First up is Speed Kills, a Dollar Tree Casino riff starring John Travolta as a fictionalized version of speedboat manufacturer and mobbed-up multimillionaire Donald Aronow (here "Ben Aronoff"). It looks and feels cheap, and thrums with all the speed of a rowboat down the ol' Mississipp' -- probably because it was initially conceived as a chintzy VR-cinema experiment. 

Then, we get a slight reprieve with A Score to Settle, which features Nic Cage as his millionth aging mob enforcer looking back on his post-prison life and broken relationships with an eye towards revenge. Cage is reliably solid here -- he can play these kinds of roles in his sleep, not that his terminally-insomniac character would allow it -- but the rest of it is a slog. Still, beats Travolta in a motorboat!

Serving as a spiritual followup to Mandy (with its cosmic-horror stylings and full-on Rage Cage moments), Color Out of Space puts Cage in another tale of rural tranquility disrupted by neon-tinted ravings from the beyond. This time, he's the patriarch of a broken yet resilient family who retreats to the woods to repair long-festering emotional wounds, only to find themselves torn apart by a fuschia glow that emanates from a meteorite that lands in their backyard. Crops grow uncannily, people lose their minds, and alpacas take on new, horrific shapes -- all while Cage and co. flail against the unfathomable knowledge the "color" presents them.

It's a lean, effective, genuinely haunting bit of cosmic horror, and the boys dig into why it gets under their skin so. 

First, we cover the Gina Gershon-starring Inconceivable, an overamped Lifetime movie about a crazy mommy (Nicky Whelan) who cozies up to a well-to-do couple (Gershon, Nicolas Cage) whose IVF-born child just so happens to be from her egg. Hitchcockian antics ensue, by which we mean Whelan's wacko MILF (falling far short of the post-breakdown Lindsay Lohan the original casting promised us) kills female wrestlers with dumbbells in shallow ponds, gaslights Gershon into restarting her pill addiction, and womb-jacks Gershon's latest attempt at a child. Still, it's got Gershon and a bored-looking Cage together for the first time since Face/Off!

Then, there's Looking Glass, a low-budget motel thriller so indebted to David Lynch they even got Angelo Badalamenti to provide some themes! Cage plays a dye-bearded wreck who, with his depressed wife (Robin Tunney), take over a motel in the middle of nowhere as a means to get over their recently-passed son. There, Cage stumbles upon a mysterious web of sex trafficking and voyeurism -- hello, one-way motel mirrors -- that at all times threatens to become interesting. More fool us!

First, there's the staggeringly sloppy cop thriller 211, in which Cage plays an aging cop who teams up with his fresh-faced rookie son-in-law and a teenage ridealong to thwart a four-man bank robbery in Massachusetts. It's got the politics and aesthetics of a well-meaning anti-drug PSA, a bloated, poorly staged shootout even at a sparse 80-some minutes. 

Then, we get real weird with it with Between Worlds, a wild supernatural dirtbag romance with Cage as a scraggly, widowed truck driver, whose fling with another doomed soul (Run Lola Run's Franka Potente) leads them down a road where his dead wife's soul zaps into the body of Potente's hot young daughter (Penelope Mitchell). Marathon screwing and over-the-top garden hose fights ensue, as Cage goes as wild as he can with a film seemingly made for five dollars.

First, there's Panos Cosmatos' Mandy, a trippy bit of horror-fantasy psychedelia in which a logger (Cage) exacts revenge on the drug-fueled doomsday hippies who kill his love (Andrea Riseborough). Cue the neon lights, the screaming, and more Cheddar Goblin than you can swing an oversized chainsaw at!

From there, we earn the respect of all five boroughs of New York City -- count 'em on your fingers if you have to -- for Gotti, directed by one of the guys from Entourage and endlessly hagiographic of its subject, noted mob boss John Gotti (Travolta). It's a goofy, misguided waste of an okay Travolta performance, made even worse by the fact that it feels like someone watched GoodFellas high and decided the movie thought mobsters were really awesome (and great dads!). 

Fortunately, things get better in Brian Taylor's zombie-parent horror-thriller Mom and Dad, as Cage (along with Selma Blair) play stressed-out middle aged parents who find themselves the victim of a plague that causes people to murder their offspring. Sure, a good portion of it is a clever "Home Alone meets Dawn of the Dead" scenario, with gore and power tools aplenty. But there's a fascinating strain of adult melancholy in there, with Cage doing some of his best recent work. 

