Admit it. You’re secretly itching to see Nic Cage at his bugfuck craziest driving angry in 3D and a hilarious wig while mangling dumb dialogue to the point of incomprehension. Thank you for that courtesy, Mr. Cage. Actually, his character John Milton (I’m not making this up) has just lit out of Hell (yes, that Hell) to save his little granddaughter from becoming the devil’s new messiah at the behest of a cultist called King (Billy Burke). Amber Heard pays a waitress with a love for short-shorts and no objection to having her body slobbered over by the camera. Thank you for the courtesy, Ms. Heard. She also supplies our hero with a stolen 1969 Dodge Charger. One of the two stars I’ve given this grindhouse guilty pleasure goes exclusively to William Fichtner as The Accountant, Satan’s wingman and resident quipster. Patrick Lussier is listed as The Director, though I saw no evidence of anyone in control. What’s your tolerance level for this noxious nonsense? You know best. Being stoned or otherwise buzzed might help.

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“(We're Not) The Jet Set”

George Jones and Tammy Wynette were still married when they recorded the tongue-in-cheek "(We're Not) The Jet Set." The lyrics, written by Nashville songwriter Bobby Braddock, who also penned Wynette's "D-I-V-O-R-C-E" and Jones' "He Stopped Loving Her Today," make fun of the good life by declaring, "We're not the Jet Set/We're the old Chevrolet set." Braddock recalled that while writing the song, he needed the name of a city that evened out the rhyme he had with "Riviera" and "Missourah." “I got out a Rand McNally atlas," he said. "In the first part are the maps. The last part is an alphabetical listing of cities. I wanted a rustic, small-time sound. I went to the listing for Missouri. And I found 'Festus.' I loved the sound of it."