And Kickboxer!
Hands down, it's among Van Damme's top five movies of all time, due in large part to its memorable training montage. Under the tutelage of his sensei, Xian Chow—who else knows more about kicking ass than an old, diminutive Asian man?—Jean-Claude, wearing what appears to be nurse's scrubs cut from a burlap sack, does all the things you'd expect to prepare himself for a climactic fight scene. None of which require dialogue. Just loud exhaling from Van Damme, and hand motions from Xian Chow whenever another spin kick is necessary.
Jean-Claude flexes shirtless outside of Chow's jungle bungalow. He spin kicks over the top of Chow's head amid ancient ruins. He practices his punching form. Under water. And, in my favorite part, he lays on the jungle floor, as Xian Chow, from the canopy, drops a coconut onto his chiseled abs. Approximately eight inches north of bursting the dreams of Van Damme's unborn children.
The turning point of the training comes when Xian Chow demands that Van Damme relentlessly pound his shin into a tree. Even without Jean-Claude's charismatic delivery, the dialogue drips with emotion.
"That's it. That's enough."Good thing Mylee has a clean cloth ready to pat JCVD's bloodied shin.
"Take your bag and leave my house."
"What? What's going on?"
"You don't want training."
"What? You want me to break my leg?"
"Your brother, remember?"
"Oh, you mean like this."
Here's the footage on YouTube. According to one commenter, "Kickboxers actually do kick hard objects to condition their shins. The bone becomes denser over time." No joke. Just like how my bone becomes denser the more I watch Kickboxer.
Van Damme Fact: While training for the movie Kickboxer in California, JCVD kicked down a redwood. While it was falling, he forgot to yell "timber!" However, the tree yelled "limber!"
But Kickboxer mainly owes its greatness to the scene in which Van Damme, while drunk at the local village's bar, displays his one-of-a-kind dance moves. Or as I call them, his "baby-makin' gyrations."
Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right? Then JCVD should be extremely flattered by these two gentleman, who not only adeptly mimic his moves, but also his outfit—their pants are pulled up to the "true" waist. With your pants up higher, it's easier to reach your pocket. And show off your buns.
I'll have you know that JCVD's dance moves are my secret weapon when I go out on the weekend. After arriving at a club, I do two things. First, I slam two Miller Lites—you don't get a body like mine drinking Genuine Draft. And then I get to slammin' on the dance floor just like the Sensei of Sexiness, while a cloud of long legs, giggles, and short skirts forms around me. And after doing those two things, I usually end up doing a third thing: makin' babies back at my apartment. True story.
I plan on using my secret weapon again next weekend. Maybe this time when I get back to my crib with a babeface and a boner, Kickboxer will be on Spike TV. I'll probably forget to say "timber," but she'll definitely scream "limber!"
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As I'm sure you're aware, People magazine annually anoints a man on its cover as Sexiest Man Alive. Currently crowned? Matt Damon, who starred in The Talented Mr. Unsexy. What a joke!
I'm confused. Is this the title for Sexiest Man, or who is actually the rightful owner of the coffee mug with "World's Greatest Dad" on it?
True, Brendan Fraser hasn't been People's man. He was, however, Encino Man. But I'm talking about someone who hasn't shared the screen with Pauly Shore.
One day in fourth grade, I was playing basketball with my friends at recess. After hitting like ten in a row, my shooting hand was on fire, so I went over to the drinking fountain to cool it off. While I was there, I stared at my girlfriend, Rachel, who was playing four-square with the other popular girls.
Rachel saw me staring at her, then made a face as if someone had just put permanent marker on her brand new Starter pullover coat. Then she said something to her best friend Suzy. I could tell it was a secret ’cause she cupped her hand over Suzy’s ear when she leaned over and said it. Then Suzy walked over to me at the drinking fountain. My hand was still luke warm from all the jump shots, so it was still under the water.
Then Suzy told me that Rachel had decided to dump me for my classmate Mark, the chubby kid who was still sucking wind from trying to guard me on the court. I reminded Suzy that I had just hit ten jumpers in his bloated face. She crossed her arms and reminded me that Rachel had just dumped me. Mark's nickname was "Ghetti," because he could suck spaghetti through his nose and eat it. Rachel’s dual-cassette boombox was playing Ace of Base’s "The Sign" in the background. Ironic, because I didn’t see the break-up coming, even if she laughed extra hard that day at lunch when Ghetti did his thing.
So I began mimicking the training sequences from his movies—even the one from Kickboxer where his sensei drops a coconut from a tree onto his chiseled abs. Except when my friend dropped the coconut on me, it didn’t hit my abs. You figure it out. So I won’t be having kids. But, thanks to JCVD, I’ll be doing plenty of baby-making. True story.