Plus, we talk a bit about Nic Cage's latest, the droll, bizarre A24 flick Dream Scenario!

First up is Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, Peter Ramsey, Bob Persichetti, and Rodney Rothman's dizzying animated epic about Miles Morales' (Shameik Moore) initiation into the jam-packed multiverse of Spider-Man! It's still one of the freshest takes on the web-slinger we've ever seen, and its unique blend of animation styles has left an indelible mark on the moviemaking landscape. But more importantly for our interests, it has Nic Cage as a hardbitten, noir-tinged Spidey that gives the actor a change to break out his James Cagney impression.

Then we zap into another meta-charmer, Teen Titans GO! To the Movies, following the cherubic team of sidekicks and their desperate efforts to get a superhero movie like every other character under the sun. It's a delightful winner with plenty of great gags for kids and adults, but we're just thrilled Cage finally got to play his childhood hero, Superman (albeit one more Christopher Reeve-inflected than his swoopy-haired turn in the abortive Tim Burton Superman Lives). 

First is I AM WRATH, a low-budget JOHN WICK riff that was originally meant to pair Cage with director William Friedkin! Instead, we drew the short end of the stick in this timeline, so we've got a constipated-looking John Travolta in a shock-black party wig and the director of The Mask (Chuck Russell). Here, Travolta avenges his wife's death in a seemingly-petty murder, only to go back to his life as a black ops expert, armed only with his wits, a Bible passage, and his old war buddy (Christopher Meloni).

Then, there's VENGEANCE: A LOVE STORY, the first (and hopefully only) action picture adapted from a Joyce Carol Oates novel. (Eat your heart out, BLONDE!) Here, Cage plays a virtuous cop who takes pity on a young woman (Anna Hutchison) whose gang-rapists get acquitted thanks to a sleazy country lawyah (Don Johnson). It's equal parts weepy social-issue melodrama and C-level Cage thriller, shot with all the gauzy cheapness of a Hallmark original movie. Joy!

Nathan and Clint break down two tales of violence and revenge, both throwbacks in their own way: one to the spaghetti Westerns of the '60s and '70s, the other to, I guess, Deadfall?

First up is Arsenal, a chintzy DTV Cage vehicle with a twist: this time, apropos of nothing, he's reprising his over-the-top role as mustachioed drug kingpin Eddie King from his brother Christopher Coppola's chintzy 1993 thriller Deadfall. Once again, he's paired with a bland lead (Adrian Grenier, whose face makes you always wonder whether the movie you're watching is a fake Vincent Chase joint) in a disjointed, overly-stylized tale of brothers pitted against each other in a battle for their own souls. But this time, with a lot more snot-nosed Cage weeping every single line in a Tony Clifton wig. 

Fret not, though, for sunrise is just over the horizon in Ti West's slick, darkly funny Western pastiche In a Valley of Violence. Taking the same arch approach he takes to horror homages like House of the Devil and X, West follows a lonely man (Ethan Hawke) running from a violent past with little but his trusty pup by his side. But when tragedy befalls him (two guesses as to what happens to that dog), Hawke goes full Western John Wick on the cocky gunslinger failson (James Ransone) of the eminently pragmatic town marshal (John Travolta, mutton-chopped and delightful). 

Things get a little better, if a little safer, with Mario Van Peebles' po-faced WWII drama USS Indianapolis: Men of Courage. Peebles casts Cage as the doomed captain of the equally-ill-fated Navy ship that famously smuggled vital parts for the atomic bomb behind enemy lines, only to get shot down by a Japanese U-boat. From there comes starvation, sharks, and a whole lotta sitting around and waiting.

First, we cover Jackie Earle Haley's directorial debut, Criminal Activities, a messy but ultimately interesting Tarantino riff in which a group of down-and-out high school buddies (Michael Pitt, Christopher Abbott, Rob Brown, Dan Stevens) ends up inadvertently in debt to a cheeky, Macbeth-quoting mob boss (Travolta, having a grand old time). They can get out from under his thumb, if they do one big job for him -- kidnap the failson (Edi Gathegi) of his mob rival. Twists, turns, and darkly comic antics ensue, as a deeply-overqualified cast leans into the film's innate goofiness. 

On the other side of the coin comes Oliver Stone's poorly-aged, deadly serious, self-righteous political biopic Snowden, charting the life of Edward Snowden (Joseph Gordon-Levitt, doing his best Elizabeth Holmes impression) as he goes from dull intelligence agent to dull whistleblower. Cage shows up for a few minutes as Snowden's jaded mentor, but otherwise it's two-plus hours of Stone's overwrought self-insistence that what you're watching is The Most Groundbreaking, Earth-Shattering Discovery About Government Surveillance Ever. (The government's spying on us all the time? The hell you say?!)

