The Replacements

As Hollywood's A-list actors age into oblivion, a retirement package of roles as grandfathers and has-beens await them. In and out of the movies.

Instead of appearing onscreen at a theatre near you, reaching for a silenced revolver or a secret dossier, they'll be appearing at the incontinence aisles of your local grocery stores reaching for a jumbo pack of adult diapers.

And just as the earth replenishes weeds, unrecognizable smells, and ugly baby animals, so too must it replace these overvalued objects of audience infatuation. For every actor that fades into the shadows, a handful of newcomers vie for the vacant spot.

A replacement has to be qualified. And by qualified I mean he has to bear even the slightest physical, ethnic, or social resemblance to the older actor. Simple rules apply. A giant can't replace a midget. A handsome Mexican cannot replace a bottlenose dolphin.

When Reindeer Games came out, I said over and over that Ben Affleck wasn't the new Bruce Willis. Well I was wrong. After some planes hit some buildings and Willis announced that he wouldn't be making any more movies that had him running senselessly down the street waving a gun, Ben Affleck let out a whoop of victory and went running down the street waving a gun. Or maybe that was J-Lo's hairdryer. Either way, Hollywood put a "position filled" sign in the window of Willis' dressing room. All other smirking, square-jawed, dull-eyed, blue collar stiffs need not apply.

So of course, Affleck called up Matt Damon and said "Guess what!" and Damon said "What!?" and Affleck said "I'm the new Bruce Willis!" and Damon said "Sonofabitch!" and then he went back to making a sandwich and watching Oprah.

Since entering the fray, Damon has been slugging it out with fellow pretty boy Brad Pitt over who gets to replace Robert Redford. Damon will probably win, unless he veers off course with some prison movies and accidentally becomes Paul Newman or Steve McQueen. And if Pitt plays any more crazy people he'll forfeit his Redford rights and end up as the new Jack Nicholson. That wouldn't be such a bad thing, if he can handle Christian Slater calling his house every night shouting and crying about lost dreams and broken promises and not meaning to bite that guy in the chest that time and where oh god where did my career go.

If anyone's career has been calling out for mercy over the last decade, it's Sylvester Stallone. He's been very patiently weaning himself from the action roles, waiting for Vin Diesel to show up. Diesel's gruff-speaking, jaw-punching onscreen antics have secured that spot. It helps that he's already demonstrated a prowess for Stallone's entire range of emotions, including such fan favorites as "My eyes are serious as I drive this car fast" and "I am punching you, now you are punching me", and even "I am futuristic and sweaty and mean!".

In the world of young, black, angsty comedians, Chris Rock and Chris Tucker are locked in a deadly leg-wrestle over who gets to be the official successor to Eddie Murphy. I predict five more years of wise-cracking, street-smart cop movies from both of them. Then Chris Rock will take a nap one afternoon and wake to hear his agent say that Tucker just clinched the crown by landing a movie deal where through the wonders of CGI effects and prosthetic fat suits, he'll play all 46 lead characters, including a talking manatee and a sailboat. Rock will be doomed to replace Bill Cosby as the peddler of pudding pops.

"Hey kids!! Buy some #!%*&@$ pudding pops!!!"

Plenty of other wannabes are destined for disappointment. Like Kevin Costner, who keeps making westerns because he secretly dreams of being Clint Eastwood. Andy Garcia won't ever attain the tough-guy status of Al Pacino, no matter how many mob guys he plays. Freddie Prinz Jr. doesn't have enough brothers to replace even the most obscure Baldwin. And Skeet Ulrich is just a poor man's Johnny Depp.

You might be sitting there thinking "Will there ever be a suitable replacement for Arnold Schwarzenegger?" Hell no. Do you have any idea how much it costs to build an Austrian super-robot? About a hundred billion dollars. Then you have to teach it English and make it scowl on cue.

For another sequel to Conan, it's really not worth the trouble.
Universal Remote is a self-syndicated column by Calgary writer Anders J. Svensson.