The Mohawk Memoirs: You Sound Awfully Familiar!

by "Rooster" Clayborne

So I drag my six-year old daughter to the theater to see Tangled, the new 3D animated feature from Walt Disney Animation Studios. Why? Because I’m occasionally struck with the compulsion to watch films based on beloved classic tales—unless it’s called The Nutcracker in 3D and features rat-faced Nazi storm troopers (don’t believe me? check out the trailer). As I sat and watched Tangled, engrossed by the STORY, I found myself trying to crack the voice recognition code. Perhaps you’ve done it too, “That voice—I’ve heard it before. It’s…”

The Mohawk Memoirs: Decade of The Unfunny

by "Rooster" Clayborne

When was the last time you saw a REALLY funny movie? Don’t say The Hangover. If you even think The Hangover then don’t continue reading this. I’d rather you didn’t. Oh, before the Mohawk, I tried to convince myself that it was as laugh-out-loud funny as most everyone claimed just so I could feel connected to the general populace. But screw the masses. I’m done with you and what you think the benchmark of comedy should be. I saw The Hangover over twenty years ago when it was called Bachelor Party, which featured a then rising star Tom Hanks—now that was MUCH FUNNIER.

The Mohawk Memoirs: Cronenberg Blogathon: Crash and Burn

by "Rooster" Clayborne

[Leave it to our very own mohawked contributor, "Rooster" Clayborne, to darken the celebration with our very first negative piece on the Canadian auteur.]

A few years ago while at my former place of employment—well before the mohawk sprouted forth from my head—I wandered into a water cooler conversation between two know-it-all cinéaste coworkers in a love-fest for Canadian filmmaker Atom Egoyan. Before I could get a plausible answer as to why Mia Kirshner exposed nary a breast while playing a stripper in Egoyan's Exotica, somehow the topic turned to David Cronenberg, another Canuck.

The Mohawk Memoirs: Mullets, Machine Guns, and Mayhem!

by "Rooster" Clayborne

When I, the Rooster, first got wind that a storm from Mount Olympus was brewing, I shuddered with trepidation. One of the mightiest among the pantheon of 80s movie stars decided the time was right to descend upon mortal men in a thunderous clamor to once again remind us what we've been missing since the decade that brought Die Hard, Commando, and Rambo: First Blood Part II—an action flick with real action stars. My concern was due to the fact that it was Sylvester Stallone who was leading the charge. Nothing against Sly. Quite the contrary. During his heyday, he was among many action heroes I admired. What I feared the most was what my reaction would be to his latest film The Expendables.

The Mohawk Memoirs: 3-D Movies! An Ocular Treat?

by "Rooster" Clayborne

Ever since I made the perilous decision to shave my shag of hair into a single swath of mohawk, I, the Rooster, have somehow further alienated myself from my adoring wife, Maggie. She still can't quite fathom why I—a man in his late thirties who is presently unemployed, and father to a four-year-old daughter—would do such a seemingly foolhardy thing as to transform myself into the image of Mr. T. Rather than getting into protracted discussions with Maggie about how having a mohawk will complicate my job-seeking prospects, I've been spending a lot more time with the one person who doesn't cower with embarrassment when seen with me in public—my intrepid and unabashed daughter, Paula. The two of us have been spending quality time together by going to the movies. In an effort to heighten Paula's movie-viewing experience, I've been paying a little more in admission so she could wear the over-sized 3-D glasses that obviously come in only one size—adult.