Then there's the Eddie Bunker novel adaptation Dog Eat Dog, Paul Schrader's semi-redemption from the execrable Dying of the Light. This time, Cage plays a Bogey-obsessed ex-con who ropes in his fellow criminal pals (Christopher Matthew Cook and Willem Dafoe, the latter doing his damndest to out-Cage Cage with his wily psychopath Mad Dog) into a hapless plan to kidnap the baby of a local gangland rival. Things go to pot as predicted, and Schrader paints their eventual fall with all the Expressionistic verve of his later works. 

On the Cage side of things, he's slumming it in low-rent supernatural horror with Pay the Ghost, as a lit professor in New York who starts seeing apparitions of his missing son a year after losing him.... at Halloween! (Cue crackling thunder.) It's also pretty dismal, an Insidious riff that lacks any of that film's charm or atmosphere, which leads to a pretty grim double feature all around.

Still, we brighten things up with a quick chat about Cage's latest, Renfield -- did we like it? Did we think it made the best use of Cage's lifelong mission to play Count Dracula? Find out!

Then there's Paul Schrader's fatally compromised political thriller Dying of the Light, starring Cage as an old CIA flack whose quest for revenge against his Muslim terrorist captor 20 years ago is complicated by his failing mental state. There's glimmers of something interesting here; too bad the studio ripped the film away from Schrader and turned it into a blank, hokey mess! Still, it features Anton Yelchin in one of his final roles, so there's that. 

In the VOD thriller Rage, Cage plays a former criminal whose successful life on the straight and narrow is disrupted by the kidnapping and death of his daughter, which sends him spiraling back, as the Bugs Bunny meme would say, to "the old me." The prototypical Redbox-y action and creaky performances follows, even as there are some glimmers of something interesting with its fresh spin on the usual revenge narratives. 

We follow that up with David Gordon Green's mournful Southern Gothic fable Joe, about an alcoholic tree-poisoner (Cage) who finds himself the erstwhile father figure to a kid (Tye Sheridan) trying to escape the thumb of his abusive father (Gary Poulter, one of moviedom's great one-and-done performances). 

Together, the three of us talk about these two distinct takes on Cage's distinct style of middle-aged vengeance -- one highbrow, one lowbrow -- and you'll be shocked where our opinions actually differ!

First, there's Vic Armstrong's adaptation of the best-selling apocalypse novel Left Behind, starring Cage in one of his sleepiest roles as hotshot airline pilot Rayford Steele, who finds himself flying a plane where half the passengers -- and his co-pilot -- have disappeared thanks to the Rapture. On the one hand, it's the rare Christsploitation movie where it doesn't feel like a feature-length Fox News segment; on the other, it's a cheap, warmed-over Airport riff featuring shoddy effects, wonky pacing, and an all-timer breakdown from American Idol's Jordin Sparks.

Then we travel East for Outcast, a Chinese-American-Canadian coproduction in which, much like Season of the Witch, Cage plays one half of a pair of Crusade Knights who quit the church because genocide is a bit too spicy for his taste. Problem is, it's not his movie: it's Hayden Christensen, glowering his way through poorly-shot fight choreography in a limp chase movie set in ancient China. Sure, Cage shows up in the last act with snake-hands and a British accent like a Disneyland Jack Sparrow impersonator, but it's not quite enough to save this slog.

In Philip Martin's ponderous The Forger, Travolta tries his hand at a serious, downbeat character drama, as an expert art forger from Boston who works out a deal to get out of prison early to see his terminally ill son (Tye Sheridan). But of course, it's contingent on forging a priceless Monet and stealing the real one! Too bad any attempts at intergenerational male bonding (between Travolta, Sheridan, and a game Christopher Plummer as their irascible gramps) is bogged down by a top-tier bonkers Travolta wig/soul-patch combo.

On the bright side, there's Stolen, which is the good kind of bonkers! Reuniting with Con Air director Simon West, Cage hams it up as an expert bank thief blackmailed into giving his ex-partner (Josh Lucas, truly Doing the Most) who has his daughter trapped in his cab's trunk. It's a goofy, fun chase through N'awlins, complete with colorful characters, campy twists, and some genuinely great side characters.

