.: The Hottest Private Tracker On The Net!!!www. Com(((((((((((((= Enjoy No RAR releases =)))))))))))))))))))).NFO. REVPresentsChris Rock Bigger and Blackermovie snizzel:Supplier: REVGenre.: Comedy / DocumentaryRating.: 7.6/10 (606 votes)Subbed.: NoIMDB.: 65 minrelease snizzel:Rls Date.:././1999DVD Date.:Type.: XviDSource.: Retail DVDFormat.: PALVideo Bitrate.: 1360 kbpsResolution.: 608 x 336Audio Bitrate.: 129 kbpsSize.: 1cd 50x15mbGroup snizzel:We are a new grp so expect mistakes:PAtm we are looking for nice sites to affil on and an nfo makeras you can see god never give me that talent:PGrtz toGZP, EXILE, LiFEWORK, BaCo and RTeam!!!!and all others who contribute to the scene.
Here in the Time of Rock, wherein Christopher Julius Rock III rules again as he has ruled before, but only more so — international sweep! Colossal forums! Better transportation! — promptness counts for much. “There’s no such thing as early,” Rock himself will tell you, just as his late heroic father often impressed upon him under threat of belt strap. “There’s on time and late. Because he is a listener first and foremost, the sharp clarion call of a nation — and also that of his savvy accountants — could not escape his attention.
Chris Rock during 'Saturday Night Live' Cast & Crew Party for 1990-1991 Season - September 29, 1990 at Tavern On The Green in New York City, New York, United States. In Bigger and Blacker's.
And so, for months now, he has begun dispensing fresh salient insight across the continent and also across the ocean, forcing jaws to plummet and beliefs to jangle in his fiery wake. From town to town, at carefully plotted stopovers (with some tickets scalped for hundreds of dollars apiece), his itinerant wisdom has echoed not unlike rolling thunder, depending on the acoustics provided.For instance: “Bush has fucked up so bad,” he will posit to any and all congregants in braying loops of oratory, “that he’s made it hard for a white man to run for president. ‘Gimme anything but another white man, please! Black man, white woman, giraffe, anything!’ A white man’s had that job for hundreds of years — and one guy fucked it up for all of ya!” And: “Each candidate tells you how humble they are.
No, you’re not humble! Do you know how big your ego has to be to say you wanna be president of the United States? Do you know how much Puff Daddy juice you have to drink? How many Kanye injections you have to take?”And: “I actually think America is ready for a woman president. But does it have to be that woman? She’s gonna work in the office where her husband got blow jobs?! There ain’t enough redecorating in the world she can do to change that!
There’s one thing Hillary Clinton’s better at than everybody else, and one thing only —— and that’s forgiveness! Hillary Clinton is the greatest forgiver in the history of the world. Even Jesus knows: ‘You really good at forgiveness.
I mean, I talk the talk, but you walk the walk!’ “And: “Barack Obama — he’s a black man with two black names! He doesn’t let his blackness sneak up on you.
As soon as you hear Barack Obama you wonder, ‘Does he have a spear?’ He’s so cool, too, man. I don’t think he realizes he’s a black candidate! When you’re the only black guy doing something, people expect you to take it up a notch.
If you’re the only black playing basketball with a bunch of white guys — they expect you to dunk! Barack has a handicap the other candidates don’t have: Barack Obama has a black wife. And I don’t think a black woman can be first lady of the United States. Yeah, I said it! A black woman can be president, no problem. You know why?
Because a black woman cannot play the background of a relationship. Just imagine telling your black wife that you’re president? ‘Honey, I did it! I’m the president.’ ‘No, we the president! And I want my girlfriends in the Cabinet!
I want Kiki to be secretary of state! She can fight!' He knows, after all, there is much to do on his life mission, even as mortality taunts him at every turn. “Forty-three’s only young if you die at forty-three,” he told me, pensive as can be, when I first encountered him in Chicago, where his No Apologies concert tour had pitched tent for four sold-out nights. He had, in fact, turned forty-three one week earlier, and celebrated by attending the Broadway production of The Little Mermaid with cherished daughters Lola, 5, and Zahra, 3, and his glamorous wife of eleven years, Malaak Compton Rock, currently on view as a celebrity philanthropist judge on Oprah’s Big Give reality program.Oprah, whose universal empowerment headquarters are also located in Chicago, factors often in the life of Rock; when he hosted the Academy Awards in 2005, he regularly sought eye contact with her in the audience for quick fixes of unconditional support. (“Oprah’s here,” he said during one pause that night from the stage. “Oprah is so rich I saw John Kerry proposing to her just an hour ago.” Oprah laughed; Kerry, of course, had fallen hard to George W.
