LA Comedy Writer

Reports are that Tiger Woods stopped early Sunday morning at a Florida pro shop…looking for a new driver. Okay, that was too easy. The rumor mill is swirling today after it was reported that Woods, 34, left his Florida mansion around 2:30 in the morning, drove off in a rush, then collided with a fire hydrant and a neighbor’s tree. Woods is remaining mostly mum on the accident, except to say it’s a private family matter, and that he is at fault.

Now here’s what frosts my ass. On NBC’s website, Michael Ventre writes how Tiger, as a celebrity, MUST come forward with an explanation. What unadulterated bullshit! The local police in Florida have already stated that, although a statement from Woods would be nice, and would help the investigation, he isn’t bound by law to do so. I’m sure Tiger has also consulted with a very high-priced attorney, who has advised him to stay quiet, as any statement he makes may come back to haunt him at a later date. So who the fuck is Michael Ventre to demand an explanation? Unless he possesses some type of legal knowledge that accompanies his inability to write, he should shut his pie hole. Let the rumor mill swirl, because if every time Tiger is asked about the incident, he merely says, “no comment, it’s a private affair”, then it will fade rather quickly. He can replace the tree, pay for the hydrant and SUV repairs, and go on with his life. And Michael Ventre can write about Paris Hilton or Lindsay Lohan, people who know how to keep the most minuscule story going by simply talking about it…repeatedly…for-goddamn-ever. Mikey, take a writing course, learn a little common sense, and try again in a few years.

On a lesser note, Thanksgiving weekend allowed me to catch up on my movie rentals. Star Trek was beyond excellent, and I’m nowhere near a Trekkie. It was similar to The Wrath Of Khan, in that it focused on the story, with the right balance of action. No wonder it made close to $400 million. Kudos to J.J. Abrams. But a major disappointment was The Taking Of Pelham 123. The movie itself was well done, up until the last ten fucking minutes! John Travolta was brilliant as a man who takes an NYC subway train hostage for $10 million, and Denzel Washington did his usual exceptional job (has DW ever acted poorly in a movie?), as the demoted transit employee saddled with the negotiations, and delivery of the ransom. Director Tony Scott, for all he accomplished in the first hour and thirty minutes, allowed the film to dissolve like the message delivered to Peter Graves on Mission Impossible. The two moronic moments which stand out:

–Two of the conspirators are gunned down in the middle of NYC, as they are surrounded by police! Really? Are all police such excellent shots that they’ll shoot at suspects without worrying that a bullet or two might miss and strike fellow officers? Fucking ay Tony, hire a police consultant, and listen to what the dude says. This could have easily been re-written for a better (and more realistic) scene.

–In the final scene, Washington has the drop on Travolta, as about seven NYC police close in on foot, with a helicopter nearby. Travolta makes a long speech, threatens Washington, then counts to ten before reaching for his gun, forcing Washington to shoot him. All the meanwhile, NYC’s best, seeing this unfold, and hearing Washington’s cries for help, walk to the scene as if wearing new shoes that are a size too small, at a pace that wouldn’t make a turtle envious. This is another scene where a police consultant might have been useful. Lemme see, this movie had a budget of 100 million, but you couldn’t see fit to make the ending a little more plausible? And, you made NYC’s finest look like a bunch of inept lamebrains? What, the Keystone Kops weren’t available? Sorry, but as much as I admire much of Tony Scott’s other films (Crimson Tide, Spy Game, Enemy Of The State), this one is squarely on his shoulders.