headed to school,
knowing full well I was going to have
another rotten day.
Jim Hanna is a senior theater nuijor and
an arts and entertainment stafT reporter and
columnist.
| entertmmnent_
| Helios Creed plays Duffy's tonight
Post-psychedelic grunge freak Helios Creed will perform tonight at
I Duffy's Tavern, 1412 0 Sl
Helios Creed is touring in support of “The Last Laugh.” his last \
■ mind-frying album.
Helios Creed’s music is an aural picture of alien landscapes. Audi
1 ences are left sweaty and disoriented, like waking up from strange
1 dreams, after hearing him play.
% Opening for Helios Creed is nobody. He likes it that way. Cover is
1 $6. Stow starts around 10:30 p.m.
Courtesy of K.P. Simonson
Dr. Hunter S. Thompson
Thompson to speak on campus
From Staff Reports
Best-selling author, booze hound,
critic, political columnist, handgun
expert, drug lush, genius, inventor of
gonzo journalism, lunatic and insight
ful social commentator Dr. Hunter S.
Thompson will fly onto campus Fri
day night.
Thompson, who rarely makes public
appearances, will present “Fear and
Loathing: A Savage Journey to the
Heart of the American Dream ’ ’ in the
Centennial Ballroom of the Nebraska
Union.
In other words, he will talk about
whatever he finds interesting.
Thompson, 52, is incomprehensi
bly famous for his offbeat, informal
writing style and sometimes danger
ous personal antics.
His journalism career oegan in ivdv
when he did a year with Time maga
zine as a Caribbean correspondent.
From there, he went to the New York
Herald Tribune, the Nauonal Observer,
The Nation and Ramparts. He served
as national affairs editor at Rolling
Stone for a decade and High Times
readers will recognize him as global
affairs correspondent.
Today, he resides in Aspen, Colo.,
with his troop of Dobermans and porch
laden with peacocks.
Thompson has written several
books, including the evcr-popular
“Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.”
Tickets to the presentation are S10
or $8 for students in advance, S12 day
of show. Show time is 7:30 p.m., but
be warned -- Thompson notoriously
is late.