Following a Savannah Film Festival event at which Brett Ratner was named Rush Hour Sequel Director of the Year by the fest's blue-ribbon panel, the flattered fauxteur decided to take the students in attendance out for a crash course on the only aspect of the cinematic arts he's truly mastered: the part where one hands over all of his footage to an editor, tells him, "Make a movie out of this, would ya, bro?," then embarks on a celebratory search for a titty bar: "Ratner wasn't finished answering the students' questions when the party ended, and led at least a dozen on a pub crawl which involved a caravan of cabs crossing the bridge to South Carolina in search of a topless bar open in the wee hours of Monday morning. It was a valiant, misguided quest, but the students won't soon forget their seminar with Ratner." [P6]

Sunday's NY Times explored Warner Bros.' outwardly inscrutable decision to hand over the reins of holiday "tear-jerker" We Are Marshall to Charlie's Angels fauxteur McG, whose seizure-inducing directorial gifts and well-documented fear of flying would appear to be fundamentally incompatible with a project requiring a heavy reliance on gimmicks like "story" and "emotion" and which prominently features a phobia-flaring plane crash. In the article, McG (given name: not actually McG) bristles at length over the baseless perception that he's artistically limited to the attention-span-destroying aesthetic established in the Angels movies: