Blocked-umentaries

Hollywood adores making big-budget biopics about rock stars and their eternal struggles with booze, broads, and diverse demons. And we love watching them. Some they nailed; others not so much. Jamie Foxx was a respectable Ray Charles, for instance, and Gary Oldman made a fine Sid Vicious. But Joaquin Phoenix basically croaked his way around the screen as Mr. Johnny Cash, and that 50 Cent one was, uh, delightful.

Word has it that Elijah Wood was just cast as Iggy Pop, and seven people are playing Bob Dylan in a biopic, including Christian Bale, Cate Blanchett, and a little black child. (Sounds downright avant-TARD!) The Germs are coming to the big screen, along with Dusty Springfield. And there's a nasty rumor going around the Internet that Mr. Foxx may be cast to play Bob Marley.

Fair enough. But where are the deep and corrosive stories of the less talented? The one-hit wonders, the flashes in the pan, our pop culture's pond scum? Oh, right. It's all about the box office and Oscars, huh? Well, shame on you, Hollywood. Bad, multinational, money-hungry conglomerates! The losers have tales to tell too. These poor people deserve some attention. Not a lot, OK, but some. So before that Phil Spector picture is green-lit with Tom Cruise or Don Cheadle is cast to play Miles Davis, here are some ideas for future biopics. Paging Spike Jonze!

American Bad Ass

Remember Kid Rock? The Early Morning Stoned Pimp? The Bull God? Macaulay Culkin will own this role, trust us.

Halford

The decadent lead singer of Judas Priest, Rob Halford, had lots of demons (he didn't come out of the closet publicly until almost 20 years after his group's heyday). Two words: Clay Aiken. Come on — the impish American Idol crooner is the Leather Rebel! Two tortured and haunted artists become one. The Claymates are an untapped buying market.

Suave!

So what if the Latin Explosion went out with Interngate and Beanie Babies? The world deserves — no, yearns — to hear the saga of Gerardo, AKA Mr. Rico Suave. The incident with the Chilean death cult. We're thinking Wilmer Valderrama. Can you imagine him in those tight Z. Cavariccis as the "Latin Elvis"? ¿Es muy caliente, no?

Cabo Madness

Sammy Hagar's life on the fantastic island of sun, sand, and high jinks — sorta like a soft-porn Frankie-and-Annette beach romp. This good-natured caper stars Carrot Top in a career-defining role as Hagar, using no props whatsoever.

All That Glittered

Mariah Carey gets the Ray treatment as Kelly Clarkson literally chews into the celluloid in a cinematic tour de force co-starring Al Pacino as Tommy Mottola. Heartbreak, horrible records, and very public meltdowns, baby. And big ol' ham sandwiches, with Cool Ranch Doritos instead of lettuce. — Craig Hlavaty

Trojan War

In It's No Secret: From Nas to Jay-Z, From Seduction to Scandal — A Hip-Hop Helen of Troy Tells All, Carmen Bryan does more than wield the longest book title known to man. As someone whose name was smeared in one of hip-hop's biggest lyrical battles, Bryan attempts to return some of the embarrassing blows she was dealt.

The book speaks of her sexual relationships with rap stars Jay-Z and Nas (with whom she has a daughter) as well as basketball hotshot Allen Iverson. These trysts resulted in the former Def Jam receptionist getting dragged into the middle of a very public rapping match in 2001. ("Me and tha boy A.I. got more in common than just ballin' and rhymin'/Get it?/More in Carmen," Jay-Z sneered in one of the kinder lines about her on a track called "Supa Ugly.")

Bryan has a right to share her side of the story, but unfortunately, she's not very eloquent. Her claim to "tell all" in Secret is a misnomer. Save for some colorful sentences about Iverson, Bryan gives few intimate details about the sexual encounters, which is frankly the only reason why curious readers would pick up an exposé in the first place. (Those looking for trashier rap-world scenarios should be directed to Karrine Steffans' Confessions of a Video Vixen, though it too mostly just alludes to the juicy bits.) Bryan's candor is usually misplaced, as when she reveals Jay-Z's habit of flossing his rear end with a washcloth in the shower. That's simply too much information.

Secret was likely ghostwritten (one clue: In the liner notes, Bryan profusely thanks freelance journalist Vanessa Satten). While the penmanship won't win awards for technique, whoever did write these admissions certainly captured a sense of superficiality. Bryan makes little attempt to hide that when it comes to people, she often judges a book by its cover. Her own work is pretty on the outside, but the fact that she performs poorly between these printed sheets — well, that's no secret. — Tamara Palmer

Old Wives' Tale