Gushing from the "Grindhouse"

Wildly entertaining, but too hammy. Fennessey goes in.

If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then the dripping, drooling new double feature Grind House is the grandest compliment to exploitation movies Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez could have mustered. Their new dual set of films, Rodriguez's Planet Terror and Tarantino's Deathproof, comprise the three-hour film and are broken up by four shockingly smart faux trailers with wonky titles like "Machete" and "Werewolf Women of the S.S." (each directed by a fellow hip auteur, like "Hostel's Eli Roth and Shaun of the Dead's Edgar Wright). They're hoping to simulate the experience of a night at a seedy Grind House theater, where film after cheesily made film is played throughout the night, like those found on Manhattan's 42nd St. in the 1970s. Reels go missing, scratches and hairs appear on the reel, blood splatters, flesh hangs - it's a gory delight, mostly.

The plots of the respective films are almost beside the point. Rodriguez does a zombie flick, set in Austin where a government-released infection has turned the town's populace into brain-hungry killers. The pace is frisky and crisp from the opening shot, a titillating sequence wherein the ashen-skinned actress Rose McGowan shimmies across the screen as go-go dancet Cherry Darling. McGowan is too glamorous to be stuck in Podunk, Nowhere's greasiest strip club, but this being a fake B-flick, it's hardly the most unrealistic thing here (take, for example, the replacement of McGowan's disembodied leg with an automatic rifle late in the movie). Rodriguez writes like he's trying to get every punny joke out of his system and 'Hey-it's-that-guys!' like Michael Biehn and Jeff Fahey and Naveen Andrews are game for the writer/director/editor/cinematographer/composer's shenanigans. Josh Brolin, in particular, as an abusive husband and thermometer-chewing doctor, seethes his lines like some of his oral fixation's mercury has crawled down his throat at his wife - the gutty, eye-shadow-streaked Marley Shelton. But Planet Terror's only as good as its gore, and when the exploding limbs, puss-filled tongues and clipped testicles (seriously) are washed away, we're left with a flick that is clearly too highly budgeted to be a low-brow, low-rent crowd-pleaser. This is high form entertainment and very fun, from a highly skilled stylist. But Rodriguez is intentionally slumming to recreate something most young viewers will never understand.

Where Rodriguez goes for bombast, Tarantino revels in the minor keys. Deathproof, a women-in-peril/car chase takeoff is damn near languid compared to its predecessor, full of talky scenes populated by strong, catty female characters, a personal favorite of the writer-director. The film takes a good 35 minutes to get cooking. Again the story - about a maniacal drifter called Stuntman Mike (played brilliantly and scarily by Kurt Russell) who terrorizes girls in Austin with his indestructible stunt car - is about 1/5 of the equation. Initially things feel weak - actresses Vanessa Ferlito and Jordan Ladd feel ill-equipped to handle Tarantino's dialogue, and the auteur's lauded writing feels a bit overwrought (text messaging is a peripheral plot point, ugh). But when a second cast of chatty girls shows up halfway through - including the splendid Tracie Thoms and real-life stuntwoman Zoe Bell, an onscreen risk-taker of the highest order - the movie suddenly comes alive. No more so than when the second crew get crazy and attempt a famous car trick that feels almost unreal when executed. Bell is truly a magician in this movie, if not a seasoned actress. By the time the girls get around to their inevitable revenge on the disturbed psycho, the third hour is rolling around and gasping with glee is almost unavoidable. Tarantino, in what could be looked at as a competition between two friends, has clearly bested his partner's outing.

But it ought be said, imitation isn't flattery - here it can feel like a heavy dose of egotism. And that's the problem with Grind House. It's a technically proficient, wildly entertaining movie. But these are two directors who love movies too much for their own good. And though they break ground all the time - Tarantino with non-linear storytelling, Rodriguez with hi-tech kids flicks and his multi-hyphenism - one wishes they'd stop hamming it so hard. There's only so much blood you can pull from a stone.

50 Album Title Change?

CUR-TIS!! 50 Cent is changing his forthcoming album title, according to a source close to the project.

VIBE.com has learned that 50 Cent (nee Curtis Jackson) is scrapping the working title of his next album, due this summer. Previously, the record was called Before I Self-Destruct. But according to a source close to the project, 50 is planning to retitle the album Curtis, a reference to his beef with Cam'ron, wherein Cam repeatedly screamed "Curtisssss!" into a phone on Hot 97.

In other news, 50 Cent was reportedly at home in Farmington, CT, recording songs for the new album when the alleged Tony Yayo / Czar Entertainment incident went down, and has said he will launch his own investigation into the matter. It was also recently announced that he will star in Live Bet, a new film about gambling and illegal street racing co-produced by G-Unit and his management company, Violator.

Ricky Martin Speaks Out for Gay Performers

The pop star expresses solidarity with RBD's newly out Christian Chavez.

Ricky Martin told the AP today that he empathized with Mexican rock group RBD's newly out Christian Chavez, and he defended out musicians' right to come out. "Life is too short to live closed up, guarding what you say," he said. "I wish [Christian] much strength."

Chavez, 23, came out earlier this month after photos of his legal Canadian wedding to his man-friend leaked. He wrote on the RBD website, "I don't want to keep on lying and lie to myself because of fear. I feel bad for not having shared this with all my fans before, as they are the ones that worry and it is because of them that I decided to be honest. [The photos] show a part of me, a part that I was not prepared to speak of in fear of rejection, of criticism, but especially for my family and its consequences. Although I'm scared and filled with uncertainty I know that I can rely on the support of my fans. Their love is bigger than all of this. I ask them from the bottom of my heart, not to judge me for being honest and to feel proud of who they are and never make the same mistake I did. Tolerance to diversity!"