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This is a weekend for hot redheads -- Alyson Hannigan and Julianne Moore -- but sadly, even their extreme hotness can't save us from the suckitude that is this weekend's opening movies.

Date Movie: Satirizing movies that weren't all that funny to begin with. I'll just wait for the unrated, uncorked, special edition DVD -- that way, my torture will be undiluted by the MPAA.

Eight Below: My wife wants to see this. She will cry at the end. So will I, but for completely different reasons.

Night Watch: The only good one on the list. In "Limited Cities", which means, no, no movie for you, Mr. Arkansan.

Freedomland: Julianne Moore emotes. Samuel Jackson wears his hat all cool-like. Together, they fight crime.

Now Opening

Firewall: Rich white man protects his money. Bad guys with accents kidnap his female and the spawn of his seed. His inner badass awakens. You will walk away thinking you've seen this movie before.

Final Destination 3: You have seen this movie before, but this time, it's bigger, louder, more convoluted, and ten times bloodier. I am sooo there.

Pink Panther: I like Steve Martin. I like the Pink Panther. I like Jean Reno. Yet somehow, the three combined makes me weep and want to kill precious doe-eyed things. Didn't we learn anything from the Roger Moore Pink Panther fiasco? May St. Peter forgive us.

Curious George: Monkey is bad. Catch that bad monkey with both hands and spank it hard. Bad monkey!

London: This movie has invisible subtitles. You can't read them, but this is what they say: "I'm not just a pretty face, I'm an actor, really, see, I'm in an indie flick, I'm like arty, and stuff."

My last name is now Ewing

I just got back from a very long week of work in Dallas. Met some good people there, except for the one yokel in Chili's who kept insisting that just because he hated minorities that it didn't mean he was racist. Minorities were racists against him, and that's why he hated them. And apparently, I'm a bigot against bigots, whatever that means.

I spent a lot of nights reminiscing with my good friend Tom Collins, and then let the hotel ductwork drone me to sleep. I have never been happier to be back in Little Rock -- so screw Wolfe, you can go back home again.

So here I am catching up on news for the week, only to discover nothing has really happened. Alito got confirmed, like that was shocking news. Here's some interesting tidbits I've been able to comprehend as I wait for my venti, triple-shot, skinny mocha to take effect.

While reading this article, did you hear a gust of wind and a shrill cry followed by a loud wet thump? That was the sound of a zillion midlife wannabe filmmakers throwing themselves off the nearest high structure in a fit of bitter jealousy. Luckily, I survived the fall, having landed on the soft bodies of those who descended before me.

And if it all comes out well, this camera will change the world of independent filmmaking forever. That is, if the price comes out okay.

This article exposes how fake reality tv is. Duh, you say, but it's still intriguing to learn the techniques that they use. I love the term Frankenbites. I think I could say it all day long. Frankenbites, frankenbites, frankenbites. Okay, maybe not.

This year's Slamdance has an online short film site. Sites like this and Triggerstreet are a great way for us filmmakers out in the boonies to learn their craft. Watch, critique, and study.

And lastly, Filmthreat absolutely skewered this Sundance film that was shot in Arkansas last year. I know some of the crew, and they had some interesting stories from that production.