Bush at election three months earlier.) The Rocks also attended the unveiling of Oprah’s South African school for girls at the dawn of 2007 as well as the exclusive star-glutted benefit gala she threw for Barack Obama last September at her sprawling Montecito, California, hideaway: “People were basically there to see Oprah’s house,” he says. “And I’ve got a feeling none of us did. I’ve got a feeling we were all at the guesthouse.”You should therefore know that Rock, when I found him, was ensconced at Chicago’s Peninsula hotel, preferred accommodation for guests of The Oprah Winfrey Show, whose panelists that same week included Jim Carrey and Steve Carell, who had been sharing hotel elevators not only with Rock but also with Will Ferrell (on his own film-promotion rounds). Which is to say: American Comedy itself had momentarily pulsed inside one luxurious vacuum —— a coincidental nexus, with room service and views of Lake Michigan! “And we never made time for a Justice League of America meeting,” Rock lamented to me, referring of course to the hallowed society of superheroes. Anyway, on this day and on two others I spent with him in different provinces, he wore a navy crew-neck sweater and navy sweatpants, the civilian uniform he favors most devotedly —— possibly (but probably not) to compensate for the fact “I am not blue-black,” as he approximated his tint of flesh on the recent PBS Henry Louis Gates Jr. Genealogical series, African American Lives 2, wherein he learned that his ancestry was twenty percent white European.
“Wow,” he blurted to Gates in that particular installment, “I’m horrible at sports, so maybe that explains that. My jump shot is horrible!”As goes irony, Europe and various lands beyond have lately stoked Rock’s waking dreamscape, in that he has long wished to become exported trade.
“I’ve been talking about trying this for years,” he said on this February Sunday, soaring with the kind of validation that tends to impregnate the Time of Rock. “My old management —— you’d tell somebody you’re a black comedian and you want to play London, they said, ‘How about we book four more Detroit dates instead?’ If you’re gonna be in the movie business, or any business nowadays, you have to establish yourself worldwide.
They didn’t release my last movie over there, which pissed me off to the point where I’m like, ‘You know what? You’re all wrong. I’m going over there, and I’m gonna make a name for myself.’ And now dates from other countries keep coming in! Never been done!
I’m doin’ Australia! I’m doin’ South Africa! So I’m really spreadin’ my comedic wings this year. I’m mixin’ it up!”Selected Moments in and from the Time of Rock:There had been a mix-up with the cranberry juice Rock ordered at brunch that afternoon, and you may take from this what you wish: The waiter placed a glass of straw-yellow liquid in front of him, and Rock stared at it and was having none of it. “Um, this is cranberry juice?” he asked, whereupon the waiter scooped it away and returned with a glass of appropriately red liquid, reporting, “That was white cranberry; this is regular.” Said Rock, “Oh, it was white cran!
I never even heard of that.” (Who has?) Nevertheless, the whiteness had discomfited him and he rejected it reflexively. Ancient profundity may lurk in subtext here. But probably not. Anyway, he then asked the waiter (who was whiter than the white cran, which, after all, was yellow) for a separate glass of ice and added with overwhelming beneficence, “Pretty please? Sugar on top?”Rock addresses women of certain maturity as “ma’am.” For example: “How you doin’, ma’am?” he said to a diminutive white-haired matron whose face abruptly hovered beside him.
“I just think you’re wonderful,” she enthused in a stream of platitudes to which Rock returned four thank-yous and two you-take-cares before he receded, almost tortoiselike, into an occluded maw without shifting an inch; it is a phenomenon he eventually summons up in the presence of all chatty strangers. Which is to say, he excels at going away while never quite leaving. He is just that shy, and he is also just this shy: Days earlier in Baltimore, he bolted from the stage forty-five minutes into his performance (dependably the halfway mark), bidding the audience good night and thus inciting mass confusion until he reappeared four minutes later to deliver the full remainder of his electric torrent, but never revealing what had happened. “I was backstage throwin’ up,” he now told me, with measured chagrin.