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First up is Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance, the Neveldine/Taylor-directed sequel to the 2000s adaptation of the Marvel comic character, with Cage reprising his role as cursed cyclist Johnny Blaze. This time, he's scraping at the door in Romania, going full Terminator 2 as he keeps the Devil (a scowling Ciaran Hinds) away from his kid. Meanwhile, Neveldine and Taylor do their Crank thing to mixed results, and Idris Elba is completely wasted as a French motorcycle priest(?) obsessed with helping the good guys.

Then, we shift gears to Patrick Lussier's Drive Angry 3-D, a faux-grindhouse pastiche filled with more lolrandom epic bacon humor and random CG objects popping out at the screen than you could imagine. Still, it's got a lowbrow charm to it, and William Fichtner somehow out-acts Cage as a smarmy Accountant from the underworld who's chasing Cage's hell-escapee grandpa and his sexy waitress sidekick (Amber Heard). 

First, there's Seeking Justice, the Roger Donaldson-directed thriller about a mild-mannered English teacher (Cage) who decides to enlist the services of a kind of civilian vengeance business (led by a shaved-headed Guy Pearce) to avenge the brutal rape of his wife (January Jones, giving us nothing). Thus begins a freefall into violence and madness, shot with all the direct-to-DVD flatness of a geezer teaser.

Then, there's Trespass, the last (and worst) film by Joel Schumacher, a tepid home-invasion thriller where a group of thugs (with an overacting Ben Mendelsohn at the front) break into the home of a "wealthy" jewel dealer (Cage), only for him and his wife (Nicole Kidman, who knows why she agreed to be in this) to enter a tense negotiation for their lives. Well, I *say* tense, but the film is content to fill itself with more twists than a loaf of challah. 

First up is his third and final Disney collab with Jon Turteltaub, The Sorcerer's Apprentice, where he plays Obi-Wan (with a sick leather trenchcoat) to a baby wizard played by Jay Baruchel at peak nebbish nerdiness. It's ostensibly an adaptation of that bit from Fantasia where Mickey Mouse makes the mops dance, but filtered through a buttload of Harry Potter and a vastly overqualified cast.

Then, we go small for the folk horror-inspired slog Season of the Witch, where Cage and Ron Perlman play deserters from the Crusades tasked with escorting a maybe-witch (Claire Foy) to a distant monastery where they might exorcise her. There are glimmers of some neat Hammer horror darkness -- see plague-ridden Christopher Lee -- but it's otherwise a dim, cheap action-horror pastiche. 

Still, this revamped schedule allows us to indulge in some genuinely wacky double features, like Cage as the unhinged father figure to two superheroic tots! First, there's his sleepy performance as Dr. Tenma in Astro-Boy, the adaptation of the classic manga twisted into a four-quadrant CGI kids' blockbuster (with some of the smoothest, ugliest character designs you ever did see).

Then, we strap on our Batsuits and watch Cage ham it up in Matthew Vaughn's bloodbath of superhero misanthropy, Kick-Ass! Come for the Mark Millar-penned edginess, stay for Cage's halting Adam West impression as Big Daddy.

Since Travolta and Cage's output are going to, well, dramatically differ in pace in the most recent decade of their careers, we're gonna double up on Cage movies, and let Travolta catch up as we reach the years he puts out new flicks. 

But that also gives us time to zero in on some late-career classics, including Werner Herzog's hypnotic crime drama Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans! Easily one of the most bugfuck movies of the 2000s, this very-much-not-a-sequel to the Abel Ferrara flick sees Nicolas Cage as a strungout New Orleans detective working a murder case while jonesing for his next fix the entire time. It's as nuts as you'd expect, but also drips with seedy atmosphere and lurid charm -- aided, of course, by Cage at his bug-eyed best.

Luckily, our souls don't dance along on this odyssey, as New York Times columnist and cultural critic extraordinaire Jamelle Bouie hops on the boat to the Big Easy to help us dig into its deceptive, Cagetastic appeal.

On the kiddie half of the equation, Nic Cage teams back up with Jerry Bruckheimer for G-Force, a hokey live-action/animation adventure that asks the fundamental question: what if guinea pigs were spies? It's a feast of late-aughts 3D gimmickry, comedy actors slumming it (Will Arnett, Zack Galifinakis) and Cage hamming -- well, mole-ing -- it up as a member of the team with a surprising secret (and a nasal voice that would make Peggy Sue Got Married jealous). 

Critic and author Marya E. Gates joins us on the pod to talk about this highly unique double feature, and shares with us her childhood memories that might make G-Force just a bit more palatable. 

