Hollywood is a pimp. A fat, cigar-smoking chump wearing a fur hat and 12 gold chains around its fat, hairy chest. All of its stars and starlets are an evil brood of scum-sucking vampires looking for the next percentage take, the next summer blockbuster, the next casting couch to audition on. Pumping out comic-book adaptations, terrible sequels to mediocre films, and remakes of foreign films to the nearest American movie multiplex mall theater equipped with thin walls and bad sound systems. How much longer can the works of Peckinpah, Fassbinder, Fuller, Castle, Preminger, and Lee be placed and forgotten in the wrong sections of the local Blockbuster stores? How many more Silver and Weinstein films can we enduring in this stinky, decaying state of American cinema?

But now, from John "I don't give a shit what you think about my movies" Waters, comes the siren call to all frustrated filmmakers and aficionados: Cecil B. DeMented, a warped and twisted tale of how far a filmmaker will go to create a personal vision of internal and social revolution.

Continue reading: Cecil B. Demented Review