Where It's Due

The other day I came home for lunch. "Law and Order" was a Sorvino (not good) and Game Show Network was showing "Love Connection" (really not good). So I was flipping around, and saw that a movie was starting on Encore that would hold my interest. Now, yes, I know this is completely stupid, as at this point in the proceedings I had about 20 minutes of time before I was to return to the saltmines, and I was getting ready to start watching a brand-new movie. But that's me. And so I turned over to Encore.

The previous movie was still in progress, but was ending up. Well, it was ending up the first time. After that ending it ended up a second time and then a third time. It was quite annoying, especially since each ending (or should we say false ending) was syrup-sweeter than the one before. The star wins the big race! The End. Nope, wait, now the star's getting married to the pretty leading lady with all his buddies around! The End. Nope, wait, now the pretty leading lady is a pregnant secretary at the successful practice of the leading man, where all the buddies come for dental care! The End. Thank God.

The movie in question was "Snow Dogs."

Now, I know this movie was a, pardon the pun, dog. I read the reviews, saw the previews, and, hey, it has Cuba Gooding, Jr in it. And if the ending(s) of the movie were anything like the rest of it, I feel justified to give it a thumbs-down review, which I'd do anyway, even if I hadn't seen any of it, because that's just how I am.

But the 11 or so minutes I had to endure of this movie wasn't even the worst part. When the last ending finally came, and I was thinking it was finally over, little did I know what was to come.

The credits.

This movie had to have had the longest credits of any movie in cinematic history. I counted three whole songs that played over them, and one of them was by Michael Bolton, which made the whole thing even longer and personally I think ticket purchasers might have grounds for a class action lawsuit on that basis alone. You know, this is why every damn movie released nowadays has some big bloated soundtrack to go along with it. All those songs over the damn credits.

And I've heard complaints about this before. There was a time when I wasn't so, well, cranky about the whole thing, but there was probably a time I also wasn't so cranky about a lot of things. My theory was, if you work on a movie, sure, why not get mentioned in the credits. I don't really feel that way anymore. Because credits have gotten completely out of control.

I'd never suggest that we go back to the olden days. Remember movies up until about 1965? There were no credits to speak of. Especially the really old ones. Writer, director, producer, a few stars. That was it. Then costumers got into the act, and make-up, okay, that was alright, I guess. Then somewhere in the 60s, I'm reckoning when the Hollywood Mavericks started making movies, all hell broke loose. Everybody and their brother had to be mentioned in the credits.

Now, I want to see the entire cast. Not because they deserve to be listed necessarily, but for my own personal information. If I want to know who played "Man" or "Girl In Hat" in a movie, then by damn, I should have the right to do so. But who, other than his mother, wants to know who the "Boom Operator" was? "Wow! The boom work in that was magnificent, wonder who that was?" If you think that way, you should be committed, sitting there in your little rubber cell, drooling and reading the latest copy of Boom Operator Monthly.

You know what these technical people get for working on movies? Money. They get fuckin' paid. But no, they want fuckin' paid and to be recognized so for that split second in time they can have their names in lights.

So, the "Snow Dogs" credits were agonizing. There I was, sitting and listening to Michael Bolton, amongst other smarmy pop stars, and watching the credits roll. There were credits for "Costume Dyer" and "Costume Breakdown Artist." Now, I don't know if this means she tended to the costumes that broke down, or she was in charge of breaking them down herself. In any case, I wonder if she had anything to do with that Super Bowl business. I love this one: "Props Buyer." "Yes, I'll take those two lamps, and this ashtray, and, do you have a tacky chenille bedspread that would look in place at a whorehouse? Yes! It's for a movie! Watch for me, I'll be in the credits!" There were credits for "Lamp Operator" (buy the Clapper and there's one less schmoe on the payroll), "Colorist" (of film, skin, clothing, or just off to the side in a coloring book I do not know), and the ever popular "Second Assistant Camera on the Second Unit."

Which brings me to the moment in my lunch hour where I realized there would be no seeing the beginning of the next movie, not even for a few moments. Just as I'd endured what I thought were all the credits that could possibly roll, including my personal favorite "Eyes and Teeth" (this was a movie where they animatronically tried to make dogs' faces cuter, one of my personal pet peeves), and the screen was black for a few seconds, up rolls "Second Unit." And here's the whole fuckin' thing all over again, only in a new location! Who cares?!?! Then, they started in with the music and the songs (remember when people used to be able to whistle a song in a movie and it didn't have to be credited at the end?), and, well, by that point I was not only on the verge of losing my will to live, but my lunch as well.

The only circumstance under which your movie should be allowed to have a long list of credits is if you do something to make them interesting. Like the Zucker Brothers did in "Airplane" by putting in credits like "Author of 'A Tale of Two Cities'......Charles Dickens." Maybe directors could arrange them so that the first letters of each credit will spell out a secret, cryptic message. Like the answer to why their film was so shitty in the first place. Or every 17 or 18th credit could be a clue as to where some tidy sum of money was hidden.

If not, cut them. Cut them! I don't want to read who drove the director from the hotel to the filming location, and I don't care what "assistant" followed the third credited star around with a pencil and paper, taking notes. Cut them!