America’s in trouble.

In the far-flung future of 1998, paper money is worthless, there’s no oil, and the country is about to be foreclosed and repossessed by the original landowners.

That would be Nike (the National Indian Knitting Enterprise), who invested well, happy to prove revenge is a dish best served cold.

Enter a hippy-dippy new president, who calls for a telethon, using reality TV to shake the loose change from the pockets of his constituents.

Which shouldn’t be hard since the national craze is for everyone to wear sweat pants.

Stupid and barbed in equal measure, this deserves rediscovery.


Sling Blade

“I like them French-fried pertaters.”

I’m teaching my nephews it’s always amusing if they sidle up behind their mom when she’s cooking, drop their voice down low, then imitate Karl Childers ordering fries.

Well, it’s amusing to me, at least.

When they’re older, they can see where that dialogue sprang from. For now, they just need the words.

The film remains today as it did in ’96 — a beautifully-crafted gothic tale of redemption anchored by a career-making performance from Billy Bob Thornton.

It’s more, much more, than the French fry scene.

But that is a pretty dang good scene. Just sayin’.