“Joyner took me to Hooters for crab legs that day,” he explained, referring to Mario Joyner, the fine, buoyant comic who opens all shows for Rock. “I wasn’t sure I was gonna make it through the last half after I came back, so why waste time talkin’ to the audience about it? I just wanted to give them their money’s worth. The weird thing was, it was one of the great shows I did on this tour.”An unusual if well turned out Caucasian fellow, thirtyish and a self-described “huge fan,” sat at the next table with his laptop open, eavesdropping unabashedly on our conversation, occasionally interjecting his own casual thoughts as they occurred to him. “I remember your joke about how there could never be a black vice president,” he offered at one point. “That now looks like maybe a possibility.
Do you think Hillary’s actually wondering about that and is scared?” (Distilled version of bizarrely referenced joke, which Rock retired after his 1996 Bring the Pain broadcast: “You ain’t nevvvvver gonna see no black vice president. Not while the president’s white. You know why?
‘Cause some black guy would just kill the president, that’s why! Shit, I’d do it.”)As this was weeks prior to Senator Clinton’s very premature postulation about enlisting Senator Obama as a running mate, Rock’s face creased with puzzlement. “Uh, looks like — uh, could be.” he stammered.
Eavesdropper guy, backpedaling: “Well, she’s probably more scared that she won’t win the nomination at all, right?”Rock (to me): “Where were we?”Ten days hence, we were en route to Philadelphia from stately Rock manor — modern, rambling, warmly monochromatic —— tucked smartly amid the fresh-moneyed monoliths of Alpine, New Jersey, which was designated as eighth in Most Expensive Zip Codes by Forbes in 2005, three years after the Rocks (then expecting stork) transplanted from their Brooklyn carriage house. “My property taxes are actually cheaper on this house than on my Brooklyn house,” he said, somewhat brightly; Rock famously hates taxes, as early material has made clear: “You don’t ‘pay’ taxes,” one rant began. Later, in November, he introduced Obama from the stage of Harlem’s Apollo Theater at a boisterous rally after suggesting that President Bush had doused the wildfires of Southern California with the leftover floodwaters of Hurricane Katrina: “White people burnin’? He’s there quick!
Black people drownin’? No time!” And before last month’s Super Tuesday, voters in New York state received automated phone calls from a Robo-Rock urging Obama upon them: “For the first time in my life, I am inspired by a leader who puts principles ahead of polls and unites all of us around a common purpose.”You may as well know, meanwhile, that the un-robotic Rock possesses the actual Obama personal phone number, which he was instructed to dial early on in the primary hoopla. “Well, he reached out to me,” Rock said sheepishly, as we sped along the I-95 highway. He paused a contemplative moment, then added, “I wonder if he did this to a bunch of other comedians, too.
Once you know somebody, you do go easier on them. It’s common sense, you know?”Rock himself was elected the nation’s first black president back in 2003, although he campaigned under the name Mays Gilliam and took power by way of a fanciful box-office embarrassment called Head of State. Co-written and directed by Rock, it was the tale of a noble patsy (hapless but caring Ninth Ward alderman for the District of Columbia) who overcame all odds to enchant the body politic, then installed Bernie Mac as vice president.
From the final moments of Rock’s director’s commentary on the DVD: “Hey, I won! There you go. You know, there was actually a lot of talk about maybe he should lose.
But I don’t know if I’m gonna see a black president in my lifetime. So it would be kinda shitty if I had a chance to see one, in a fantasy world, and didn’t take it.”According to Rock, Senator Obama has never mentioned the film to him, nor has Rock dared to broach the topic. “I’m actually surprised I haven’t seen it used against him,” he says. “I haven’t seen anybody try to pull clips” of the State House electric-slide dance scene.