In Savages, Oliver Stone adapts a tawdry crime thriller about what happens when a pair of hunky poly Laguna Beach weed entrepreneurs (Taylor Kitsch and Aaron Taylor-Johnson) have to rescue their third (Blake Lively) from a scary Mexican drug cartel led by Salma Hayek and Benicio Del Toro. The results are long, washed-out, and obnoxious, to the point where not even a go-for-broke Travolta can save it in a supporting role as a corrupt DEA agent.

Ironically, things start to look better as the Earth nears apocalypse, with Alex Proyas' deceptively earnest sci-fi drama Knowing. Nic Cage plays an astrophysicist who suddenly has to face the possibility that the world's going to end (slash discover a sense of faith?) when his son comes into possession of a series of numbers that predict the destruction of the planet. It's a neat little throwback to the conceptual sci-fi pictures of the '50s and '60s, and Cage is remarkably restrained. Give it a look (and give us a listen!)

First, there's Bangkok Dangerous, a messy mix of John Woo and Wong Kar-Wai involving an American assassin (Cage) traipsing around Thailand for his next kill, only to find strange purpose among the people (and spicy food!) of the place. Too bad this remake of a 1999 Thai action flick is shockingly low in energy and style, and Cage just doesn't look happy to be here.

The same can't be said for the Luc Besson-produced From Paris With Love, a fatty bit of EuropaCorp sleaze that pairs a buttoned-down Jonathan Rhys Meyers with a bald, goateed American pig-dog Travolta as they jaunt around Paris with vases of coke and set about stopping an Islamist terrorist attack. It's as perversely fun as it is horrendously racist, which is an...interesting dynamic to try to navigate!

Together, we break down the ways this one strays from the eerie folk horror origins of the Robin Hardy original, Nic Cage's turning, whirling-dervish performance, and the innate absurdity of punching an innocent woman in the face while wearing a bear suit. Not only that, we get to touch on why exactly this film came along at the perfect time to haunt Cage's career for decades hence, sending him into an Internet meme-hole he's only recently been able to begin to claw his way out of.

First up is The Taking of Pelham 123, Tony Scott's penultimate film and a remake of the 1976 thriller classic about a heist aboard a New York City subway train. But this time, the slow-burn tension and grimy tale of a Big Apple suffused with sleaze and danger is replaced by a slick, post-9/11 NYC and John Travolta in Orange County Chopper cosplay doing The Most. Not even Denzel can put the brakes on this train!

Then, we pull some sleight-of-hand and move on over to Next, wherein Nic Cage plays a greasy, showboating magician with the magical power to see two minutes into the future. He could use it to help FBI agent Julianne Moore save the world from nuclear catastrophe, but instead he'd rather mack on Jessica Biel, who's young enough to be his daughter. It's a bonkers movie with an even more bizarre ending, and saunters far from the Philip K. Dick story it's based on. 

First up is Oliver Stone's World Trade Center, which trades in Stone's signature conspiratorial thinking for an earnest, if narratively stagnant, disaster movie about the real-life tale of two Port Authority police officers (Nic Cage and Michael Peña) trapped in the rubble of the World Trade Center on 9/11. Cage does a lot with a little, treating the film as an acting exercise, but it's as po-faced as something made so soon after the tragedies probably would be. Still, it's an interesting, if heavy, glimpse at how we were processing such an historical horror through cinema.

Don't worry, we've got a nice pastel palate-cleanser to follow in the form of Adam Shankman's breezy, bright adaptation of the Broadway musical Hairspray! A re-do of John Waters' most accessible picture, now filtered through Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman's catchy tunes, Hairspray sees ebullient, full-figured teen Tracy Turnblad (a revelatory Nikki Blonsky) finding her voice and standing up for integration in 1960s Baltimore. But most interesting for our project is Travolta, revisiting his song-and-dance bonafides in drag and a fat suit as Tracy's agoraphobic mom Edna, shooting for Divine but ending up landing on Amateur Cher Impersonator. Still, A+ for effort, and his chemistry with Chris Walken is off the charts, baby!

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First up is Ghost Rider, Nic Cage's first foray into the world of Marvel's very own bike-riding Spirit of Vengeance. The good news? Cage is really fun, injecting no small amount of Elvis-y elan to the deeply weird Johnny Blaze. The bad news? It's written and directed by Daredevil's Mark Steven Johnson, so literally nothing else works -- from the mall-goth villains to the ropey CG to Eva Mendes getting nothing to do but stand around in tight clothing. Bleak!