(For what it’s worth, Rock happens to prize the 1998 science-fiction epic Deep Impact if only because Morgan Freeman occupied the Oval Office therein with unquestioned entitlement: “He’s a black guy, and no one said shit.”). True Rock Lore reminds us that, as the boy dreamer of Bed-Stuy, Rock did in fact aspire to hold the highest office in the land. “I really did want to be president,” he would echo to me. “If you’re a kid, you want to get the best job, the one that gets a lot of attention.” (Richard Nixon, alas, was his primary reference point.) His mother, however, assured him that certain murder awaited that dream. Plus, the fact that Malcolm X was assassinated two weeks after Rock entered life has always hung grimly in his head space.Still, he was overcome to recently learn — again, courtesy of Henry Louis Gates’ PBS roots excavation —— that his great-great-grandfather Julius Caesar Tinghman, former slave, had not only served as a corporal in the U.S. Colored Troops in the Civil War but, at age twenty-seven, was elected to the South Carolina state legislature in 1872.
“I’m gonna cry,” said Rock, puddling up on camera. “Until I lucked into a comedy club at age twenty, just on a whim, I assumed I would pick up things for white people for the rest of my life. If I’d known this, it would have taken away the inevitability that I was gonna be nothin’.”As blow the winds of whim and fate and inevitability, one resonant Head of State footnote did emerge.
And it would feel not unlike a nomination for the highest office in the land of the business of dreams (controlled by white men). Chris Rock was elected in 2005 to host the Oscars. And despite quaking Old Guard trepidation (how many “motherfuckers” might he hurl up into the satellite beams?), he strode onto the stage welcomed merely by a standing ovation (unheard of for a host!).
“Sit yo’ asses down!” he began, exuberance personified. (Avers friend Bill Stephney, “He is very much stand-up’s Obama.”)Upon videotape review now of the ceremony that unspooled, including his notorious mock admonition to overzealous filmmakers (“If you want Tom Cruise and all you can get is Jude Law — wait!”), Rock commanded the night as entertainingly as any host who never broke into song or was not named Johnny Carson. “They always write that it went badly, but show me the jokes that didn’t work,” Rock had instructed, knowing that I would find none. “The house was actually pulling for me,” he said, still a bit incredulous. “So much weird concern.” Moreover, how can you not relish, even now, his masterful introduction for Hollywood conscience-bearer ad nauseam Tim Robbins: “When our next presenter is not dazzling us with his acting ability, he’s boring us to death with his politics!”Sexual politics consume Rock more than any other kind, if you want to know the truth. It is his most dangerous professional (and occasionally personal) destination. (He hangs easily, for instance, in the company of Courtney Love and Madonna.) Indeed, on all performance nights, Rock unleashes requisite waves of uncomfortable gender dissection (“Every married man I know gets the same lazy-ass blow job.
It’s like three licks and ‘Is it hard? I gotta fold these clothes!' “Those awkward Rock moments,” as his writing partner Ali LeRoi calls them, “in which, if you’re sitting with a loved one, you have to pretend that you have no idea what he’s talkin’ about.”Because all important comedy mirrors Life itself (with some exaggerated refraction), who then could not regularly fear for the state of the Rock marital union? For instance, backstage one night, the effusive HBO vice president Nancy Geller congratulated her star on his wife’s appearance that week on the cover of TV Guide (with Oprah and Big Give mates). Then Geller said, “Malaak’s a good sport, let me tell you something!
His stand-up for the last special, you ran amok on her!” Rock twinkled: “Not her! I have my Real Wife and my Comedy Wife!” (Comics, by the way, have used this ploy to dig out since the epoch of the juggler fool.)Last March, he turned up on Real Time With Bill Maher to promote I Think I Love My Wife (whose very title threatens connubial bliss), with Rock starring as the uncertain husband who flirts with infidelity. Whereupon Maher asked, “By the way, how does your wife like the movie?” To which Rock responded, cheerily squirming, “ Hahaaaa!
My wife’s got a movie comin’ out called I Think These Aren’t Your Kids.”. Not long before that, tabloids buzzed with rumors of a Rock divorce filing, which never came to bear, but there have been other bumps certainly, including a documented brief separation early on in their marriage. The ungainly byproduct of that intermezzo just resurfaced as part of the illegal-wiretapping tribulations of Hollywood private detective Anthony Pellicano, whom Rock hired three years later to help quash allegations from one Monica Zsibrita, who falsely claimed that he had fathered her child during a nonconsensual one-night stand at the Beverly Hills Hotel. The case was dropped two blood tests later.