Luckily, we get a zipper, more complex kid's tale with Disney Animation Studios' first big hit, the Pixar-inflected Bolt, about a white lab (voiced by Travolta) who thinks he's a superhero, only to have to confront the horrors of the outside world. It's a cute, clever premise (what if The Incredibles was also The Truman Show?) elevated by sincere performances and some stunning animation that still holds up.

In Wild Hogs, Travolta plays second fiddle to Tim Allen, alongside Martin Lawrence and William H. Macy as a quartet of sad, middle-aged weekend warriors who flee their hen-pecking wives for a wild cross-country road trip on their hogs. Naturally, this means 100 minutes of saggy gay panic jokes and boomer humor so achingly bad you'll beg for this one to end just like Easy Rider. 

Then there's The Ant Bully, a Jimmy Neutron-inflected CG adaptation of a children's book that sees Cage in his most normal, regular-guy role yet: a wizard ant with magic powers who shrinks a ten-year-old boy to the size of an ant to teach him a lesson in humility. The effects are marginally charming, even if the human models look like porous hell-creatures intent on consuming our skin for sustenance.

In The Weather Man, Cage continues his mid-aughts exploration of sad, moody middle-aged antiheroes as a Chicago TV weatherman shrugging his way through his midlife crisis. In lesser hands, that'd be insufferable, but with Cage in one of his saddest, most wearied performances and Gore Verbinski's deadpan direction, it's a strangely sweet, darkly funny tale of a man struggling against his own mediocrity.

Contrast that with the flashy, sepia-toned melodrama Lonely Hearts, in which John Travolta plays a rugged gumshoe tracking down the infamous Lonely Hearts Killers, here played bafflingly by Jared Leto and Salma Hayek. When they're on screen, it's perverse fun, as miscast as the two are (Hayek's having a blast, despite playing someone who's decidedly NOT supposed to be one of the most beautiful women in the world). But then it cuts back to Travolta scowling with James Gandolfini, and the boredom starts all over again.

In Andrew Niccol's Lord of War, Cage plays an unscrupulous arms dealer with a calculator where his heart should be, tracking him through his nefarious, cold-blooded life as a weapons merchant. It's a searingly prescient, post-9/11 take on American imperialism and the intersections between capitalism and war, with a great Cage performance and the one time Jared Leto's been tolerable on screen.

On the other hand, we've got Be Cool, the misguided, decade-on sequel to Get Shorty, with F. Gary Gray warping this PG-13 nudge at the music industry of the aughts into an unfunny monster of a picture. The good: The Rock steals every scene he's in as a gay bodyguard who wants to be an actor! The bad: Harvey Keitel raps. The ugly: Just about everything everyone's wearing on screen.

First is National Treasure, one of Disney's most successful post-Pirates bids to chase the big-budget family-friendly adventure dragon. This time, the theme is America, with Cage as a boy-scout adventurer determined to steal the Declaration of Independence so he can find a secret treasure trove of riches with ties to America's origins. It's rollicking good, dumb fun, and has Sean Bean betraying someone. What more do you want?

On the other side of the spectrum, we've got Travolta's weepy firefighter drama Ladder 49, starring Joaquin Phoenix as a whitebread firefighter navigating the risks and stressors of life in the service, with Travolta as his sage mentor. It's all very po-faced and sincere, the kind of movie you can definitely watch with your dad who flies a Thin Blue Line flag outside his house. 

In Love Song for Bobby Long, Travolta plays the titular Southern-fried English professor, a hard-drinking, hard-living man dealing with his itinerant ways in N'Awlins, only to have to grow up when a young girl (Scarlett Johansson, not quite yet playing black widows or Japanese people) shows up to claim the house he's squatting in as hers.

Contrast that with Ridley Scott's masterful Matchstick Men, in which Cage fills the tic-filled shoes of a con man struggling with Tourette's and OCD, and what happens when a young girl (Alison Lohman) who may be his daughter comes into his life.

One's a sprightly, energetic dramedy with all the power of an actor and director at the top of his game (plus Sam Rockwell dancing!). The other? Well, it's got Travolta saying "pussy" a lot. Take a listen!

00:45 - Introductions

06:30 - The Juggalo March on Washington

28:34 - Scalding Hot Takes: Thor Ragnarok

47:22 - Harvey Weinstein/WTF is Wrong With Men?

1:02:35 - The Weird Accordion to Al

1:16:47 - Listener Mail